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Living Ground
Our children are calling to us,
calling from the living ground.
The sleep of graves may their rumbling,
but the most thunderous tossing
calling from the living ground.
The sleep of graves may their rumbling,
but the most thunderous tossing
posted by: thepoetryman |
category: War |
comments: 1 |
2009-05-16
IN AN UNKNOWN GRAVE HE LIES
This is about a man whose name is Jesse
Born In Kansas and raised in Missouri
Was called to fight for his beloved country
And assigned to defend an outlying territory
Born In Kansas and raised in Missouri
Was called to fight for his beloved country
And assigned to defend an outlying territory
A war
A war of words, a war of words
Only in their simplicity we can afford
These spoken words when out of control
Only in their simplicity we can afford
These spoken words when out of control
War Some More
War. And war some more.
War. And war some more.
No one knows,
What it's for,
War. And war some more.
No one knows,
What it's for,
At the Vietnam War Memorial
Black granite stretches its harsh, tapering wings
up to pedestrian-level grass
but sucks me down, here, at the intersection of names.
I forgive, I must, though I wish something
up to pedestrian-level grass
but sucks me down, here, at the intersection of names.
I forgive, I must, though I wish something
The Black Hawk War of the Artists
WRITTEN FOR LORADO TAFT'S STATUE OF BLACK HAWK AT OREGON, ILLINOIS
To be given in the manner of the Indian Oration and the Indian War-Cry.
To be given in the manner of the Indian Oration and the Indian War-Cry.
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because the lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
Because the lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.