Flag Day Poem
Written: by Tom Wright
It seems that for almost everything
We’ve set aside a special day.
We recognize others for their work
And sometimes for their play;
There’s a day set aside for Mothers
And likewise for Fathers too;
I’m sure that in this hodgepodge
There’s one that will cover you.
There’s a day to honor our Veterans,
Our police, firemen and teachers;
A National Fan Day even exists
For those who fill the bleachers.
There is New Years, and Ash Wednesday,
And Saint Valentine’s Day too.
And yes, the hard working Secretary
At last has been given her due.
We honor a few past Presidents,
Palm Sunday and beginning of Lent;
Our calendar has gotten so crowded
But Easter Sunday is time well spent.
We’ve Christmas, and Thanksgiving
And we recognize Flag Day too.
Then there’s Martin Luther King Day
And I suspect for a Boy Named Sue.
Armed forces and Daylight Savings
Each has their very own day.
Labor Day and Columbus too
Are remembered in this special way;
We’ve Election Day, and Bosses Day,
We honor the Devil on Halloween.
And then there’s old St. Patrick’s
For the donning of the green;
There’s Boxing Day and Yom Kipper
And the gobs between I’ve missed.
That I classify as the minor ones
I could name if you should insist.
Birthdays, and Anniversaries,
We treat really special too.
With all these days to remember
Just what is a guy to do?
Even old Phil the Ground Hog
His day has long been real.
It’s enough to cause a country boy
To shout, Hey, what’s the deal?
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2015
Flag Day Poem
Hit Me with Your Best Shot - We are Orlando
A rainbow of all the droplets of color,
begins to run with a red that bleeds.
And from the sky it can mix any palette,
instead of parity and one of misdeeds.
The drinks are mixed in fun and joy,
as lanky men dance Hip Hop in form.
So young they live, despite brutal hate,
and also know, they're part of the norm.
The music peals, the voices double,
and laughter sings within their eyes.
Two women dance, a close hot Rumba,
they're young in age with spirits wise.
A bartender zips out the orders of shots,
for two Hot Damns and one Captain Coke.
Bring on five more of Irish Car Bombs,
it is last order up, with the shots, not a joke.
In the gray swirl of the dance by the girl,
and the dudes there, more happy than gay.
Hearing shots, not the drinks, no time to think,
as their bodies fall, the last breath in the fray.
Falling down like the movie, or empire!
Jumping fast, through a hole in a door.
Disappearing, becoming camouflaged,
to hide like an elephant stuck to the floor.
The man in the dark is unhinged and unstable,
he laughs at himself, the dying, their fears.
He's no martyr; his cause is but suicide,
to splash in their blood and dance in their tears.
Who bore the arms in protecting the innocent?
What ammunition or gun rang freedom's bell?
Was there life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness,
when at the nightclub, in Orlando, the last body fell?
By Edlynn Nau
© June 14, 2016
Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2016