As the eagle was killed by the arrow winged with his own feather, so the hand of the world is wounded by its own skill.
quote by Helen Keller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Arrow Goes To War
An arrow goes to war
Right to the start of it
Right through the heart of it
“Ow” cries out from a wounded beastly roar
When an arrow goes to war
Good dies out
On a battlefield
Evil considers it chattel killed
Shouts come from the home front too loud to ignore
This is the outcome
Of an arrow gone to war
Weary mothers, fathers, lovers, friends, daughters & sons
Appealing for slaughter to end what has begun
Recognizing the sin but then to win…
…Love is a fight worth fighting for
But how can the broken mend again
When an arrow goes to war?
poem by Tony Haynes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The eagle was killed by an arrow made from its own feathers.
Memorabilia
I
Ah, did you once see Shelley plain,
And did he stop and speak to you
And did you speak to him again?
How strange it seems and new!
II
But you were living before that,
And also you are living after;
And the memory I started at—
My starting moves your laughter.
III
I crossed a moor, with a name of its own
And a certain use in the world no doubt,
Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone
'Mid the blank miles round about:
IV
For there I picked up on the heather
And there I put inside my breast
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather!
Well, I forget the rest.
poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Falling Feather
A feather
floating on the air
as white as a cotton
in the space of nowhere
stubbornly
hovering
off the ground
while the lost feathered-child,
from its winged-parent's
untimely death
by the act of wind-wild
that took her breath
forcefully
sending
its feather
falls
onto the girl's palm
blown with her wish…….
chirping
tweeting
chirping
as the feather
now muddled in the sand.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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My Life Is So Hard
You are an arrow and I am a bird
God shot the arrow right into my heart!
Now I am wounded but you are a quack doctor
So you can’t give me the treatment that I look for.
Now money is the most important factor
But I am poor can’t afford a good doctor.
Still I bleed and it seems I will run out of blood
But there’s no one to help me my life is so hard.
poem by Asif Andalib
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The Indian Springs
I KNOW a shady hollow 'neath the pines,
Rich floored with velvet moss and trailing vines,
Where grouping ferns grow lusty, tall, and green,
With sipping from the bowl o'er which they lean;
And crimson berries on the margin cling,
Like drops of blood about the Indian spring.
On this same spot these many years ago
A graceful figure knelt and, bending low,
Wrist-deep in moss, one hand curved to a cup,
The water to her scarlet lips dipped up.
A heron's wing drooped from her dusky hair,
Which draped her rich-hued cheeks and shoulders bare.
Swift, stealthy footsteps took her by surprise;
She started, flushed, and met his eager eyes,—
A noble figure, young and lithe and tall,
With one proud eagle feather crowning all.
A pause, a word, and lo! the heron's wing
Brushed with the eagle's there above the spring.
Two cruel eyes gleamed from the piny shade,
Fixed on the bended heads of man and maid;
Sudden, a gray goose feather with a twang
Of hate and envy from the darkness sprang.
One shrilling cry—the heron wing was fled;
Low lay the eagle plume; the spring ran red.
The years have gone; new mosses veil the ground,
New ferns, new vines:—but here the spring I found,
And here the gray goose shalt its story told,—
A heart of flint 'neath moss and years of mold
And vines to which the blood-red berries cling,
I found an arrow by the Indian spring.
poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 22, Issue 4 (1897)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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When You Have Killed Hunted The Last...
when you have killed
hunted the last tundra
wolf to extinction
when glorious tundra
is an empty desolate place
without tundra wolves
when the last beaver
has been hunted killed
for fur for sport
when the last eagle
no longer wonder flies
high mountain thermals
when you have killed
hunted the last Grizzly bear
Polar bear to extinction
when all the Arctic ice
has melted with global warming
when all the ice is gone
I too will be gone
my kind will be gone...
we will not live
in this your world
with brother sister spirits
already extinction gone...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Even leaves beg me'' says Eagle
eagle, niggard and black
perched on sycomore on Nile bank
tasty fish gambolled in water
at lightening speed eagle caught
tasty fish and scrambled out
eagle flew and perched on a tree
man was under a tree
and glanced at what sat on tree
eagle and man eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying
''man may conjure him
by evil eyes''
eagle flew and perched on second tree
some birds were on that tree
Eagle and others birds eyes met at ninety angle
eagle flew away saying he
'' choke as birds watch him eating''
Eagle flew and perched on third tree
the breeze shook leaves of tree
eagle saw leaves unfolded shaking
like a begging hand
eagle flew away saying
'' everything beg me , even leaves
beg me too''
Eagle flew and perched on fourth withered tree
no birds, men and leaves around there
only exrtreme silence around there
eagle ate tasty fish
sang in loudest resounding voice
''eel fish and tasty fish are not the same
I ate tasyty fish until heart palpitated in happiness''
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Eagle Feather Fan
The eagle is my power,
And my fan is an eagle.
It is strong and beautiful
In my hand. And it is real.
My fingers hold upon it
As if the beaded handle
Were the twist of bristlecone.
The bones of my hand are fine
And hollow; the fan bears them.
My hand veers in the thin air
Of the summits. All morning
It scuds on the cold currents;
All afternoon it circles
To the singing, to the drums.
poem by Navarre Scott Momaday
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An Arrow
An arrow of laziness spread through the circle;
And carried in the air, like sold material,
And fetched by evil spirits who do not live among us.
I sow the seeds of sky and tundra,
Why do they offer so many advantages to me?
Fear him?
No hunter caused the stars and the planets to move
Without guidance. And my bow and arrows are braver
To the realm of God.
Is the world an ostrich’s egg? Or do you know of a world
So huge that it revolves like an arrow through space.
It is laid by the big bird, it is left alone by the dragons,
And the arrow is dead now.
poem by Naveed Akram
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You can best shoot an eagle with an arrow made from its own feathers.
Wounded
Well theres a whole lot of hurting being going on
Well Ive been wounded, wounded, wounded
This aint no way to be carrying on
You see me wounded, wounded, wounded
Im taken like a stone
That youve thrown in the deep blue sea
Giving me the scars that will never heal
Wounded, wounded, wounded
I remember the day when you came up to me
Almost breaking on your knees
Said you needed me more than anything else
You really took me in
But itd make you feel good to know
Id do anything you say
Well forget that line cause I aint gonna play
Wounded, wounded, wounded
I remember the day when you came up to me
Almost breaking on your knees
Said you needed me more than anything else
You really took me in
But itd make you feel good to know
Id do anything you say
Well forget that line cause I aint gonna play
Wounded, wounded, wounded
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The shaft of the arrow had been feathered with one of the eagle's own plumes. We often give our enemies the means of our own destruction.
The Role Of Resistance
the bow must be strong
and so must the string be
but with more flexibility
and the arrow must be
sharp and smooth and
to the air it must know
its ways like the river
to its own winding tunnel......
the hand pulls the tail
the resistance works
the arrow against the bow
and then you shall see
something is gone in
such a sudden way
far, far, farther away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Smile
smile,
i've seen your world fall
upon your face
your body bent
like
weakened Atlas
this world is too heavy
to bear
only if you know how
leave it
let it roll upon other
people's back
get away from it
join me
i am air, floating, i am like air
drifting, i am an eagle
sightseeing
looking for my prey
my breakfast today
i am the rain
i am whatever i am
because i believe it that
way
because i can be
whatever i can be
a matter of choice
a decision to be light
lighter than
a red feather
brighter than the
crescent moon
steady like a
rock of Gibraltar
so temporary like
dew.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Eagle
he looms through
the sky, roof of the world
blue, white and all
a bundle of feather
and armoury
flaunting his wide span
confident that the world
is within its grasp
his eyes zero in on objects
far and near
its claws ever ready to strike
his shrill cry echoes
through the mounts
beneath tiny little creatures
run for cover
the steely look of its amour
claws, eyes, beak
the world reels
from its grasp
the eagle in all its splendour
crowns the sky
our emblems
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Martyr
(Indicative of the Passion of the People
on the 15th Day of April, 1865)
* * *
Good Friday was the day
Of the prodigy and crime,
When they killed him in his pity,
When they killed him in his prime
Of clemency and calm-
When with yearning he was filled
To redeem the evil-willed,
And, though conqueror, be kind;
But they killed him in his kindness,
In their madness and their blindness,
And they killed him from behind.
There is sobbing of the strong,
And a pall upon the land;
But the People in their weeping
Bare the iron hand;
Beware the People weeping
When they bare the iron hand.
He lieth in his blood-
The father in his face;
They have killed him, the Forgiver-
The Avenger takes his place,
The Avenger wisely stern,
Who in righteousness shall do
What the heavens call him to,
And the parricides remand;
For they killed him in his kindness,
In their madness and their blindness,
And his blood is on their hand.
There is sobbing of the strong,
And a pall upon the land;
But the People in their weeping
Bare the iron hand;
Beware the People weeping
When they bare the iron hand.
poem by Herman Melville
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Testimony is like an arrow shot from a long-bow; its force depends on the strength of the hand that draws it. But argument is like an arrow from a cross-bow, which has equal force if drawn by a child or a man.
quote by Charles Boyle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Eagle Cries
Another day, just like any other
out of the blue, it turned to horror
How could they? Why would they?
The innocents suffered hell's inferno
An senseless act that goes unforgotten
How could they? They will pay.
(Chorus)
When the Eagle Cries (5x)
Out of the ashes came a tempted vengeance,
but we are focused, we seek redemption
we are free, we'll stay free
All they've done, is make us stronger
The sleeping giant, is asleep no longer
If need be, we'll die free
(Chorus)
When the Eagle Cries (blood will flow)
When the Eagle Cries (for freedom's fight)
When the Eagle Cries (we love us all)
When the Eagle Cries (we'll sacrifice)
When the Eagle Cries
When the Eagle Cries (blood will flow)
When the Eagle Cries they made us stronger (for freedoms fight)
When the Eagle Cries we'll sacrifice (we love us all)
When the Eagle Cries for freedom's fight (we'll sacrifice)
When the Eagle Cries
song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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