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Couplet History Poems | Couplet Poems About History

These Couplet History poems are examples of Couplet poems about History. These are the best examples of Couplet History poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Couplet | |

Person of Colour

Person of colour is coherently germane,
He is never insane.

Some things about this person of colour may seem strange,
He is simple and he is yet to engage.

This person of colour loves the critics,
It is from them, he ticks.

This person of colour is natural,
And so, he is not a trial.

This person of colour loves to exchange
Ideas beyond his range.

This person of colour loves keyboard,
Tis with this he comes on board.

This person of colour is a charcoal- a black beauty.
This person of colour is me.


Details | Couplet | |

Gettysburg Hauntings

Gettysburg Hauntings

When General Meade met General Lee
At Gettysburg in 1863

Sons of the South battled Northern brothers
And neither side has ever recovered

Fifty-one thousand lives lost in three days
Of a summertime swelter, July haze

Souls rose not to heaven from bodies piled
On blood-soaked battlefields spanning 40 miles

An on-scene photographer moved fallen men
To snap better images with his lens

Hats off to Alex Gardner if you please
Today picture-takers’ cameras freeze

At a large bouldered site called Devil’s Den
Sharpshooter hid, killed unsuspecting men

Travelers at night on Pennsylvania roads
Claim they see soldiers, hear cannons explode

A century after the Revolution
United our states to wage war as one

Virginians were forced to choose blue or gray
Mason Dixon Line divided that way

If only Tom Jefferson’s wise notion
Had not been struck from the Declaration

Slavery, the impetus for war and hate
Would have been quashed before State versus State

Gettysburg might have been a peaceful farm
Where soldiers had never succumbed to harm

But restless spirits, faces pale and gaunt
Never retreat from their Gettysburg haunt

Our nation’s darkest hour plays out each night
And passersby still marvel at the sight

Where sons of the South battled Northern brothers
For neither side will ever recover


Details | Couplet | |

The Maid of Orleans

Reflecting in her garden sits a winsome little maid;
She holds a purple flower like the circlet that she made
And wrapped about her braids to grace her forehead like a crown;
Her thick and shining braids that are the shade of chestnut brown.
A soft and dreamy smile lifts her lips of cherry rose
As she so elegantly lifts the flower to her nose
To smell the rich and heady fragrance rising from its soul-
Upon this day in early May, her heart with joy is full.
But look! The heavens open wide, and joy is changed to fear,
For Michael the Archangel in the garden does appear,
And with him stand Saint Margaret and Saint Catharine, sent to seek
This girl of twelve, and in her frightened youthful ears to speak
Words form the Lord, of how someday, somehow, she'll have to save
Her native land, her land of France, from lying in the grave.
When in their bright angelic garb these saints to heav'n returned,
She knew they had been sent from God, her heart within her burned
With strong desire, with heaven's fire, to do her Father's will;
Her heart beats hard, while all around is silent, calm and still.

The years pass by, now seventeen, her hour is fully come,
And what is now but distant fancy, dull and throbbing hum
Will be her life, her joy, her pain; her darkness or her light:
For God and country, king and freedom, must, she must needs fight.
The chains of England must be broken, young prince Charles crowned:
A source of hope, of inspiration must for France be found;
For civil war rakes raging claws through weary, hopeless men,
Who fight and die, and sacrifice, and lose their homes again;
Their gardens, flocks and herds, and treasures, all are swept away:
With nothing left but life itself, and naught to do but pray.

God heard their prayer and sent her there for their deliverance,
To lead them on to victory through every circumstance
Of treachery or deviltry that loomed on every side.
Urged on by all the saints above and martyrs who had died,
She bound her armor to her body, helmet to her head;
A troop of eager soldiers to the Orleans siege she led.
Without a fear she faced the battle, banner held up high;
It filled each fainting heart with spirit, waving in the sky:
Unfailing, never falling, always standing at the fore,
And filling every weary soul with courage to the core.
Though wounded by an arrow striking close beside her heart,
She still pressed on to victory, she played her vital part.
The Maid of Orleans did her best, she held back not at all,
But risked her life at every turn to heed her heav'nly call;
She fought and bled and braved the beast until her king was crowned,
And even then she carried on, she traveled all around:
Each city gained broke off the chains of power-hungry kings,
Who killed to gain another's land, his citizens and things.

Alas! She met her fate at hands that should have helped her cause;
The countrymen she battled sold her to be judged by laws
And men that all disfavored her, yet still she firmly stood,
Proud head held high, two gleaming eyes; she answered best she could
Each twisted question meant to trap her clear but simple mind:
With wit and art she answered each; they really could not find
A cause for death, but death must be for such an enemy
The fate; who sees such visions full of vile heresy,
Of saints and angels revelating mortals with God's plan.
They also charged her with the sin of dressing like a man,
But it was of necessity she donned a soldier's guise;
For all throughout the war-torn realm roamed pairs of hateful eyes
Who did not heed a woman's cries, but did what pleased them best:
They killed or maimed or stained for life from eastern France to west.

So thus it is, not twenty years, they chain her to a stake-
The final chain that no amount of bravery can break.
Within her dress, hugged to her chest, she tucks a wooden cross;
The symbol of the Son of God, who faced such early loss
Of life, and like her was betrayed and mocked and led to die
Without a cause, without a crime, without a reason why.
Ten thousand people press around; she feels the burning heat,
As flames grow hotter, ever hotter- licking at her feet:
But on one thing and one thing only both her eyes are fixed;
Upon the figure held before her- on the crucifix.
And she is thinking of a time that seems so long ago,
When as a girl she used to sit and watch her garden grow;
She'd pick the purple petaled flowers, braid them in her hair;
Her life was simple, pure, and sweet, she hadn't any care
Until Saint Michael gave her calling to her way back then.
But if she had another life, she'd do it all again,
For God and country, king and freedom she could die this death;
And so it was that thus she died, and with her final breath
Her soul and body parted ways, and while her body burned,
Her soul went on to realms unknown, her soul to heav'n returned
Into the hands of He who made her, to the arms of Christ the Lord;
Who made for her a better body, more than just restored.
Here ends the troubles of this maiden, gone are jail cells dark:
Forever live the Maid of Orleans, known as Joan of Arc.



{Written by Isaiah Zerbst. For the first time published on October the 13th, 2014.}


Details | Couplet | |

The Seamstress of Time

I have a special story I wish to share
About a seamstress beautiful and fair

She would fade away turning into smoke
Of her amazing beauty, no man would joke

The spiraling smoke would then re-form
I know only an angels face could be so warm

Before her a beautiful quilt was spread
Upon it the story of my life was said

As she once again started to dissipate 
She said, “Mike this quilt records your fate”

As the smoke traveled over to a new place
And then formed together creating her face

Looking over her shoulder back at me
She said, “This area will hold what has yet to be”

Most of the quilt looked like twisted evil tattoo
Simply because, my life’s quilt was quilted true

I looked the quilt over and then met her gaze
She was so beautiful in so many different ways

The last part of the quilt way over to the right
Showed the beauty of someone changing their plight

Upon her beautiful hand, which seemed so nimble
I noticed she was wearing my grandmother’s thimble 

From a young maiden so beautiful to see
My grandmother appeared right in front of me

I guess up in heaven we return to our youth
My grandmother was beautiful; such is the truth

I thought of the price grandma was asked to pay
The shame of knowing I had turned out that way

I thought of her sitting there stitching my shame
My grandmother didn’t deserve an eternity of pain

She said, “Michael be still with the pain in your heart,
Your story encourages others to make a new start.”

“The deeper the wrong the stronger the right
I always knew my boy would take up the fight”

With a smile much brighter than an ice covered sea
She said, “I love the man my boy has grown up to be”

As she turned to the quilt and started to sew
She said, “Michael, its now time for you to go.”

“Believe in your story believe in your truth
For Salvation is the true fountain of youth”

One night in a dream, which I’ll hold forever divine
I learned; my Grandmother is now,” The Seamstress of Time”


When I was a boy I would help my Grandmother roll
her quilt, find her glasses, as well as, her thimble. I 
never thought about how amazing her art truly was.
From a pile of rags she would make the most beautiful
quilt's. I sleep under one of her quilts to this very day. 



Details | Couplet | |

VETERANS- -DAY OUT

Veterans Day Out..

"To all of us from America, and beyond.
We hold a connection that will forever bond.
The reflection Of Veterans Day, 
We'll march with gratitude on this one certain Holiday.
Prayers and thanks will be filled with solemn pride.
To the heroism of those who died.
We'll praise and honor every name and memory~
To all the men and women who fought throughout history.
In celebration we honor America's veterans for their patriotism, of willingness. 
For the love of our country,  they served and sacrificed with their best service."
Victory ~History~ A singed Treaty~ 11-11-1918 
Mends to an end of “the war to end all wars.” Welcoming 11-11-11   


Dedicated to Veterans throughout the world and History...
In Honor and memory of all Veterans... 

by;p.d.


Details | Couplet | |

To All Of You

There are times we are left to cope
With situations that drain our hope

Leaving us full of despair
At how some people just don't care

About the evil that they do
To good people like all of you

We are left to somehow face
That in mankind there is disgrace

And those of us left alive
Must find away to survive

As you pick up the pieces of your life
Without your mother, father, husband or wife

And some of you God forbid
Without the love of your kids

We must band together with a brotherhood
Show that in this world there is some good

Because we are together in this deal
We try to help each other heal

We seek in each other good advice
And offer each other sacrifice

We hold each other in prayer and song
As we continue to re-build the wrong

Because what else in the world can we do
Except let the light of good shine through

The evil darkness and despair
Of a catastrophic lack of care

We want you to know you are not alone
Think of America as a giant cone

And all of us are funneling through
Our prayers and hopes to all of you


Posted for Nathan's 9-11 contest


Details | Couplet | |

Erin Go Bragh

At Ben Bulben’s feet Sligo stands
The home of such creative hands

Where poet William Yeats did grow.
The Nobel Prize his poems did know.

On my trip to this emerald isle,
I yearned to visit a long while.

As sun poured through the misty sky
Shedding warmth with its golden eye,

I stood beside the lough in awe
At dancing diamonds that I saw

Near Connemara’s tall twelve bens 
O’er lands of ancient souls that wends.

I sense their haunting watchful eyes
And feel my roots where rivers rise.

I hear the voices lost at sea,
They echo on eternally;

As with the thousands who took flight
During the worst potato blight.

Their sadness streams across the seas
Where most souls died with unheard pleas.

Those sad and tragic days long past,
And Erin’s joys returned at last

To verdant Lee and sandy shores
To music heard across the moors,

To people with the kindest hearts
Is what this isle to me imparts.

© 2013 

*Erin go bragh means Ireland Forever
*lough means a lake
*Ben means Irish, a mountain peak


Details | Couplet | |

The Homeplace

Here further down the hillside slope
Down close to the creek with hope

My husband bought a house, land
Fenced in and made many plans

Subdued the land to cow pasture
And planted a garden, fruit trees sure

Fathered another child to call him sir
The creek seemed to like the stir

Enjoyed the children for a little while___
Loved them so that it made her smile

Today she loves grandchildren the same
No girls there are in frills ___tame

The creek keeps on flowing to the sea
The land is mostly stripped of trees


(This is my adaptation of Robert Frost's poem "The Birthplace".  I hope that it does not insult 
his work.)


Details | Couplet | |

The Mightiest of Poet's Still

Hark! The mighty sage’s quill,
Leaves remnants of genius, still.
Reminding me of richer days,
Where wines could really come to age;
And gods among the people dwelled,
In works of master poet’s felled.
Where aerie tales and thoughts of fancy,
Awaken something everlasting.
The faded thoughts of vestments tore,
Through mournful tales of days of yore.
I bore inquisitive insight,
To mouth a masterpiece delight;
Reciting thoughts from Edgar Poe,
In poetry and foul-like prose.
And as I muttered, “Nevermore”,
I pondered on his lost Lenore;
A femme who captivated thought,
His inspiration to the plot.
And in his wording wizardry,
So haunted by his imagery,
Moves me to expound wanton lyrics
To every soul who dares to hear it.
And with immense humility --
No pen shall cite as good as he.




Details | Couplet | |

Loony Tunes

<                                        Cascading lakes and streams
                                           The loon stands out it seems

                                           Minnesota's state bird
                                           I know it must sound absurd


                                           Adopted in nineteen sixty one
                                           Wails and yodels heard under the sun


                                          Black and white bearing red eyes
                                          Wingspans five feet can make one cry


                                          Body lengths up to three feet
                                          Yet  clumsy on lands and moss peat


                                          They are high speed flyers
                                          And great underwater divers


                                          They can dive up to ninety feet
                                          In pursuit of fish they want to eat

                                      
                                         They are even on our license plates
                                         An critical habitat drawn on metal slates


                                         Twelve thousand of these unique birds
                                         God that has to be a lot of turds

 
                                        But for now I'll enjoy it's captured views
                                        Of this beautiful loon and it's most colorful hues








Written By Katherine Stella
Entry For Mini - Blog  Beautiful Bird Contest
By Constance ~ A Rambling Poet


Details | Couplet | |

Marble in Columns on Green

On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute

For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes

A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken

So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife

On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys

For the living, life goes on 
Tomorrow is another day


Details | Couplet | |

Toilers at the Trench

Plunging, lifting, plunging -as wind blew ashes all around -
the shovels' blades incised the cold and black encrusted ground.

Attached to shovel handles were the arms of skeletons - of men,
who pausing, hacked and wheezed; then bent and smote the dirt again.

With bruised decrepit bodies - and coerced - they struggled on
beneath a sky from which the sun for them had long withdrawn.

And seeping into nostrils came that too familiar stench
when shrieking had died out, and still - they toiled at the trench.

Perhaps they dreamed of tunnels; that the cracks within the earth
inflicted by their shovels formed a path to their rebirth.

What horror in the knowing there were no more tears to cry
or that their bodies - shoeless - might, in graves they’d dug, soon lie.


For Brian Strand's "1-14 lines any theme/any form max 14 lines Poetry Contest"


Details | Couplet | |

Civil War

This evening I listen to a Rock 'n' Roll band
Their track is Civil War, as our world now expands

To us it's the same size but to others they despise
For the want of greed exists in their killer hungry eyes

Where do I start, to say of their evil spread
A different starvation leaving the world in evil dread

It's not our today's but our yesterdays years
That our history tells us, of our everlasting torn tears

Cambodia, the Lebannon, and Sri Lanka's Indian sun
Rebels who demand better at the end of a gun

Guaetamala and Peru with their Shining Path
Villagers in terror decrying it's ever last

Democracy is our power in it's controllable exist
Like the Shining above, how long will our future paths persist

Recent news in the Arabic World, has taken tyrants by surprise
For decades they have stolen with their torturing infidel lies  

I could go deeper and deeper to describe these evils acts
In wanton blood spillage, to increase civil war torn facts

For this is the world we live in, it appears we determine to live
Maybe in our lifetime it will be on our doorstep, we open, our lives will sieve










http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-8.php



Details | Couplet | |

Unity

Long ago on this land we were all one
There was unity between man, earth, moon and sun
Man hunted and fished with love for the land
He had respect for his kingdom and all at hand

The white man came in numbers strong
Destroying what had been there so long
Hunting man and animal with such brute force
Mercilessly, ruthlessly, with no remorse

In the name of progress many died
The wolf and the bear and the eagle cried
When the smoke had cleared and the battle done
The earth and man were no longer one

They tell us they take for human need
But the truth be told, 'twas for human greed
It will take centuries to undo what's done
To restore our unity with earth, moon and sun.


Details | Couplet | |

The Spirital Womb

The tragedy of a Miracle started today
Our Lord’s brutalized body passed away 

Of all the tragedies in the history of man
This is one I try to grasp, but never can

For some reason I find it impossible to see
We crucified the greatest man in our history

Through all of the gain and all of the loss
It was a predestined coin man had to toss

I wonder how Pilot must have felt that day
He washed cowards hands in a cowardly way

Beaten and tortured, his skin ripped to shreds
As a thorny crown dug holes into Jesus’ head

While nailed to the cross he had one final goal
Through the mercy of love he saved another soul

He saved that soul and then our Lord Jesus died
Can you imagine the countless tears that were cried?

As we all know Jesus' body was placed into a tomb
To my minds eye it was no less than a spiritual womb 

And from inside that womb salvation was born
For the tomb was found empty come Sunday morn

This is not how the story ends it is only how it starts
The Lord now lives up inside each one of our hearts

Even those lost in Prison, the ones like I used to be
Can turn to the Lord and then they will be set free

Freedom is a thing that I think we all strive to find
It is etched in our heart and engraved in our mind

I was locked up in a cell nestled tightly away
Facing several years that I would have to pay

Up inside of that cell I made my own decree
A true miracle was taking place inside of me

I was a very evil man and I was so proud to show it
In the wink of an eye I was transformed into a Poet

I learned there is only one way to truly be free
Ask of the Lord, “ Jesus please come unto me”

And just as the Lord Jesus Christ rose up out of his tomb
We can all live with-in the comfort of his spiritual womb





Details | Couplet | |

LOST NOR FOUND

As I lie in this box, all dirty and scuffed.
I remember the time I was shiny and fluffed.

Alone and forgotten, I doubt that is true?
For I was once savored in red, white and blue.

Although, it may seem like a long time ago.
I once  flew through the air in many a show.

I was waved at through crowds as I proudly appeared.
So high I did blow and to many was feared.

It's just a matter of time, I'll be back once again.
I just don't like this box, and I do miss the wind.

Why must I wait until the fourth of July?
For I am important, it's my duty to fly.

Until then I will stay here, my memories in bloom.
Maybe the maid will soon free me, when she tidy's the room.

I know that she likes me, she flew me last spring.
Some kind of occasion, a Memorial thing.

This can't be my destiny, for I stand for truth.
I'm not just a toy, what's wrong with our youth?

I hear them play music of hate and it hurts.
I am use to large stadiums and enormous concerts.

How I long for the trumpet; A victorious sound.
Still I'm here when you're ready, not lost nor found.






Details | Couplet | |

Reason why Pilgrims came to America

Why did pilgrims come to America
For Religious Freedom

10112014


Details | Couplet | |

YOUR HISTORY

Your History (COUPLET)

Your History. Your 
Full Mystery. Your 

Slave Name. Your 
True Shame. Your 

Mixed Race. Your 
Mislaid Trace. Your 

Earth Fallen. Your 
Birth Stolen. Your 

New Voice. Your 
Bad Choice. Your 

Shame Rain. Your 
Rage Strain. Your 

Heart Torn. Your 
Pain Born. Your 

Awful Dream. Your 
Africa Scream. Your 

Ugly Night. Your 
Rising Bright Light 

June 07, 2005

By Mohlouoa Ntsasa


Details | Couplet | |

Massacre at Glencoe

The snow rests red and heavy
through the valley and the glen,

with MacDonald honor lingering on
in spite of Campbell sin.

Give us crimson wool
to weave a plaiden memory

of the massacre at Glencoe
and deeds of treachery.

Let the stigma of a traitor
forever mark their name

as long as Scotland bears the scar
so recalled shall be their shame.


Details | Couplet | |

The Technology Elf

Our first computer was set and ready to go.
How to use it only the children did know.
“Wheel of Fortune” became our regular game.
We would gather to play; it earned family fame.

Taking turns guessing letters: R-S-T-L-N-E.
Every one was a clue to the phrase mystery.
Each night was the same for the kids and myself.
Until we were visited by the "Technology Elf!"

We had guessed many letters without success.
Then, just as our thinking began to regress,
The answering machine conveyed the next letter.
Wide-eyed and doubting, we had nothing better.

So we typed in the letter; oh, my, the surprise,
The solution was clear; our eyebrows did rise.
With hair on my neck standing straight and tall,
The children asked me to explain it all.

We all heard the clue whispered from the phone.
It must have been technology gnome!
Or was it a ghost that caused this mystery?
You can bet that our game soon became history.

But that was back then, before systems improved.
Now we all are addicted as technology behooved.
There are so many fun games and friends on the web.
No ghost, gnome or elf could make surfing ebb.

© July 22, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Talkin' Technology 	
Sponsored by: Natalie Fllikkema


Details | Couplet | |

The Norwegian Lady

Since the 19th century, she stands looking out to sea
A guardian of the sailor, a survivor of tragedy
The Captain lost his pregnant wife and son and five members of his crew
Now she waits just like her sister when a sailor's return is overdue
Her sister stands in Moss since nineteen sixty two
They stand  and face each other across the ocean blue
The Dictator, a Norwegian vessel, aground she did run
Nine people died off the shore in eighteen ninety one
The Captain returned to Norway when his healing was done
In Elmwood cemetery he sadly left his wife and son
On thirty seventh street in Virginia Beach the Norwegian Lady Stands
A monument to all who sail and walk on foreign sands
 


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Neruda

Self made men like you are rare
Such vision and passion you had to share

So sure at such an early age
Of words you placed upon a page

Love flowed through your soul and veins
And spilled upon the pages plain

You pawned everything a man can know
So sure of what you had to show

Then politics became your passion
And people's poet was your fashion

Exiled by the heads of state
Hiding was your newest fate

Until awards upon you fell 
And sent you from the man made hell

And though you may no longer live
The words you left will always give.



Details | Couplet | |

In high definition

In high definition... There is an old oak tree in our backyard. This old oak limbs weep like a willow. It branches out to the stars. The moon effervescent shines above. During the winter, the moss hangs low. I see the wind blow through its leaves in autumn. There is an old oak in our backyard Where a widow sits beneath weeping over love lost. The dawn has broken. The dew is high. This old oak is well defined. She has limbs that reach high in the sky. The sun photosynthesis makes each leaf shine. Her depth is sublime. This old oak is part of home. Many visitors she knows as a widower rests before he moves on. This old oak tree stands tall As a City's landmark. |__________________________________________________| Penned on November 22, 2014!


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Democrats vs Republicans

Democrats vs. Republicans
Where oh where to begin
If one takes a dive into their lives you would see how one side  always wins
For the red light is on, and times have certainly changed
We live in a world that is selfish and becoming more deranged
A house divided cannot stand
America is in fragmented pieces but they don’t understand
Words are cheap when actions lie
I vote for the man who’s in the sky
For he never changes and he really cares
Not these greedy politicians who point and stare
America is about the people who work hard in this life
Yet all our government seems to do is feed on weakness and strife
I am pro restoration,
And anti-abomination
I am pro family unity,
Not superficial comments spoken into our hurting community
A bitter game
It’s such a shame
It’s time for us to give America back its glorious fame
Speak with conviction
Hold up our youth
Burn all the lies and tell them the truth
There’s a generation that’s growing on welfare and government loans
Independence is being broken down by control that is clearly shown
A father fracture has intruded
Many hearts and minds are polluted
Do they care about restoring the family unit as a whole?
Or are they leeches sucking out all our young people’s souls
Purity has been banned
As they raise up sworn hands
I can see the coiling snakes
Oh dear America we have made a terrible mistake
What really matters has been perverse
Like a woman under a tragic curse
Vote for vitality
Not the pagan’s visions of immorality
Vote for untainted officials
Not for men who can’t control their own missiles
Restore the innocence to our children in our music and on TV
Someone be the voice stating that in bondage how can you call yourself free
Another chance,   might be our last
Look to the leaders of Americas past,
Discern their virtue and read their soul
Then you will know which way you should go
Take the blinders and finally see
That we are being held captive to a rise of insanity
While we still got power take a missive stand,
Our land was blessed because of the convictions of man.

By: Sabina Nicole
Written: For such a time as this


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My hand holds your hand

My hand holds your hand and that`s enough.
In the green`s intervals, the weather is rough;
The blue wind freed its own ghost’s chain
Following the rhythm of the crystalline rain;
With the leaf`s thrill and embrace`s embers
Patient ruby hidden in alabaster chambers, 
Far from the desert of mirrors, standing aloof
As vulnerable as the surge`s serenity`s proof;
Simple surmise falling down with the mist,
Suspension bridge above the yellow East;
Looking from the season `s round roof,
Solitude seems hit by a rueful cold hoof.
Like the violet dawns date with the pale moon,
Chapel`s morning joined the emerald afternoon;
Air angels with white wings are our mates;
Trees beg for heaven to let open the gates; 
We listen to inner chansons sung by Edith Piaf
My hand holds your hand and that`s enough.


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How General Grant Won The Civil War

He could fight and win battles, could this General Ulysses Grant!

   Other of Lincoln's generals were continually sayin', "I can't!"

Though 'twas well-known that General Grant relished his schnapps,

   Even soused he could concoct solid battle plans by studyin' his maps.

Becomin' frustrated with his other generals and their lack of action,

   Abe suggested to an aide that if it would help them get some traction,

He'd like to know what Ulysses drank and where he got the stuff,

   So he could send a barrel to every general to get him off his duff!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved


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Forty ninth and fiftyth States

49th & 50th States of the union
Hawaii and Alaska

10102014


Details | Couplet | |

Home

I can hear the horses snorting, outside my bedroom window,
Even though it comes, from so many years ago;

Cotton from the cottonwoods flying through the air,
Making whitened dapples on my palomino mare;

The hounds are all out baying, it must be dinner time;
In my tiny little neighborhood, I was never scared of crime;

Family surrounded me, aunts and uncles all around,
It was quiet on our little street, no sirens made a sound;

My cousins and I would play outlaws, and we’d hide out for a day;
Making mighty forts from the fifty tons of hay;

It never really changed much, as I grew up through the years,
And remembering that it’s gone, always brings me close to tears.


(My Parents sold the house I grew up in last year - It still breaks my heart)


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Indigenous I Am, from the Stolen Generations

This is a journey, a trip call it what you will It follows the footsteps of my ancestors, and allows my thoughts too spill Firstly let me take you back, to tell you so little of my past Indigenous I am, from the "Stolen Generations" I did not last This is why I must make this journey, to allow me to find the real me To retrace the few steps I made, to rediscover what my young eyes seen How ironic that the person I'll ride with, is the son of the then official Whose deliberation to round up us children, the scene, locale It's now the morn of our travel, where I look I find hard to see The peripheral of the distant horizon, is all that really captures me The town where I grew up so young, barely to the age of five Perth, now bustles like a termites nest, zig zagging in busily strive Into the bush we go, to a place where us youngsters so enjoyed Moore River Native Settlement, which soon became children void As I walk my arid lands, patterned in the heat of this day I recall with every step, where us Indigenous children played We could survive on the smallest of fruit, water we could easily find Even the son of the then official, said that we are a superior kind He marvelled when I spotted tracks, traces of where animals crossed Remembering back to when I was five years old, our lands always talked We opened up as we led our horses, introduced all those centuries ago They opened up my lands, rivers we walked, now the white man flows This is a journey I had to make, it's called, it's in my will No more "Stolen Generations" no more will my culture spill


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The blues man

Born on September 16, 1925 in Itta Ben, Mississippi
His ambitions grew as fast as he could stand on his tippys  

Given the name Reily B. King better known as B.B. King
Strumming his zealous hands and acing the blues on strings


He made his first break performing “Sonny Boy” in 1948
 To steady engagements and his quest for perfection was his fate


Throughout his life B.B. received numerous awards of distinction 
B.B. Is acknowledged as an American icon and will be for generations 

B.B. continues to tour extensively each year
"The Thrill Is Gone” rings notorious on the air 



Written about B.B. King for Raul’s B.B. King contest