Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave from the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave.
quote by Francis Scott Key
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Defence of Fort McHenry (Stars and Stripes Forever)
O! say can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there -
O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream -
'Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havock of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wash'd out their foul foot-steps' pollution,
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
O! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
Between their lov'd home, and the war's desolation,
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land
Praise the power that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto - 'In God is our trust! '
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
poem by Francis Scott Key
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The Star-Spangled Banner
O! say can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there -
O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream -
'Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havock of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wash'd out their foul foot-steps' pollution,
No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
O! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand
Between their lov'd home, and the war's desolation,
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land
Praise the power that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto - 'In God is our trust!'
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
poem by Francis Scott Key
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The New Pollution
She's got cigarette on each arm
She's got the lily-white cavity crazes
She's got a carborator tied to the moon
Pink eyes looking to the food of the ages
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's got a hand on a wheel of pain
She can talk to the mangling strangers
She can sleep in a fiery bog
Throwing troubles to the dying embers
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's got a paradise camouflage
Like a whip-crack sending me shivers
She's a boat through a strip-mine ocean
Riding low on the drunken rivers
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
song performed by by Beck from Odelay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is A Fountain Filled With Blood
There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Emmanuel’s veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.
Lose all their guilty stains, lose all their guilty stains;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoiced to see that fountain in his day;
And there have I, though vile as he, washed all my sins away.
Washed all my sins away, washed all my sins away;
And there have I, though vile as he, washed all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood shall never lose its power
Till all the ransomed church of God be saved, to sin no more.
Be saved, to sin no more, be saved, to sin no more;
Till all the ransomed church of God be saved, to sin no more.
E’er since, by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
And shall be till I die, and shall be till I die;
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I’ll sing Thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue lies silent in the grave.
Lies silent in the grave, lies silent in the grave;
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue lies silent in the grave.
Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared, unworthy though I be,
For me a blood bought free reward, a golden harp for me!
’Tis strung and tuned for endless years, and formed by power divine,
To sound in God the Father’s ears no other name but Thine.
poem by William Cowper
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Slave
(carly simon/jacob brackman)
Listening for your footsteps
Just waiting like a fool
Burning with a fever
Only you can cool
The clock beside my pillow
Has ticked away the night
Like a heartbeat mocking me
Until the light
Gotta stop these thoughts about you
Gotta learn to live without you
Gotta find some freedom for this weary slave
cause Im hungry for you
And Im longing for you
And Im burning for you
I worship your opinions
I imitate your ways
I try to make you grace me
With a word of praise
However much I tell myself
That Im strong and free and brave
Im just another woman
Raised to be a slave
Slave, nothing but a slave
Mind of a slave
Body of a slave
I find I gave away the soul
That I wanted you to save
Im just another woman
Raised to be a slave
Hungry for you
And longing for you
Burning for you
And Im longing for you
Burning for you
And Im yearning for you
Longing for you
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Appeal
Art thou indeed among these,
Thou of the tyrannous crew,
The kingdoms fed upon blood,
O queen from of old of the seas,
England, art thou of them too
That drink of the poisonous flood,
That hide under poisonous trees?
Nay, thy name from of old,
Mother, was pure, or we dreamed
Purer we held thee than this,
Purer fain would we hold;
So goodly a glory it seemed,
A fame so bounteous of bliss,
So more precious than gold.
A praise so sweet in our ears,
That thou in the tempest of things
As a rock for a refuge shouldst stand,
In the bloodred river of tears
Poured forth for the triumph of kings;
A safeguard, a sheltering land,
In the thunder and torrent of years.
Strangers came gladly to thee,
Exiles, chosen of men,
Safe for thy sake in thy shade,
Sat down at thy feet and were free.
So men spake of thee then;
Now shall their speaking be stayed?
Ah, so let it not be!
Not for revenge or affright,
Pride, or a tyrannous lust,
Cast from thee the crown of thy praise.
Mercy was thine in thy might;
Strong when thou wert, thou wert just;
Now, in the wrong-doing days,
Cleave thou, thou at least, to the right.
How should one charge thee, how sway,
Save by the memories that were?
Not thy gold nor the strength of thy ships,
Nor the might of thine armies at bay,
Made thee, mother, most fair;
But a word from republican lips
Said in thy name in thy day.
Hast thou said it, and hast thou forgot?
Is thy praise in thine ears as a scoff?
Blood of men guiltless was shed,
Children, and souls without spot,
Shed, but in places far off;
Let slaughter no more be, said
Milton; and slaughter was not.
Was it not said of thee too,
Now, but now, by thy foes,
By the slaves that had slain their France,
And thee would slay as they slew -
"Down with her walls that enclose
Freemen that eye us askance,
Fugitives, men that are true!"
This was thy praise or thy blame
From bondsman or freeman--to be
Pure from pollution of slaves,
Clean of their sins, and thy name
Bloodless, innocent, free;
Now if thou be not, thy waves
Wash not from off thee thy shame.
Freeman he is not, but slave,
Whoso in fear for the State
Cries for surety of blood,
Help of gibbet and grave;
Neither is any land great
Whom, in her fear-stricken mood,
These things only can save.
Lo, how fair from afar,
Taintless of tyranny, stands
Thy mighty daughter, for years
Who trod the winepress of war;
Shines with immaculate hands;
Slays not a foe, neither fears;
Stains not peace with a scar.
Be not as tyrant or slave,
England; be not as these,
Thou that wert other than they.
Stretch out thine hand, but to save;
Put forth thy strength, and release;
Lest there arise, if thou slay,
Thy shame as a ghost from the grave.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Portential
Internal combustion engine exhaust noise encroaches on my sleep.
The first punks of principle could've used a dash of turpentine,
wash out their prickly pride there and then before the next generation
came along and left all the lights on.
It's never really dark in London, not outside anyway.
Pollution of every persuasion - noise-pollution, light-pollution,
mind-pollution, pollution-pollution - I just want to puke.
Stick my head under the pillow to escape - unlock my portential.
poem by Alexander Hawkins
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A slave
To my lady love, I am a slave;
To my little kid, I am a slave;
To tobacco, I am a slave.
Being a slave is being in grave.
23.102011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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As I sit and wait
As I sit and wait time is all I have to save
For in life all I am is a slave
To those who search for death
They come as I sit and wait for them to steal
All they see in me is their next meal
They come for the flesh and blood
As I sit upon this step I weep
For they will come if I sleep
To take me whith them to the caves
There they shall huddle in the dark
And they shall leave their mark
As they take the blood and life from those who live
And after they have taken their share
They shall bring us back as one of them, and into death we stare
As they wait for dark to fall so they can come once more
As I sit and wait time is all I have to save
For in life all I am is a slave
To those who search for death
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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That dark Dweller in Braj
That dark Dweller in Braj
Is my only refuge.
O my companion,
Worldly comfort is an illusion,
As soon you get it, it goes.
I have chosen the Indestructible for my refuge,
Him whom the snake of death
Will not devour.
My Beloved dwells in my heart,
I have actually seen that Abode of Joy.
Mira's Lord is Hari, the Indestructible.
My Lord, I have taken refuge with Thee,
Thy slave.
Acting As Your Slave
My hand asleep for hours
Waiting for the needles to begin
I have no control
They proceed to penetrate my skin
Acting as your slave I drink for amber waves
I never have embraced
Acting as your slave I drink an open grave
An epitaph defaced
Killing with compassion
She hasnt heard a word that I have said
Swallowing your passion
I can see a thousand miles ahead
Acting as your slave I drink for barricades
That I have often raised
Acting as your slave I numb my head and rave
Of epitaphs defaced
Acting as your slave I drink while she forgave
With trials left unfaced
Acting as your slave I stumble to her grave
An epitaph defaced
song performed by by Verve Pipe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Final Cut
Hell awaits & heaven won’t take me
I am in between planes
the final cut has been made
blood ooze out but I can’t feel the pain.
My bloodeth blood stops the time; for
Lucifer to arrive
elated, trying to take me to hell.
He says oh! Well
how you’ve become so heavy.
This is the miracle of the soul in slain,
he askth whose soul is in refrain.
It’s my very own Lucifer I said,
You are willing to give your life
for a cause he asked
Your son, the evil trying to impart and enter this world
thru a noble soul,
I have heeded to save this and devastate
and make your son’s play
A foul.
My blood oozes out from this cut
Save your son or save me
I know you would like to keep my soul.
Lend me thy hand to see this
this manifestation done by evil
I know you love thy son; but
as this is the final cut
poem by Himanshu Sanghani
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The Smallprint
take,
take all you need
and I'll compensate your greed
with broken hearts
sell,
and I'll sell your memories
for fifteen pounds per year
but just the good days
save,
It will make you insane
and it's bending the truth
you're to blame
for all the life that you're losing
you watch this space
but I'm going all the way
and be my slave to the grave
I'm a priest god never paid
hope,
and I hope you've seen the light
cus no-one really cares
they're just pretending
sell,
and I'll sell your memories
for fifteen pounds per year
but you can keep the bad days
save,
It will make you insane
and I'm bending the truth
you're to blame
for all the life that you're losing
you watch this space
but I'm going all the way
and be my slave to the grave
I'm a priest god never paid
save,
it will make you insane
and I'm bending the truth
you're to blame
for all the life that you're losing
you watch this space
and I'm going all the way
and be my slave to the grave
I'm a priest god never paid
song performed by by Muse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walking In My Footsteps
You're walking in my footsteps
From the tracks
That I have left.
You're walking in my footsteps
For now you see
My regrets.
For now you walk
With a limp
From your burdens
Your back is bent.
And you're walking in my footsteps
For now I see
That you're upset
You're walking the road
That I've walked before
The one I swore
I'd walk no more.
And you're walking in my footsteps
For now you see
The tracks I left
You're walking it so fast
Just like a run
Leaving the mud prints
Under the sun
That dries up
and turns to dirt
Which blows away
But stays the hurt.
And you're walking in my footsteps
From your burdens
That I have kept
I see the blood
That I have shed
Mixed with yours
Though it still is red.
And you're walking in my footsteps
For the footsteps now, are the same
With the same depth
From the same tears
From the same old troubles
From the same old fears.
And you're walking in your footsteps
For mine are gone
And yours are here.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Who Points the Terror Finger?
Who points the terror finger, who works the terror wrist
when CCTV footage can every action list?
The matrix rod is ready to fish for what remains
of freedoms once protected through over thirty reigns.
When bio tech and nano converge ubiquitous
who's sinned against, who's sinner in mask iniquitous.
In 'Land of Hope and Glory' in 'Land of Stars and Stripes'
In land of Labour, Tory, in that of media hypes,
the cause/effect conundrum no simple answers shows,
some trigger bombs, some beat scare's drum, - who most feared future sows?
While North cries foul! as innocent, South exploitation fights,
Whose is the holy message sent? What price for Human Rights?
Analysis is harder than might at first appear,
Who's raiding whose bare larder, who prays, who preys on fear?
Meanwhile pollution spreading erodes both righteous, wronged,
a thin red line Man's treading between fork Caudine pronged.
Who points the terror finger, who works the terror wrist
when CCTV footage can every action list?
(1 July 2007)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Answer
Men and boys, O fathers, brothers,
Burst these fetters round you bound.
Women, sisters, wives and mothers,
Lift your faces from the ground!
O Democracy, O People,
East and West and North and South,
Rise together, one for ever,
Strike this Crime upon the mouth!
Bid them not, the men who loved you,
Those who fought for you and died,
Scorn you that you broke a small Crime,
Left a great Crime pass in pride!
England, France, the played-out countries,
Let them reek there in their stew,
Let their past rot out their present,
But the Future is with you!
O America, O first-born
Of the age that yet shall be
Where all men shall be as one man,
Noble, faithful, fearless, free! —
O America, O paramour
Of the foul slave-owner Pelf,
You who saved from slavery others,
Now from slavery save yourself! —
Save yourself, though, anguish-shaken,
You cry out and bow your head,
Crying 'Why am I forsaken?'
Crying 'It is finishèd!'
Save yourself, no God will save you;
Not one angel can he give!
They and He are dead and vanished,
And 'tis you, 'tis you must live!
Risen again, fire-tried, victorious,
From the grave of Crime down-hurled,
Peerless, pure, serene and glorious,
Wield the sceptre of the world!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Ye Spirits Of The Free
Ye spirits of the free,
Can ye forever see
Your brother man
A yoked and scourged slave
Chains dragging to his grave,
And raise no hand to save?
Say if you can.
In pride and pomp to roll,
Shall tyrants from the soul
God’s image tear,
And call the wreck their own,—
While, from the eternal throne,
They shut the stifled groan
And bitter prayer?
Shall he a slave be bound,
Whom God hath doubly crowned
Creation’s lord ?
Shall men of Christian name,
Without a blush of shame
Profess their tyrant claim
From God’s own word ?
No! at the battle cry,
A host prepared to die,
Shall arm for fight—
But not with martial steel,
Grasped with a murderous zeal ;
No arms their foes shall fell,
But love and light.
Firm on Jehovah’s laws,
Strong in their righteous cause,
They march to save.
And vain the tyrant’s mail,
Against their battle—hail,
Till cease the woe and wail
Of tortured slave !
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Free Flight
Head on down the highway
Across the county line,
Ive had my fill of small town thrills
Gonna leave it all behind.
Free flight, free flight.
Im careless in my loving,
Shameless in my style,
If I get caught by the short n curlies
Ill just hide out for awhile.
Free flight, free flight.
On an on the road goes on
Itll go on forever,
An just the same Ill live my life,
Hell bent for leather.
Free flight, free flight.
Heaven knows its driving me crazy,
Its a feeling inside.
Heaven knows its in my blood
As long as I try, I just cant deny.
Free flight, come tomorrow dawn youll find me gone.
Free flight, make no bones about it, Im moving on.
Free flight, free flight, free flight.
Free flight, free flight, free flight.
Head on down the highway
Suitcase in your hand,
When you get down with your feet on the ground
I know youll understand.
Free flight, free flight.
Heaven knows its driving me crazy,
Its a feeling thats driving me wild.
Heaven knows its in my blood,
Fool if you try, you just cant deny.
Free flight, come tomorrow dawn youll find me gone.
Free flight, make no bones about it, Im moving on.
(solo)
Free flight, free flight, free flight...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bury Me in a Free Land
Make me a grave where'er you will,
In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;
Make it among earth's humblest graves,
But not in a land where men are slaves.
I could not rest if around my grave
I heard the steps of a trembling slave;
His shadow above my silent tomb
Would make it a place of fearful gloom.
I could not rest if I heard the tread
Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,
And the mother's shriek of wild despair
Rise like a curse on the trembling air.
I could not sleep if I saw the lash
Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,
And I saw her babes torn from her breast,
Like trembling doves from their parent nest.
I'd shudder and start if I heard the bay
Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,
And I heard the captive plead in vain
As they bound afresh his galling chain.
If I saw young girls from their mother's arms
Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,
My eye would flash with a mournful flame,
My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.
I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might
Can rob no man of his dearest right;
My rest shall be calm in any grave
Where none can call his brother a slave.
I ask no monument, proud and high,
To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;
All that my yearning spirit craves,
Is bury me not in a land of slaves.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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To: W A
Or ever the knightly years were gone
With the old world to the grave,
I was a King in Babylon
And you were a Christian Slave.
I saw, I took, I cast you by,
I bent and broke your pride.
You loved me well, or I heard them lie,
But your longing was denied.
Surely I knew that by and by
You cursed your gods and died.
And a myriad suns have set and shone
Since then upon the grave
Decreed by the King in Babylon
To her that had been his Slave.
The pride I trampled is now my scathe,
For it tramples me again.
The old resentment lasts like death,
For you love, yet you refrain.
I break my heart on your hard unfaith,
And I break my heart in vain.
Yet not for an hour do I wish undone
The deed beyond the grave,
When I was a King in Babylon
And you were a Virgin Slave.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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