Aside from its indigenous natives
when those there United States
(home of the braves)
were first settled by white colonists and pioneers
it was advertised with a carrot
(not a torch)
held by copper-sheathed Lady Liberty
with book candle
(no bell)
française est elle
with the slogan 'Land of the Free'
propaganda of the day it's enough to make one sick
as today there's far less carrot and way too much more stick
haves and have nots will always be there
(the tired poor huddled wretched masses)
but we you and me can make a difference if we really care
Horsepower
David J Walker
It occurs to me that while
Horses can run
Could they actually pull a
Rocketship past the moon
Headed to the sun?
Apollo 11, for instance,
And just for fun
Is said to have had
32 million horsepower
As if each one
Was Harnessed with leather straps
And brightly polished brass bells
And as the crowd swells
off they run
At the crack of a whip
32 million horses all at once
Leap upward up-ward with a
6 Million tun
payload
Kicking up dust
All those horses needing to
Generate 7.5 million pounds
of thrust
at liftoff, that is
Off towards the sun
Hooves pounding
Harness bells ringing and
Commander Neil Armstrong
On top cracking the whip
Singing, suns of the pioneer's songs
Headed to the moon on his
32 million Horse-drawn rocket ship.
Can you hear the voices of
Those Space Cowboys stepping lightly
As their horses
Fertilize the surface of the moon?
“Ahhhh ..Houston… We Have a problem here”
“Who is gonna clean this up?”
Compelled by growth in time
Hoping to arrive in a matter of time
Away from the land they know
They left for a land they know
Thousands of miles away
The vast lands all lay
Clothed by the greens of nature
Inhabited by bands of creatures
Out of this must come
That which must be a home
Great was the task in hand
Great was the fear in mind
Fear of failure placed aside
Off they went to conquer the land
Day by day they worked at site
Bites and stings nearly at hand
Digging and tilling the order of the day
Drains and paths in order to make
Block on block they began to lay
Structures for shelter in order to make
Now from far and near can be seen
The glories and wonders of a scene
The land of thorns and thistle
Turned so great a castle
The citadel of wisdom and nobility
The palaces of princes in humility
What huge landmarks and sores
The fruit of the great pioneers
I'll show you where hell is Just follow me Its down this path called "The Right Road" In this wrong world, there's one in every city Tho a dangerous place to be alone, you wont find any pity Just trust in me now and we're half-way there So we need to lock our doors, to safely shut out all faith, allowing only those facts well proven We'll coast downhill forever now, confirming just these truths What could be is not ours to ponder, while what has been bears plenty of proof and we have no need to wonder All the way down into the forsaken, for the soul who's badly shaken, it becomes easier to fathom that rules were meant to be broken The why, the how, becomes evident now Our spirit is free and we're able to see so with trust we'll find our path not yet taken You'll be earning your way since you let go, and your willingness tho, you'll arrive there alone, yet creating a path that's followed.
Compelled by growth in time
Hoping to arrive in a matter of time
Away from the land they know
They left for a land they know
Thousands of miles away
The vast lands all lay
Clothed by the greens of nature
Inhabited by bands of creatures
Out of this must come
That which must be a home
Great was the task in hand
Great was the fear in mind
Fear of failure placed aside
Off they went to conquer the land
Day by day they worked at site
Bites and stings nearly at hand
Digging and tilling the order of the day
Drains and paths in order to make
Block on block they began to lay
Structures for shelter in order to make
Now from far and near can be seen
The glories and wonders of a scene
The land of thorns and thistle
Turned so great a castle
The citadel of wisdom and nobility
The palaces of princes in humility
What huge landmarks and sores
The fruit of the great pioneers
The trail along which we now ride
Was made by folks with visions bold,
A westward moving human tide,
Who nurtured dreams of farms or gold.
From the promise of day’s first light,
Through somber sand and sage, they rode
In savage heat and gelid night,
Bound for the distant Mother Lode.
Their deep grooved ruts are now obscure
Along the winding desert track
Where traveled once the pioneers
In some imagined days, way back.
For those who passed, the dreams are done;
And most who failed left tales untold
With wagon wheels and oxen bones
And wood crosses above their own.
In the debris of that vast land
Lay a pink bottle, half in sand,
Which sparkled in the twilight gold.
It held a faded note which told:
“Tis a helluva place where I have died.
I did not make it, but I’m glad I tried.”
4/1/19/ 2019 Poetry Marathon Final Placement / Sponsor: Mark Toney
Echos of long past
haunt my thoughts
as the verdant valley
stretches before my light dazzled eyes
I imagine the pioneers
forging ahead
and what I see now
are the remains
of these trails they forged
marked
as wagon wheels
indelebley upon the ground
I imagine the women
in their hooded coverings
stirring up pots of baked beans
but Annie Oakley
probably was never indited
for stooping to that low
the wild west was not for the faint hearted
as Indians rode roughshod over
soldiers
who wore their brave hearts upon
muskets of forged steel
hammering out triumphant blissful sounds
of conquest
these days were both exciting and grueling
testing
the mettle of women and of men
as they eaked out their existence
time and time again.
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