The right of petition is an old undoubted household right of the blood of England, which runs in our veins.
quote by Caleb Cushing
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pro Rege Nostro
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Have I Done For You
What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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England, My England
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:--
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There 's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Shadow & a Cigarette
Uneasy for a reason
Not quite giving in to happiness
For fear of failure
And this hurt
This hurt runs deeper than the blood
This fresh pain I keep reliving
When I find my self wandering
Is...is...
Alone without a lasting soul
Not quite sure I like these dreams
For fear of reality
And this solitude
This solitude that runs like splinters through the veins
When I diverge from the crowd
Is...is...
poem by Cerulean Celyn
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Home Thoughts from Abroad
April in England–daffodils are growing
By every wayside, golden, tall and fair;
April–and all the little winds are blowing
The scents of springtime through the sunny air.
April in England–God, that we were there!
April in England–and her sons are lying
On these red fields, and dreaming of her shore;
April–we hear the thrushes' songs replying
Each unto each, above the cannons' roar;
April in England–shall we see it more?
April in England–there's the cuckoo calling
Down in her meadows where the cowslip gleams;
April–and little showers are softly falling,
Dimpling the surface of her babbling streams;
April in England–how the shrapnel screams!
April in England–blood and dust and smother,
Screaming of horses, men in agony.
April–full many of thy sons, O Mother,
Never again those dewy dawns shall see.
April in England–God, keep England free!
poem by Norah M. Holland
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An Arabic Woman & The English Countryside
I am neither a Celtic,
Who lived in ancient Britain,
Nor am I an Arian,
Or a Normandy whose ancestors
Ruled England for a while,
And the blood in my veins
Do not go back
To the Germanic tribes
Who invaded England,
And mingled with the Celtic
In the savage old time.
Nor am I an Immigrant of any kind,
I do not belong
Either to the patient Indian men,
Nor to the Pakistani
Whose fathers helped in
Paving roads for the underground
That connects the lanes of London,
I did not study or lived there
Except in the summer time.
Yet loving the English meadows
Larks and nightingales
And the other birds
That marvellously garnish
springs, rivers,
Woods and lakes,
Birds that happily fly
In its semi blue sky,
Runs like blood
In my Arabic
Passionate veins;
I am an Arab who adores
And can't live without sunshine;
Whose skin is tinted by the golden
Heat of the glorious sun
Just like the sand of the spreading
Desert of the Holy land,
Who lived under the clear sky
With its glaring moon
And twinkling stars,
I adore the sunset
By the seaside
I love the crystal clear waves
Of the Red Sea
And its true blue shade,
I am madly in love with the smell
Of Makkah’s rain when
It quenches the thirst
Of the dry soil,
Yet Wonder I
Am I in love with England,
And Why?
Why do the English hill,
The Irish rivers and springs
The Scottish countryside
Have on my spirit a splendid effect,
Some fools accuse the English
To be snobbish and racists,
But I did not see these qualities
In the majority I knew;
Look closely
At London’s million persons
Demonstration against the latest war,
And the recent Edinburgh March
You can see
What I mean;
Though East and West
Did not communicate well,
Did not go well
From ancient to modern time,
In my heart they are nicely combined
For hearts of true poets
Do not differentiate between mankind.
poem by Nadia Abduljabbar
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Prayers
I recite my prayers to God Almighty
These sorrow and fear are causing me to cry
I fear for my dreams
Aside from falling apart
I know I am weak
But the blood runs through my veins
Same blood that flows
From our Lord Jesus Christ
Says I'll never have wet eyes again
For tomorrow I'll be strong as I now speak
The prayers are my gateway to salvation.
poem by Alon Calinao Dy
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The Mulatto to His Critics
Ashamed of my race?
And of what race an I?
I am many in one.
Thru my veins runs the blood
Of Red Man, Black Man, Briton, Celt and Scot,
In warring clash and tumultuous riot.
I welcome all,
But love the blood of the kindly race
That swarthes my skin, crinkles my hair,
And puts sweet music into my soul.
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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I am proud of my black roots and of the black blood that runs in my veins.
quote by Ryan Giggs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pain runs through my body
Pain runs through my body, and I don't need anymore.
Pain runs through my body, so leave me alone you whore.
Pain runs through my blood, as I start to bleed.
Pain runs through my body, and love is what I need.
Pain runs through my body, everyday of my life.
Pain runs through my body, as I pick up the knife.
Pain runs through my body, as I put it through my chest.
Pain runs through my body and I think you know the rest.
poem by Ari Castillo
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As long as I am an American citizen and American blood runs in these veins, I shall hold myself at liberty to speak, to write, and to publish whatever I please on any subject.
quote by Elija Lovejoy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Blood, Water, and Other Fluids of Varying Density
Blood is thicker than water
So they say
But so is jam, and honey,
And mercury, and porridge, and-
Let’s just say a lot of things
Are thicker than water.
Blood is thicker than water
So they say
But there’s ‘a friend who sticks closer than a brother’-
So is that a ‘water’ or a ‘blood’,
Or a watered-down ‘blood’
Or a bloodied-up ‘water’?
There are many kinds of friends-
Depending on their circulations-
Indeed, some are so thick
They need nuclear-powered hearts
Just to pump all that tar
To all parts of their bodies
Women of steel and iron men…
So when you turn around,
And your friend has ‘got your back’;
Then you wind up with six inches of dagger
Sticking from it-
Don’t worry; it’s perfectly explainable-
They just wanted to see what kind of fluid
Runs through YOUR veins…
Upon the Constitution, upon the pre-existing legal rights of the People, as understood in this country and in England, I have argued that this House is bound to revive the Petition under debate.
quote by Caleb Cushing
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is impossible, in my mind, to distinguish between the refusal to receive a petition, or its summary rejection by some general order, and the denial of the right of petition.
quote by Caleb Cushing
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Their Veins
sleep with the weeping ones,
and walk in their shoes...
their faces always before me,
i feel the cuts on their fingers.
i hear the gutteral voices of suffering,
too naked to speak words.
my blood runs in their veins,
and theirs in mine!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Just Like Before
My long hair it blows, in the industrial breeze.
My fingernails grow, down to my knees.
The light thats beside me, is just laves of beans.
All that I know, is not what it seems.
Cause Ive tried moving out,
But Im tied to this floor.
Its just like before.
Its the red of the world, that you see with your eyes.
You say that youre happy, when youre wanting to die.
Oh well, its just like before.
Oh well, it runs in your veins.
Just like before.
It keeps it the same.
Cause Ive tried moving out,
But Im tied to this floor.
Its just like before.
Well, the suns in the sky, it swings and it sways.
But it dont shine on tuesdays, and its cloudy all day.
Its just like before.
Oh, when it runs in your veins.
Its just like before.
Nothing will change.
Cause Ive tried moving out,
But Im tied to this floor.
Its just like before.
song performed by by Flaming Lips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stream Of Life
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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We put together a one-sentence petition asking Congress to censure President Clinton and move on to other pressing issues. We sent it to under 100 friends and family, and within a week we had 100,000 people sign the petition.
quote by Joan Blades
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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LXIX
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of
leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and
of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from Gitanjali (1912)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tears of Blood
It's dark and cold in this room, the feel of cracked busted wood floors on my skin as I am thrown against it, and millions of long splinters pierce into me.
blood ripples out of the little pain ridden holes, and falls into the cracks, but no sound of drops come from the dark never ending oblivion were my dreams are lost to never be found.
It feels as if my heart runs cold, my mind runs blank, my stomach turns to fire, and my vomit turns to blood.
The walls are closing in around me till the life is squeezed out of my soul.
My bones cracking and crunching, my blood flowing out of my veins and burning the darkest most vial red, my heart pounded stabbed crushed and beaten until no pulse is herd, till feelings were nothing but fear and pain, now I'm left in this dark corner, alone and crying cause no one has come to save me from this hell!
poem by Jacob Gifford
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