From thirteen colonies, a nation rose,
With liberty's flame, forever it glows.
Delaware first, its colors bold,
"Liberty and Independence" proudly hold.
Pennsylvania next, with virtue's might,
"Virtue, Liberty, and Independence" burning bright.
New Jersey joins, with freedom's plea,
"Liberty and Prosperity" for all to see.
Georgia stands tall, with wisdom's grace,
"Moderation and Justice" in its embrace.
Connecticut thrives, a spirit true,
"He who transplanted still sustains anew."
Massachusetts strong, with courage pure,
"By the sword we seek peace, but peace secure."
Maryland follows, with arms held wide,
"Fatti maschii, parole femine" as their guide.
South Carolina rises, prepared and free,
"While I breathe, I hope" eternally.
New Hampshire’s cry, bold and clear,
"Live Free or Die" without fear.
Virginia’s might, through tyrants' fall,
"Thus Always to Tyrants," freedom for all.
New York stands tall, with dreams so high,
"Excelsior" calls to reach the sky.
North Carolina, steadfast and true,
"To be, rather than to seem" is what they pursue.
Rhode Island, last, but forever bright,
"Hope" their beacon, guiding the light.
Mornings are made for paper and pens
In the hands of a would-be scribe,
At each day’s awakening between sun and shade
And silence is coming alive.
From out of the dark, the touch of a spark
Of light on the distant shore,
This time of day has always been made
For would-be scribes for sure.
When the mourning doves and whippoorwills
Begin their ritual songs of life
Of cooing, wooing and renewing
Everything in sound or sight.
And the would-be scribe tries not to hide
His or her thoughts too deep,
But let them all rise like dew in the sky
And eagles to snowy mountain peaks.
Let the words come forth
Like cool water from a riverbed,
Bringing thoughtfulness, kindness and ponderings
Wherever hearts and minds are led.
Let no one cease this ancient peace
Of writing in early hours,
The writer’s way of flying away
Turning tragedy and tears into wildflowers.
Let their words be heard and hearts be stirred
In the twilight of the day,
Excelsior to the would-be scribes
And all they have to say.
© Terrell Martin, 01/25/2025
O how had I always fallen back;
With days full of retrogressions, alack!
I was degenerate;
Surely a youth of no notable rate.
My existence was like an ungodly song
With defiled rhythms was it sung
Wherewith I dreamed no dream
And saw no, not a gleam
For there was no light in me to reflect;
So my star could take no effect.
I was consumed by the darkness
Of mundane blissfulness,
Which was deceptive to inward madness.
I thought I was living happily;
Alas! I was dying virtually,
Forgetful that Life could wane out for itself alone
And hand over me to my Maker whom I never knew.
But there came an hour
At the Annual National Campus Community Congress
Of the Deeper Life campus fellowship
Entitled `Excelsior`
For bringing Life and Hope to intellectuals
And equipping them to reach the utmost height:
Where I wholly got transformed.
I was taught to be purposeful, and not lust to be conformed
I could then soar to the farthest height
And ignited became my light
Revived to live for Christ the Saviour
After which I farewelled failure.
He races aggressively from task to task,
churning through projects and products and pay.
Optimize, order, overdeliver.
Improve! For fast fades the day ...
You'd think he bores easy and can't sit still,
can't admire slow pleasures of life.
And you know it's pride or fear that drives him,
though he claims most of it's for a wife.
But you're wrong ... in his heart -
hooked up to adrenaline drips -
he fights for a dream of utter tranquility:
holding her, kissing her eager lips.
Slow love in a garden of beauty sublime.
No more pain. No progress of matter.
Just two hearts caught up in excelsior spirals,
while soul-bursting tears freely spatter ...
18 September 2023
Oscillating fans here and there in the house,
Naps in a cool cement basement,
Folding fans on an evening porch,
Dry breezes after twilight.
The ice man with tongs holding a 50-lb cube,
Throwing it into a heavy wooden ice box,
Galvanized and painted like porcelain inside
And a tub underneath to catch the melting to empty.
A grape arbor in the backyard where a little girl played
With a black-haired dolly named Jane,
The ice man mussed her hair and smiled
As he went on his merry way.
And then Daddy’s homemade cooler,
A big box lined with excelsior,
A pipe around the top with holes punched
Attached to the yard hose to drip.
In the box was a big oscillating fan
He bought second hand from a bank,
His water cooler was the talk of the town,
His ingenuity to thank.
We splashed in the yard in our bathing suits,
There were no home pools, few trees, no shortage of laughter,
Fun was fun hot or cool,
We got by happy ever after.
rolled up the sleeves
of my sky-blue shirt
as the birds retreated,
and the winds herded
the gray clouds —
a fluffy vainglorious sight,
the darkening like night.
electricity pulses the flesh.
eyes flash, awaiting my ride.
the quickening of my dream,
to catch a lightning bolt.
i’d climb its ladder,
the serrated edges of
its knife, like an empress
being carried to war,
but with child-like venture.
can you hear the classic
music trumpeting, the violin’s
bow — sharp against its strings?
stars, like hail, twinkle and sing
in my imagining. the bolt
releases me into the curio-clouds.
on my back, i float in compacted drops
of rain. the electric extravaganza
continues, and i await the cloudburst.
my boat of smoky-gray rocks me
gently, places me under a great oak,
where i see my name etched in a heart.
excelsior at the foot of the fine Spring Oak,
alongside a swiss army knife. i gather the curls,
placing them inside my pocket — a memory,
smiling as sun rays release, scent of cinnamon hair.
1/23/2018
The Empire State Flag grandly depicts
an azure background with Liberty and Justice standing on its sides:
two ladies guarding a lively landscape of hills with the Hudson River,
but what catches the curious eye is the white, curved up ribbon
displaying the imprint, " Excelsior " .
Look above, there stands the bold eagle!
Look inside, admire the brilliant sun!
Equality and fairness define its glory that makes nations tremble!
Written by Andrew Crisci
on 7/12/ 2015
Copyright ( c ) 2015 by Andrew Crisci
Praying now or burning books
Its the same mistake, with
different looks.
A drop of blood on a white sand
beach,
Glistening ruby red down her
cheeks.
Waves crash in to take the
pain,
Only bringing midnights rain.
With showers of silver that roll
off the clouds,
a future is lost, in the graying
sounds
THE SWAN
It’s unseasonably warm
The sun is high
And I’ve wandered down among the rushes
Bare-legged, knobby kneed, warm mud oozing between my toes
When she catches my eye as she slowly slides by
This graceful swan
No alarm shown, no ruffling of feathers, no hurry
She continues on, close to the bank
And, after a certain spell, is gone
I gaze up into a cloudless sky – one gull gliding high
And suddenly I am one – for but a moment –
With some formless, sandy jelly
Inched ashore from the hot primordial sea
This sense scalds, travels the length of me
And only a close reappearance of that lovely swan
Brings me back to reality
This poem was inspired by Andrea Dietrich's charming book, Prosies. If you haven't read it, I urge you to buy a copy =
Shadow Poetry
1209 Milwaukee Street
Excelsior Springs MO 64024
Without
an emperor-
the original star
within its constellatory
circle.
Fire of ancient times march of fascist crimes i see what unfolds in front
of me do you believe can you walk beside me magical garden never denied
me. Will you join the willing can you survive just this one time in the realm
of mind to some is certainly blind.
Oceans divide drink the wine excelsior divine magnificent lyricist
untold martyr the Mecca of medieval understand one man's evil.
Take this trip with me breath let the unease set sail the breeze
together we can travel this magical mind trip, mercenaries we
explore to grant the world our stories just wait till you see what's
in store i promise you no more worries.