No aquarium, no tank in a marine land, however spacious it may be, can begin to duplicate the conditions of the sea. And no dolphin who inhabits one of those aquariums or one of those marine lands can be considered normal.
quote by Jacques Yves Cousteau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Underwater
Scanning at the blue bended headlands
White flurry scudded, a dark silhouette flashes by, in the wet
It is glistening flesh
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
There is room for make believe out in the ocean
There is room for make believe out on the land
In the wet, in the dream, if its flashing then seen
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
Looking to the white framed headland
Green pockets dropping, a bright cockatoo
Circles up in the breeze, in the realm you cant reach
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
There is room for make believe out in the ocean
There is room for make believe out on the land
In the west, crashes by, its a green silhouette
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
No one can make her, no one can break her down
Underwater, over land
No one can make her, no one can break her
Underwater, over land
No one can make her, no one can break her
She is what she is and no one can bring her down, bring her down
Looking to the white framed headland
Green pockets dropping a bright cockatoo
Circles up in the breeze, in the realm you cant reach
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
There is room for make believe out in the ocean
There is room for make believe out on the land
In the wet, flashes by, its a green silhouette
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
No one can make her, no one can break her
Underwater, overland
No one can break her, no one can fake her
She it what she is and no one can bring her down, bring her down
Underwater, overland
No one can squeeze her, no one can freeze her now
No one can make her, no one can break her down
No one can seize her, no one can freeze her
She is what she is and youve got to see it
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Member Of The Corps
He was small for a Marine,
The dying boy there in the bed.
Three times he'd fought off cancer
but now, inside his head,
a serious infection
would claim his life instead.
Cody Green was only twelve.
All his life he'd loved the Corps.
They made him a navigator,
The insignia he wore.
An honorary soldier
A marine in time of war.
The crises was upon him.
He would not win this fight
A fellow member of the Corps
Stood honor guard all night
There would be a flag draped coffin
for this member of the Corps.
Cody Green, a Young Marine
A Marine in time of war..
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Almost every Marine I've met says I portray a Marine dead-on, which is really, really flattering.
quote by Catherine Bell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ballad Of Ira Hayes
Gather round you people and a story I will tell
About a brave young indian you should remember well
From the tribe of pima indians, a proud and a peaceful band
They farmed the phoenix valley in arizona land
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkling water rushed
Till their white man stole their water rights and the running water hushed
Now iras folks were hungry and their farms wene crops of weeds
But when war came he volunteers and forgot, the white mans greed
Call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war
Yes, call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war.
They started up iwo jima hill, 250 men
But only 27 lived to walk back down that hill again
And when the fight was over and the old glory raised
One of the men who held it high was the indian ira hayes
Call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war
Call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war.
Now ira returned a hero, celebrated throughout the land
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand
But he was just a pima indian, no money crops, no chance
And at home nobody cared what ira had done and the wind did the indians
Dance
Call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war
Call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war.
And ira started drinking hard, jail was often his home
They let him raise the flag there and lower it like youd throw a dog a bone
He died drunk early one morning, alone in the land he had fought to save
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was the grave for ira hayes
Call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war
Yes, call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war.
Yes, call him, drunken ira hayes, but his land is still as dry
And his ghost is lying thirsty in the ditch where ira died
Call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war
Yes, call him, drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking indian or the marine who went to war.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Film on the Water
tercets, puns
Sir Rule, Ian Ballew and Ock, a marine
set off on a houseboat to study
the difference between greenish-blue and bluish-green.
The deep blue sky on that fog-foggiest of days
they mistakenly thought was the sea
which explains why to us, when they saw a green haze -
Ian whooped, 'It's a film on the water! ' And so...
Sir Rule sent Ock for popcorn and Pepsi,
Ock started to cuss, 'Why? I always have to go! '
If blue means profane and if naive spells out green,
Who wins the Oscar? It's not hard to see -
greenish-blue, naively-profane - Ock, a marine.
or if you prefer:
bluish-green, profanely-naive - still Ock, a marine.
poem by Reason A. Poteet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Species Protect Save Sacred Whales
water birth born
cry ocean songs...
communicative
across vast
surge arena Pacific
surf ocean songs
cry whale haunt
marine species protect
save sacred whales
all life marine species...
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad Of Ira Hayes
(peter lafarge)
Gather round me people and a story I will tell
bout a brave young indian lad, you should remember well,
From a tribe of pima indians, a proud and peaceful band
Who farmed the phoenix valley out in arizona land.
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole the water rights and the running water hushed.
Iras folks was hungry, their fields grew thick with weeds,
But when war came ira volunteered and forgot the white mans greed.
Call him drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking indian or marine who went to war.
Well, they battled up iwo jima hill, two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again.
And after the fight was over and old glory proudly raised,
Among the men who held her high was an indian, ira hayes.
Call him drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking indian or marine who went to war.
Well, ira hayes returned a hero, celebrated throughout the land,
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand.
But hes just a pima indian, no food, no friend, no chance,
And nobody cared what ira did and when do the indians dance.
Well, ira took to drinking hard, jail often was his home,
They used to let him raise the flag there and lower it just like youd throw a dog a bone.
And ira died drunk early one morning all alone in the land hed fought to save.
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was the grave for ira hayes.
Call him drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking indian or marine who went to war.
Yeah, call him drunken ira hayes, but his land is till as dry
And his ghost, well, thats lying thirsty in the ditch where ira died.
Call him drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking indian or marine who went to war.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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World of Fish
It was beautiful to see
The fish in all their glory
A marine life extravaganza
That told a lovely story
We were put into another world
It was like we were inside
Of the exciting world of fish
What a charming place to reside
Gliding along so peacefully
All sizes and all colors
This aquarium so enormous
A world like no other
It was a joyful afternoon
For all my friends and me
If you love fish as we do
It’s a place you would love to see!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aquarium Fun
Have you ever seen an aquarium
With fancy fish swimming around?
Well I saw the most wonderful
Aquarium that I’ve ever found
Every color you can imagine
You’d find in a fish tank were there
Beautiful background for those fish
Not a single thing was spared
The cat fish were so enormous
You could imagine them in a pan
Fryin’ up so crispy brown
So tasty they’d never be bland
But instead we just enjoyed
Watching these fish on display
Swimming ‘round and ‘round
I once even saw them in play
I hope sometime if you haven’t
Been to an aquarium like this
Can observe their beauty as I did
These delightful and colorful fish!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballad Of Ira Hayes
(Peter LaFarge)
Gather round me people and a story I will tell
?Bout a brave young Indian lad, you should remember well,
From a tribe of Pima Indians, a proud and peaceful band
Who farmed the Phoenix Valley out in Arizona land.
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole the water rights and the running water hushed.
Ira's folks was hungry, their fields grew thick with weeds,
But when war came Ira volunteered and forgot the white man's greed.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war.
Well, they battled up Iwo Jima Hill, two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again.
And after the fight was over and Old Glory proudly raised,
Among the men who held her high was an Indian, Ira Hayes.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war.
Well, Ira Hayes returned a hero, celebrated throughout the land,
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand.
But he's just a Pima Indian, no food, no friend, no chance,
And nobody cared what Ira did and when do the Indians dance.
Well, Ira took to drinking hard, jail often was his home,
They used to let him raise the flag there and lower it just like you'd throw a dog a bone.
And Ira died drunk early one morning all alone in the land he'd fought to save.
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was the grave for Ira Hayes.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war.
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes, but his lan
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Folk Songs
I. THE SOLDIER
(Roumanian)
When winter trees bestrew the path,
Still to the twig a leaf or twain
Will cling and weep, not Winter's wrath,
But that foreknown forlorner pain-
To fall when green leaves come again.
I watch'd him sleep by the furrow-
The first that fell in the fight.
His grave they would dig to-morrow:
The battle called them to-night.
They bore him aside to the trees, there,
By his undigg'd grave content
To lie on his back at ease there,
And hark how the battle went.
The battle went by the village,
And back through the night were borne
Far cries of murder and pillage,
With smoke from the standing corn.
But when they came on the morrow,
They talk'd not over their task,
As he listen'd there by the furrow;
For the dead mouth could not ask-
How went the battle, my brothers?
But that he will never know:
For his mouth the red earth smothers
As they shoulder their spades and go.
Yet he cannot sleep thereunder,
But ever must toss and turn.
How went the battle, I wonder?
-And that he will never learn!
When winter trees bestrew the path,
Still to the twig a leaf or twain
Will cling and weep, not Winter's wrath,
But that foreknown, forlorner pain-
To fall when green leaves come again!
II. THE MARINE
(
Poitevin
)
The bold Marine comes back from war,
So kind:
The bold Marine comes back from war,
So kind:
With a raggety coat and a worn-out shoe.
'Now, poor Marine, say, whence come you,
All so kind?'
I travel back from the war, madame,
So kind:
I travel back from the war, madame,
So kind:
For a glass of wine and a bowl of whey,
'Tis I will sing you a ballad gay,
All so kind.
The bold Marine he sips his whey,
So kind:
He sips and he sings his ballad gay,
So kind:
But the dame she turns toward the wall,
To wipe her tears that fall and fall,
All so kind.
What aileth you at my song, madame,
So kind?
I hope that I sing no wrong, madame,
So kind?
Or grieves it you a beggar should dine
On a bowl of whey and the good white wine,
All so kind?
It ails me not at your ballad gay,
So kind:
It ails me not for the wine and whey,
So kind:
But it ails me sore for the voice and eyes
Of a good man long in Paradise.-
Ah, so kind!
You have fair children five, madame,
So kind:
You have fair children five, madame,
So kind:
Your good man left you children three;
Whence came these twain for company,
All so kind?
'A letter came from the war, Marine,
So kind:
A letter came from the war, Marine,
So kind:
A while I wept for the good man dead,
But another good man in a while I wed,
All so kind.'
The bold Marine he drained his glass,
So kind:
The bold Marine he drained his glass,
So kind.
He said not a word, though the tears they flowed,
But back to his regiment took the road,
All so kind.
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cyanide Fishing Killing Reefs
“Indonesia 12 to 15%
of our world’s reefs
65% are damaged
Bali aquarium coral trout
export to China chemical shoaled
worth white cloud cyanide caught sold
5 million a year aquarium tank gold”
cyanide fishing killing reefs
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Story Of White Man Leading Viet Cong Patrol
The Story of White Man Leading Viet Cong Patrol
-AP Dispatch, Des Moines Register, August 4, 1968
The slain enemy resembled
an American Marine
who was 18 years old
when he disappeared.
The violent episode
was one of the strangest
in this strange war.
*
For a moment
the two young men--
the American Marine
and the white man
in the uniform of the enemy--
stared at each other.
"He had an AK 47
automatic rifle
but he just looked at me."
Gordon fired
after a moment's hesitation.
*
Several of the Marines suspect
that the unknown white man
whom they call "the Caucasian"
could have shot first
but deliberately held fire.
At the debriefing
everyone was afraid
to say what they had seen.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Eric Torgersen
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Love will always find its catamaran
You say you’re glad that now we’ve reconnected:
Introspectively, “I think anymore, takers”
Then a dullards-thought: Doesn’t the sea play cupid.
Crashing too surfs, falling into breakers...
So having; returned once-more ashore!
I trackback by a darker bluer horizon-
Of forgetfulness: What; marine, decor!
Do coral reefs have to pull-down the Mizzen...?
If I discover lands where oceans; meet the sky
Where; impermanence conjoins together!
Lands of starry mass... souls and hearts so-near-nigh!
Without doubt; I would be her drowning-sailor...
No matter what the tentacle world does plan
Love will always find its catamaran.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Without discipline, there is no Marine Corp.
quote by R. Lee Ermey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Riding The Wave
Mid ocean spray the dolphins soar -
They’re always coming back for more!
Always eager and always spry!
Come and see the dolphins fly!
With eyes alert, as black as coal,
They leap for joy in full control!
Intent on pleasures to be found!
Come and see the dolphins bound!
Yes, every day the dolphins leap,
As if some vigil they should keep!
As if they knew such games were wise!
Come and see the dolphins rise!
They’re tumbling high and tumbling free,
In their great quest for ecstasy!
They sense that life’s a wondrous gift!
Come and see the dolphins lift!
The Lord above has blessed them all,
So dolphin fans can have a ball!
Though gravity they, too, obey,
Come and see the dolphins play!
Mid ocean spray the dolphins soar -
Heirlooms and treasures to adore!
For they’re most noble and most brave,
Riding high... upon the wave!
Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2000.
The poem's based on a dolphin sculpture,
by marine wildlife artist Mike Atkinson.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Excuses are like assholes, everyone has one, and they all stink.
Look, many of us here are regular marines... I will die as a marine because that is my dream.
quote by Jerry Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm not scared of very much. I've been hit by lightning and been in the Marine Corps for four years.
quote by Lee Trevino
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I had gone to school to study marine biology.
quote by Skeet Ulrich
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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