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Best Famous Be Prepared Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Be Prepared poems. This is a select list of the best famous Be Prepared poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Be Prepared poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of be prepared poems.

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Written by Henry Lawson | Create an image from this poem

Australias Peril

 We must suffer, husband and father, we must suffer, daughter and son,
For the wrong we have taken part in and the wrong that we have seen done.
Let the bride of frivolous fashion, and of ease, be ashamed and dumb, For I tell you the nations shall rule us who have let their children come! How shall Australia escape it – we in the South and alone Who have taken the sword for no right of England and none of our own? (Can we bring back the husbands and fathers, can we bring the lovers and sons? From the Dead to the homes we have ruined with the fire of our murdering guns?) Who shall aid and protect us when the blood-streaked dawn we meet? Will England, the hated of nations, whose existence depends on her fleet? Who, because of the deer-parks and game-runs where her wheat-fields and pastures should be, Must bring food for her herded thousands and shepherd it over the sea? The beak of the British Octopus, or the Bosses within our reach Who spend the hot days on the Mountains or summer at Manly Beach! The thousands of paltry swindlers who are fathoms beneath our scorn – Or the army of brave sons grown from the children who should have been born! The wealth you have won has been wasted on trips to the English Rome, On costly costumes from Paris, and titles and gewgaws from "home".
Shall a knighthood frighten Asia when she comes with the hate of hell? Will the motor-launch race the torpedo, or the motor-car outspeed the shell? Keep the wealth you have won from the cities, spend the wealth you have won on the land, Save the floods that run into the ocean – save the floods that sink into the sand! Make farms fit to live on, build workshops and technical schools for your sons; Keep the wealth of the land in Australia – make your own cloth, machines, and guns! Clear out the Calico Jimmy, the ******, the Chow, and his pals; Be your foreword for years: Irrigation.
Make a network of lakes and canals! See that your daughters have children, and see that Australia is home, And so be prepared, a strong nation, for the storm that most surely must come.


Written by Rainer Maria Rilke | Create an image from this poem

Song Of The Sea

 (Capri, Piccola Marina)


Timeless sea breezes,
sea-wind of the night:
you come for no one;
if someone should wake,
he must be prepared
how to survive you.
Timeless sea breezes, that for aeons have blown ancient rocks, you are purest space coming from afar.
.
.
Oh, how a fruit-bearing fig tree feels your coming high up in the moonlight.
Written by Philip Levine | Create an image from this poem

Coming Close

 Take this quiet woman, she has been
standing before a polishing wheel
for over three hours, and she lacks
twenty minutes before she can take
a lunch break.
Is she a woman? Consider the arms as they press the long brass tube against the buffer, they are striated along the triceps, the three heads of which clearly show.
Consider the fine dusting of dark down above the upper lip, and the beads of sweat that run from under the red kerchief across the brow and are wiped away with a blackening wrist band in one odd motion a child might make to say No! No! You must come closer to find out, you must hang your tie and jacket in one of the lockers in favor of a black smock, you must be prepared to spend shift after shift hauling off the metal trays of stock, bowing first, knees bent for a purchase, then lifting with a gasp, the first word of tenderness between the two of you, then you must bring new trays of dull unpolished tubes.
You must feed her, as they say in the language of the place.
Make no mistake, the place has a language, and if by some luck the power were cut, the wheel slowed to a stop so that you suddenly saw it was not a solid object but so many separate bristles forming in motion a perfect circle, she would turn to you and say, "Why?" Not the old why of why must I spend five nights a week? Just, "Why?" Even if by some magic you knew, you wouldn't dare speak for fear of her laughter, which now you have anyway as she places the five tapering fingers of her filthy hand on the arm of your white shirt to mark you for your own, now and forever.
Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

The Burning of the Steamer City of Montreal

 A sad tale of the sea I will relate, which will your hearts appal
Concerning the burning of the steamship "City of Montreal,"
Which had on board two hundred and forty-nine souls in all,
But, alas! a fearful catastrophe did them befall.
The steamer left New York on the 6th August with a general cargo, Bound for Queenstown and Liverpool also; And all went well until Wednesday evening the 10th, When in an instant an alarming fire was discovered at length.
And most of the passengers had gone to their berths for the night, But when the big bell rang out, oh! what a pitiful sight; To see mothers and their children crying, was most heartrending to behold, As the blinding smoke began to ascend from the main hold.
And the smoke before long drifted down below, Which almost choked the passengers, and filled their hearts with woe; Then fathers and mothers rushed madly upon the deck, While the crew were struggling manfully the fire to check.
Oh, it was a soul-harrowing and horrible sight, To see the brave sailors trying hard with all their might; Battling furiously with the merciless flames -- With a dozen of hose, but still the fire on them gains.
At length it became apparent the steamer couldn't be saved, And the passengers were huddled together, and some of them madly raved; And the family groups were most touching to see, Especially husbands and wives embracing each other tenderly.
The mothers drew their little ones close to them, Just like little lambs huddled together in a pen; While the white foaming billows was towering mountains high, And one and all on God for protection did cry.
And when the Captain saw the steamer he couldn't save, He cried, come men, prepare the boats to be launched on the briny wave; Be quick, and obey my orders, let each one bear a hand- And steer the vessel direct for Newfoundland.
Then the men made ready the boats, which were eight on board, Hurriedly and fearlessly with one accord; And by eight o'clock on Thursday morning, everything was ready For the passengers to leave the burning steamer that was rolling unsteady.
Then Captain Land on his officers loudly did call, And the cheery manliness of him inspired confidence in all; Then he ordered the men to lower the boats without delay, So the boats were launched on the stormy sea without dismay.
Then women and children were first put into them, Also a quantity of provisions, then followed the men; And as soon as the boats were loaded they left the steamer's side, To be tossed to and fro on the ocean wide.
And just as they left the burning ship, a barque hove in sight, Which filled the poor creatures' hearts with delight; And the barque was called the "Trebant," of Germany, So they were all rescued and conveyed to their homes in safety.
But before they left the barque, they thanked God that did them save From a cold and merciless watery grave; Also the Captain received their thanks o'er and o'er, Whilst the big waves around the barque did sullenly roar.
So good people I warn ye ail to be advised by me, To remember and be prepared to meet God where'er ye may be; For death claims his victims, both on sea and shore, Therefore be prepared for that happy land where all troubles are o'er.
Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

The Death of the Queen

 Alas! our noble and generous Queen Victoria is dead,
And I hope her soul to Heaven has fled,
To sing and rejoice with saints above,
Where ah is joy, peace, and love.
'Twas on January 22, 1901, in the evening she died at 6.
30 o'clock, Which to the civilised world has been a great shock; She was surrounded by her children and grandchildren dear, And for the motherly, pious Queen they shed many a tear.
She has been a model and faithful Queen, Very few like her have been; She has acted virtuously during her long reign, And I'm afraid the world will never see her like again.
And during her reign she was beloved by the high and the low, And through her decease the people's hearts are full of woe, Because she was kind to her subjects at home and abroad, And now she's receiving her reward from the Eternal God.
And during her reign in this world of trouble and strife Several attempts were made to take her life; Maclean he tried to shoot her, but he did fail, But he was arrested and sent to an aaylum, which made him bewail.
Victoria was a,noble Queen, the people must confess, She was most charitable to them while in distress; And in her disposition she wasn't proud nor vain, And tears for her loss will fall as plentiful as rain.
The people around Balmoral will shed many tears Owing to her visits amongst them for many years; She was very kind to the old, infirm women there, By giving them provisions and occasionally a prayer.
And while at Balmoral she found work for men unemployed, Which made the hearts of the poor men feel overjoyed; And for Her Majesty they would have laid down their lives, Because sometimes she saved them from starving, and their wives.
Many happy days she spent at Balmoral, Viewing the blooming heather and the bonnie Highland floral, Along with Prince Albert, her husband dear, But alas! when he died she shed many a tear.
She was very charitable, as everybody knows, But the loss of her husband caused her many woes, Because he cheered her at Balmoral as they the heather trod, But I hope she has met him now at the Throne of God.
They ascended the Hill of Morven when she was in her fortieth year, And Her Majesty was delighted as she viewed the Highland deer; Also dark Lochnagar, which is most beautiful to see, Not far from Balmoral and the dark River Dee.
I hope they are walking in Heaven together as they did in life In the beautiful celestial regions, free from all strife, Where God's family together continually meet, Where the streets are paved with gold, and everything complete.
Alas! for the loss of Queen Victoria the people will mourn, But she unto them can never return; Therefore to mourn for her is all in vain, Knowing that she can never return again.
Therefore, good people, one and all, Let us be prepared for death when God does on us call, Like the good and noble Queen Victoria of renown, The greatest and most virtuous Queen that ever wore a crown.


Written by Robert Frost | Create an image from this poem

Once By The Pacific

 The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in, And thought of doing something to the shore That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies, Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff, The cliff in being backed by continent; It looked as if a night of dark intent Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken Before God's last Put out the Light was spoken.
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

My Coffin

 Deeming that I was due to die
I framed myself a coffin;
So full of graveyard zeal was I,
I set the folks a-laughing.
I made it snugly to my fit, My joinering was honest; And sometimes in it I would sit, And fancy I was non est.
I stored it on my cabin shelf Forever to remind me, When I was tickled with myself, That Death was close behind me.
Let's be prepared, I used to say, E're in the Dark we launch us: And so with boding day by day I kept me coffin-conscious.
Then came that winter dark as doom, No firing wood had I; My shack was icy as a tomb And I was set to die.
But e'er the losing of my wits I saw that coffin there, S smashing the damned thing to bits I made a gorgeous flare.
I never saw a flame so bright, So goldenly divine, As starred the blackness of the night That boneyard box of mine.
And now I go forth coffin-shy, With no more carnal fears, For radiantly sure am I I'll stack a hundred years.
Written by John Berryman | Create an image from this poem

Dream Song 77: Seedy Henry rose up shy

 Seedy Henry rose up shy in de world
& shaved & swung his barbells, duded Henry up
and p.
a.
'd poor thousands of persons on topics of grand moment to Henry, ah to those less & none.
Wif a book of his in either hand he is stript down to move on.
—Come away, Mr.
Bones.
—Henry is tired of the winter, & haircuts, & a squeamish comfy ruin-prone proud national mind, & Spring (in the city so called).
Henry likes Fall.
Hé would be prepared to líve in a world of Fáll for ever, impenitent Henry.
But the snows and summers grieve & dream; thése fierce & airy occupations, and love, raved away so many of Henry's years it is a wonder that, with in each hand one of his own mad books and all, ancient fires for eyes, his head full & his heart full, he's making ready to move on.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry