On The Civil War On The East Coast Of The United States Of North America 1860-64
Because of the unaccountable spirit of the troops
oh we were marched as we were never marched before
and flanked them off from home. Stupid Meade
was after them, head on to tail, but we convinced
him, finally, to flank, flank, cut off their head.
He finally understood, the idiot, and got a fort
named after him, for wisdom. He probably thought
Lee would conquer Washington from Appomattox
if he, Meade, should march his infantry behind
him, Lee. Ah well, the unaccountable spirit of the troops
triumphed, Meade got his fort, Grant got his presidency,
Sherman got his motto, what was it? War is heck?, Lee got a military school
for the education of young Southern gentlemen, and the Union
Army was taken over by Southern noncommissioned officers
in the wars against the Indians to the west. I know all
about this, I know who won, I served under them
for three hundred and fifty years in World War II,
just long enough not to be called a rookie but a veteran,
and realized the rank and order of my enemies:
first, the West Point officers; second, the red-neck sergeants;
third, the Nazis and perhaps the Japanese. I won
all of these wars as a private soldier, for a while,
and am happy to have done so: without me
Hitler and Hirohito would he ruling the world
instead of America and Russia, but I still will not
drive through Georgia with New York license plates.
poem by Alan Dugan
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Related quotes
In a completely integrated unit where you'd have white soldiers, particularly from southern states, serving under black noncommissioned officers or officers... I think you would have a problem definitely.
quote by Omar N. Bradley
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During the fall and winter we built Fort Meade and the town of Sturgis.
quote by Calamity Jane
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On My Shadow's Head
You talk about law
You talk about fate
You talk about money
And finally hate
You're bringing me up
You're spinning me round
And I'm dancing now and you're shouting
at me from the crowd
You talk about wars
You talk to the stars
You cry with my soul
From a window with bars
You spirit me out you follow me home
You're walking on my shadow's head
I'm never alone
You martyr the good
Find food for the weak
You nourish the fool
With the wisdom you speak
You're haunting the man
Who shows no remorse
You're walking on my shadow's head
And changing my course
You talk about wars
You talk to the stars
You cry with my soul
From a window with bars
You spirit me out you follow me home
You're walking on my shadow's head
I'm never alone
You mock the sinner
Who's back of the street
Not convinced by his lies
You attack him in sleep
Then you punish the child
Years after the deed
You're walking on my shadow's head
So I never cheat
You talk about wars
You talk to the stars
You cry with my soul
From a window with bars
You spirit me out you follow me home
You're walking on my shadow's head
I'm never alone
You martyr the good
Find food for the weak
You nourish the fool
With the wisdom you speak
You're haunting the man
Who shows no remorse
You're walking on my shadow's head
And changing my course
I thought I could handle myself, but you
raised the alarm.
I was driven by ancient forces, and you
were always with me -
Breathing deeply, laughing freely, beating
evil.
And for ever I can hear and see you,
staring into the eyes of your endless faces
Never looking for escape, just a new shape
Still talking, still talking
Walking on my shadow's head
I will see you when we're all dead
Walking on my shadow's head.
Still talking
Walking on my shadow's head
poem by Pawan Kumar 'Meonlafesta'
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The Battle of Corunna
'Twas in the year of 1808, and in the autumn of the year,
Napoleon resolved to crush Spain and Portugal without fear;
So with a mighty army three hundred thousand strong
Through the passes of the Pyrenees into spain he passed along.
But Sir John Moore concentrated his troops in the north,
And into the west corner of Spain he boldly marched forth;
To cut off Napoleon's communications with France
He considered it to be advisable and his only chance.
And when Napoleon heard of Moore's coming, his march he did begin,
Declaring that he was the only General that could oppose him;
And in the month of December, when the hills were clad with snow,
Napoleon's army marched over the Guadiana Hills with their hearts full of woe.
And with fifty thousand cavalry, infantry, and artillery,
Napoleon marched on, facing obstacles most dismal to see;
And performed one of the most rapid marches recorded in history,
Leaving the command of his army to Generals Soult and Ney.
And on the 5th of January Soult made his attack,
But in a very short time the French were driven back;
With the Guards and the 50th Regiment and the 42d conjoint,
They were driven from the village of Elnina at the bayonet's point.
Oh! It was a most gorgeous and inspiring sight
To see Sir John Moore in the thickest of the fight,
And crying aloud to the 42d with all his might,
"Forward, my lads, and charge them with your bayonets left and right."
Then the 42d charged them with might and main,
And the French were repulsed again and again;
And although they poured into the British ranks a withering fire,
The British at the charge of the bayonet soon made them retire.
Oh! That battlefield was a fearful sight to behold,
'Twas enough to make one's blood run cold
To hear the crack, crack of the musketry and the cannon's roar,
Whilst the dead and the dying lay weltering in their gore.
But O Heaven! It was a heartrending sight,
When Sir John Moore was shot dead in the thickest of the fight;
And as the soldiers bore him from the field they looked woebegone,
And the hero's last words were "Let me see how the battle goes on."
Then he breathed his last with a gurgling sound,
And for the loss of the great hero the soldier's sorrow was profound,
Because he was always kind and served them well,
And as they thought of him tears down their cheeks trickling fell.
Oh! it was a weird and pathetic sight
As they buried him in the Citadel of Corunna at the dead of night,
While his staff and the men shed many tears
For the noble hero who had commanded them for many years.
Success to the British Army wherever they go,
For seldom they have failed to conquer the foe;
Long may the highlanders be able to make the foe reel,
By giving them an inch or two of cold steel.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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March of Memories
Left, right - left, right . . .
We march today for memories (the grizzled Digger said)
Memories of lost dreams and comrades gone ahead
Comrades bloody war took, dreams that men have slain
(Left, right - left, right . . .) Not ours to dream again.
There was Shorty Hall and Len Pratt, Long Joe and Blue,
Skeet and Brolga Houlihan, and Fat and me and you:
Bright lads, the old bunch; eager lads and keen
That first day we marched down thro' this familiar scene.
Dreams were ours, and high hopes went with us overseas.
(Left, right - left, right . . . ) And now 'tis memories.
We march again for memories (the grizzled Digger sighed)
Memories of lost mates, of foolish hopes that died.
First, Shorty got his issue on the beach at Sari Bair.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) The vision of him there
Brought the dawn of disillusion. I needed little more
To blood me to the butchery, the filthiness called war.
Shorty, like a limp rag, slung there anyhow,
Sprawling on the warm sand like I can see him now.
Always was a merry mate, a rare lad for fun.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) And Shorty, that was one.
We march today for memories; and they come crowding fast
As each year adds another page to the story of the past.
Pratt went west at Mena Base; raved of home and peace.
(Left, right - left, right . . . ) His was a kind release.
For a Lone Pine shell-burst got him; and he was less than man.
'Twas a sniper's bullet bore the name of Brolga Houlihan.
We called him Happy Houlihan, the man who took a chance.
Then the Reaper paused and plotted for the rest of them in France -
Except Long Joe, the luckless, a youth ill-shaped for war.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) And Long Joe was four.
We march today for memories. Little else had we
When we marched home as veterans. Blue and you and me.
For Skeet went with a night raid, and none came back alive.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) So Skeet, he tallied five.
Five gone and four to fight; us and Blue and Fat,
Who vowed he was too big to hit; but a whizz-bang settled that.
Yet Fat was lucky to the end - an end that held no pain.
All hell erupted where he stood; and none saw him again.
And Blue marched, and you marched, and I, a war-torn three.
(Left. right - left, right . . . ) Marched with memory.
We march again with memories (the grizzled Digger spake)
One year? Ten years? How soon shall we awake
To glorious reality? For lately it would seem -
(Left, right - left, right . . .) - we march within a dream.
Where Shorty is, and Blue is, and Happy Houlihan,
That seems the only real land, with rest for weary man.
For Blue went out three years ago; and cruel slow to kill
Was the war-god, the grim god who claims victims still.
But you and I, old Digger friend, will soon march with the rest.
(Left, right - left, right . . .) In the Army of the West!
Today we march with memories, and years dull the pain.
But God help the young 'uns, mate, if they must march again,
(Left, right - left, right . . .) For the young must ever dream.
But we march with memories, and ghosts go at our side -
Len Pratt and Long Joe, whom men say have died.
And you walk like a ghost, mate; you do not turn to hear.
Or is it - Did the boys say you passed last year?
Out of this tangled dreaming has your troubled spirit flown?
(Left, right - left, right . . .) And I march alone.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Charge Of The Mule Brigade
Half a mile, half a mile,
Half a mile onward,
Right through the Georgia troops
Broke the two hundred.
'Forward the Mule Brigade!
Charge for the Rebs,' they neighed.
Straight for the Georgia troops
Broke the two hundred.
'Forward the Mule Brigade!'
Was there a mule dismayed?
Not when their long ears felt
All their ropes sundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to make Rebs fly.
On! to the Georgia troops
Broke the two hundred.
Mules to the right of them,
Mules to the left of them,
Mules behind them
Pawed, neighed, and thundered.
Breaking their own confines
Breaking through Longstreet's lines
Into the Georgia troops
Stormed the two hundred.
Wild all their eyes did glare,
Whisked all their tails in air
Scattering the chivalry there,
While all the world wondered.
Not a mule back bestraddled,
Yet how they all skedaddled -
Fled every Georgian,
Unsabred, unsaddled,
Scattered and sundered!
How they were routed there
By the two hundred!
Mules to the right of them,
Mules to the left of them,
Mules behind them
Pawed, neighed, and thundered;
Followed by hoof and head
Full many a hero fled,
Fain in the last ditch dead,
Back from an ass's jaw
All that was left of them, -
Left by the two hundred.
When can their glory fade?
Oh, what a wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Mule Brigade,
Long-eared two hundred!
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Spirit Of America
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
The bonneville salt flats had seen some strange things
But the strangest thing yet was a jet without wings
Once as a jet it played in the stars
But now on the ground its the king of our cars
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
An airplane an auto now famous worldwide
The spirit of america, the name on the side
The man who would drive her craig breedlove by name
A daring young man played a dangerous game
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
With a j-47, a jet for his power
Craig breedlove had averaged four-o-seven per hour
Both man and machine had given fair warn
Theyd set a new record on that warm august morn.
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
Spirit of america
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Samurai Competition
The steel blade of the sword flashed in the bright sunshine.
Second Lieutenant Toshiaki Mukai clutched the handle in both hands.
He raised the weapon high towards the sky and took a deep breath.
And then, with a powerful strike,
He slashed the head of the young Chinese man kneeling before him.
He smiled.
Did Second Lieutenant Tsuyoshi Noda win or lose?
On route to Nanjing, the two officers
Of the Japanese Imperial Army were
Competing with each other for being the first
To behead 100 people.
The competition was not a war crime, they said,
But in the Samurai spirit of kiri sute gomen,
The ancient feudal era custom
That authorized the Samurai to execute by sword anyone
From the lower classes who compromised the warrior’s honor.
The Japanese media liked the idea of the beheading contest.
Newspapers celebrated it with enthusiastic reports.
They explained that cutting heads strengthened military character,
Increased patriotism and public support, as well as army moral.
The Tokyo Nichi-Nichi Shimbun covered the contest
Of cutting 100 heads with a series of articles.
“Incredible Record”, announced the newspaper
In its December 13,1937 headline:
“Mukai beheaded 106, Noda 105”.
The Tokyo paper also claimed that the two officers decided
To start another competition with the aim being 150 severed heads.
During the Fascist invasion of China and in World War II
Soldiers of the Japanese Imperial Army treated people
In the occupied territories as inferior lower classes and slaves.
Beheading by sword became a common war crime in the Asian theatre.
Yet Japanese officers saw it not only as an antidote to faintheartedness
But as a grand act of heroism.
By the end of the Second World War an estimated four million soldiers
And perhaps up to sixteen million civilians lost their lives in China.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Drumbeat Of War
The Drum Beat of War.
Smoke came from the mountain pass troops marched to the border,
general mobilizing declared, the old spoke of wars of yore the young
stopped slouching and looked around for the enemy. Ministers and
king wore uniform, laws were passed against a fifth columnists and
against anyone who had a different opinion than the norm; although
many were arrested no one was tried. War cry had brought order from
the chaos of democratic peace.
The jingoistic fever lasted all summer a good time for marching and
military parades, women wore flowers in their hair ready to kiss loved
ones goodbye. Fall rain, the north-westerly blew cold and war didn’t
happen, leaders congratulated themselves for winning the peace, and as
big snowflakes slowly fell so did our realisation that we open eyed had
marched into an open prison and could no longer travel anywhere, in
our country, without a passport.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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After the outbreak of war, in April 1940, we left Geneva with our three children aged 4 years, 2 years and 2 weeks only to become part of the disordered refugee crowds fleeing across France from the German army.
quote by James Meade
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Along The War Avenue Of honour
Along the war Avenue of Honour a plaque to a dead soldier nailed to every tree
Brave young men who died in battle their reward for their bravery
They died in the war said to end all wars in the killing fields of World war one
But many wars since and far too many bloody battles and peace in the World not yet won.
Wars started by silly ageing men who send the young for them to die
Ageing men who themselves will die of old age and their twilight years they will enjoy,
ageing males heroes of their people we honour cowards as heroes one might say
The young men will go to war for them and the young men with their young lives pay.
The war supposed to end all wars long over almost nine decades since have gone by
But many wars have been fought since then and war pilots dropp their big bombs from the night sky
But suppose that's what will always happen when we give all of our power away
To silly and ageing male war men who with hair dyes cover their gray.
Along the war avenue of honour long dead soldiers names on every tree
Young noble men who died in battle far from homeland and family
In what was to be the war to end all wars yet we don't have much wisdom to show
For the loss of so many fine young men well over eight decades ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Massacre in Nanjing
On a clear winter day you can see from Tokyo
The snow-capped volcanic cone of Mount Fuji.
Towering to a height of 3,776 meters on Honshu Island,
About 100 kilometers south-west from the capital,
The majestic mountain is a staunch symbol
Of the Land of the Rising Sun.
During the Sino-Japanese War of 1937-1945,
Hirohito's armies invaded China, carrying along
A fascist banner of samurai honor and pride.
The Japanese Imperial troops
Advanced with brutal force,
Committing dreadful atrocities
Against prisoners and civilians.
They reinterpreted bushido virtues and believed
That their war crimes elevated the splendor and glory
Of Mount Fuji to new heights.
Articles published in November and December 1937
In the Tokyo Nichi Nichi Shimbun reported the exploits
Of Japanese Imperial Army officers Toshiaki Mukai and
Tsuyoshi Noda, who on the road to Nanjing competed,
For being the first to behead 100 Chinese with a sword.
Okumiya Masatake, a Japanese officer,
Was a witness to the atrocities.
He was a principled aviator in the Imperial Navy,
Serving in Jiangsu.
He was shocked by the carnage he saw in China.
On December 12,1937,
He participated outside Nanjing
In the bombing and sinking
Of the American Gunboat USS Panay
In the Yangtze River.
A few days after the sinking of the Panay,
Okumiya rode a chauffeur-driven car,
Searching for the bodies of downed Japanese pilots.
It was then that he had witnessed
His Majesty's Imperial Troops
Perpetrating gruesome Massacres.
In the streets of Nanjing, Japanese soldiers
Were slaughtering indiscriminately
Chinese men and women, young and old.
On December 25 and 27 of 1937,
Okumiya photographed in the capital
Piles of innumerable bodies of Chinese people,
Lying unburied along the Yangtze River
And on the shores of Xuanwu Lake and Xuanwu Gate.
Once he came upon a terrible scene of executions.
About twenty soldiers of the Japanese Imperial Army
Forced a large group of Chinese to sit on the river bank.
The prisoners' hands were bound behind their backs.
The soldiers beheaded their victims by the sword.
One warrior after the other approached
A kneeling prisoner and drew his sword.
The soldier raised the weapon with both hands,
Its blade glittering in the bright daylight.
And then with a swift and savage sweep
He struck at the prisoner's neck.
The severed head rolled into the river.
When Okumiya asked why the troops execute
The prisoners by sword instead of shooting them,
An officer replied that killing by sword
Saved ammunition.
Okumiya was immersed in his homeland
In the violent culture of the sword.
He was well-aware of its pivotal role
In Japanese history.
Nevertheless, he was shocked by the executions.
The officer's explanation lingered on in his mind
With an unnerving persistence.
Although he was a disciplined naval officer,
Loyal and ready to die for the Emperor,
He still felt that what he witnessed compromised
The samurai way of the warrior, dishonored the spirit
And soul of the bushido.
The reign of terror in China began in 1937,
When the Fascist Imperial Army of Hirohito
Invaded the country.
After three months of brutal fighting,
The Battle of Shanghai ended in late November.
Then the Japanese army marched all the way to Nanjing,
The historical capital of Six Chinese Dynasties.
On December 10,1937, the Japanese mounted
A fierce assault on the walls of the city.
After two days of heavy artillery fire
And aerial bombardment
The Chinese army retreated from Nanjing.
Gunboats of the Japanese fleet were cruising
In the Yangtze River.
By nightfall, on December 13, the historical capital fell.
The Emperor's forces entered Nanjing
Through the ancient city gates.
The masses of defenseless civilians
Trapped in Nanjing
Became prey and pillage of Fascist bestiality.
Brutal crimes of looting, arson, rape and murder
Were perpetrated everywhere.
Soldiers of the Japanese Imperial Army
Roamed savagely the streets.
They entered every household,
Searching door to door for females.
And it did not matter
If they were young or old or pregnant.
The troops gang raped thousands of women,
Stabbed them to death with their bayonets
And then mutilated their bodies.
Entire families had been murdered in cold blood.
Men were shot through the head or the heart.
And the soldiers killed even the babies.
They also used young men for bayonet training
Stabbing the screaming victims repeatedly,
Or beheading them by their swords.
Historians estimate that in the horrible war crimes
Committed at Nanjing
The Japanese army slaughtered
Between 200,000 and 300,000 people.
The soldiers raped tens of thousands of women.
Yet in this tragic epoch of Chinese history
There were still beacons of light that shone through
The long and cruel nights of barbarism.
Confronting the bloody maelstrom of atrocities
A few courageous foreigners in Nanjing
Risked their lives and came to the rescue.
These righteous Europeans and Americans
Helped many people to escape.
They hid and protected
Thousands of Chinese men, women and children
From the massacres.
One of the rescuers was
Bernhard Arp Sindberg of Denmark.
When the war broke out Sindberg worked as a driver
For the British journalist Pembroke Stephens.
One day in Shanghai,
They climbed a water tower to observe the fighting
And Stephens was killed by a machine gun salvo
Fired from a Japanese airplane.
Shortly before the occupation of Nanjing,
Sindberg moved to the capital.
Here he was employed as a guard
At a concrete factory in the city,
Owned by a Danish firm.
During the massacres he flew the swastika flag
To protect approximately 6,000 Chinese refugees
Camping on the factory lot.
Another foreigner
Who saved thousands upon thousands
From Japanese brutality
Was the German businessman, John Rabe.
Employed by the Siemens AG China Corporation,
He helped to establish the International Safety Zone
Of Nanjing.
The Safety Zone had sheltered
Approximately 200,000 Chinese men, women
And children from the massacres.
Ironically, Rabe was a member of the Nazi Party.
However, he was a conservative man fostering
Traditional values and he had a compassionate heart.
Displaying the swastika at his house
And presenting his National Socialist documents,
Rabe negotiated, argued and protested
With the Japanese military in order to keep
Hirohito's troops out of the Safety Zone.
He even wrote Hitler a letter
Requesting him to interfere
With the Japanese authorities
To stop the bestial bloodbath.
The Fuehrer did not reply.
When Rabe returned to Germany,
The Nazis forbade him
To lecture about the Japanese war crimes.
Another angel during the dreadful days
Of the Rape of Nanjing was Minnie Vautrin,
An American missionary and Dean of Jingling College.
She harbored and protected up to 10,000 women
At the school.
She kept a diary in which she had recorded
The horrors of Nanjing.
Once, late on a winter evening,
She saw an army truck in the street,
Carrying a group of young Chinese girls.
As the truck passed by, the girls called out:
'Jiu ming, jiu ming', 'save our lives, save our lives'.
A Buddhist monk once told me
That rivers and mountains have their own soul.
Nature is alive.
And so, in this terrible time of history,
Those who had listened carefully enough, could hear
The mountains and the rivers of the earth sigh.
And then in the glorious Land of the Rising Sun
The snow-capped peak of sublime Mount Fuji
Hid its head in the clouds, ashamed.
poem by Paul Hartal
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The Three Kings [1]
The East is dead and the West is done, and again our course lies thus
South-east by Fate and the Rising Sun where the Three Kings wait for us.
When our hearts are young and the world is wide, and the heights seem grand to climb—
We are off and away to the Sydney-side; but the Three Kings bide their time.
‘I’ve been to the West,’ the digger said: he was bearded, bronzed and old;
Ah, the smothering curse of the East is wool, and the curse of the West is gold.
I went to the West in the golden boom, with Hope and a life-long mate,
‘They sleep in the sand by the Boulder Soak, and long may the Three Kings wait.’
‘I’ve had my fling on the Sydney-side,’ said a blacksheep to the sea,
Let the young fool learn when he can’t be taught: I’ve learnt what’s good for me.’
And he gazed ahead on the sea-line dim—grown dim in his softened eyes—
With a pain in his heart that was good for him—as he saw the Three Kings rise.
A pale girl sits on the foc’sle head—she is back, Three Kings! so soon;
But it seems to her like a life-time dead since she fled with him ‘saloon.’
There is refuge still in the old folks’ arms for the child that loved too well;
They will hide her shame on the Southern farm—and the Three Kings will not tell.
’Twas a restless heart on the tide of life, and a false star in the skies
That led me on to the deadly strife where the Southern London lies;
But I dream in peace of a home for me, by a glorious southern sound,
As the sunset fades from a moonlit sea, and the Three Kings show us round.
Our hearts are young and the old hearts old, and life, on the farms is slow,
And away in the world there is fame and gold—and the Three Kings watch us go.
Our heads seem wise and the world seems wide, and its heights are ours to climb,
So it’s off and away in our youthful pride—but the Three Kings bide our time.
poem by Henry Lawson
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What a big joke
What a big joke
the new defence force has become,
where three thousand soldiers
strike and run riot
and it’s people
who chooses to be soldiers.
If Jan Smuts ruled
they would have been dead
as he let them
load a gun
for Jopie Fourie
and to me it’s nothing less
than revolt
for which people in the past
could pay the ultimate penalty.
I almost laughed myself apart
when medical troops
where brought to justice
for whoring
and I wondered
what was now happening
at the once great 1 Mil?
What kind of army has no discipline
and in what defence force
troops and junior officers
tell generals
how to do their thing
and the President
is challenged
to take instructions?
In my time you where bound by law
to go without any choice
to the defence force
and if you did not go there,
the military police
quickly came to fetch you
at home.
In my defence force
nonsense was taken out of you
from the start
and the authority of higher ranks was supreme
and we exercised with a pole and tyre
and received
the best training there.
.
For two years we
had to do national service
against a pauper’s pay
and it felt at a time
as if the camps
would never end.
a Soldier pointed his finger
at a lieutenant
and received thirty days
in the detention barracks
for it.
It was a defence force
that showed its fist
to Swapo, Fapla,
the Cubans and Russians
and the best soldiers
knew their duty.
Against what foe
will this new army be able to stand
if there’s no discipline
and like in a asylum people run amok
and I wonder
what omen
is hitting the new South Africa
where patriotism
lies at the backdoor
and every soldier thinks
that he’s a general
and like all things
in this once great country,
this army is more than pathetic
against what it once was.
[Reference: 1 Mil=> One milatary hospital.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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West End Girls
(....forever)
Sometimes youre better off dead
Theres gun in your hand and its pointing at your head
You think youre mad, too unstable
Kicking in chairs and knocking down tables
In a restaurant in a west end town
Call the police, theres a madman around
Running down underground to a dive bar
In a west end town
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
Too many shadows, whispering voices
Faces on posters, too many choices
If, when, why, what?
How much have you got?
Have you got it, do you get it, if so, how often?
And which do you choose, a hard or soft option?
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how much do you need? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
Oooh west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
Youve got a heart of glass or a heart of stone
Just you wait till I get you home
Weve got no future, weve got no past
Here today, built to last
In every city, in every nation
From lake geneva to the finland station
(how far have you been? )
In a west end town, a dead end world
The east end boys and west end girls
A west end town, a dead end world
East end boys, west end girls
West end girls
West end girls
West end girls
(how far have you been? )
Girls
East end boys
And west end girls
And west end girls
And west end girls
East end boys
The west end girls
The west end boys
And west end girls
The west end girls
The west end boys
The west end girls
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My confidence in General Grant was not entirely due to the brilliant military successes achieved by him, but there was a moral as well as military basis for my faith in him. He had shown his single-mindedness and superiority to popular prejudice by his prompt cooperation with President Lincoln in his policy of employing colored troops, and his order commanding his soldiers to treat such troops with due respect. In this way he proved himself to be not only a wise general, but a great man.
quote by Frederick Douglass
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Too Far From Auntie's Gaze
Auntie said
don't go
too far away
with the mutt
I need to know
where you are
and so you
and the mutt
went down
the metal stairway
and off
into the barrack grounds
at Aldershot
keeping close
to the places
that your aunt
could see you from
and you could hear
soldiers marching
on the parade ground
and the sergeants
bellowing their orders
to the marching troops
and you sensed
the cold air
and frost
on the ground
as you walked
and the mutt sniffed
the earth
and you said
come on mutt
let's go for a run
and off you went
and the mutt followed
and overtook you
its tail wagging
its eyes large
and brown
like pools of chocolate
and lucid like mud
and you raced him
as far as you could
then you had to stop
for breath
and the mutt
stopped too
and looked back at you
its tongue hanging
from the corner
of its mouth
and you looked over
to where your aunt lived
and realised
she wouldn't
be able to see you
from where you were
and the dog didn't care
and the air
was chilling
your lungs
and your tongue hung
in the corner
of your little boy mouth
and the soldiers marched
and marched
and you stood watching
bent over
with your hands
on your knees
and big black birds
called out from the trees.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wounded Knee Creek
Crazy Horse, War Chief of the Sioux Indians of the North American plains, was murdered by white soldiers on September 5th,1877. He was 35.
Soldiers from Fort Robinson came smiling
Pretending friendship to Crazy Horse
Offering the Sioux a lasting peace treaty
But only if the War Chief returned with them.
Trusting lies of those who never honoured any treaty
Crazy Horse rode unarmed into the fort
They barred the gates and held him by the arms
While private William Gentles bayoneted him twice.
Parents of Crazy Horse came to the fort
Took away the body of their warrior son
Secretly buried his majestic heart
At a place called Wounded Knee Creek.
American history records the Indian nations were finally defeated by white soldiers at a place called Wounded Knee Creek on December 29,1890. But it was a massacre. The Indians had surrendered. They were unarmed prisoners when the soldiers opened fire.300 men, women and children were killed.4 men, and 47 women and children survived.
poem by Colin Ian Jeffery
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Many Blood-Lakes
We have now won two world-wars, neither of which concerned us, we were
slipped in. We have levelled the powers
Of Europe, that were the powers of the world, into rubble and
dependence. We have won two wars and a third is comming.
This one--will not be so easy. We were at ease while the powers of the
world were split into factions: we've changed that.
We have enjoyed fine dreams; we have dreamed of unifying the world; we
are unifying it--against us.
Two wars, and they breed a third. Now gaurd the beaches, watch the
north, trust not the dawns. Probe every cloud.
Build power. Fortress America may yet for a long time stand, between the
east and the west, like Byzantium.
--As for me: laugh at me. I agree with you. It is a foolish business to
see the future and screech at it.
One should watch and not speak. And patriotism has run the world through
so many blood-lakes: and we always fall in.
poem by Robinson Jeffers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bloody Disgrace
During two horrific world wars
thousands of young men died,
defending freedom and democracy?
That's what they were told as they
marched off to a certain death.
But it was a calculated lie!
A hundred years on the freedom
they gave their lives for,
is a freedom for the rich and powerful
to manipulate the weak and poor with impunity.
Under the high flying flag of democracy.
poem by Jerry Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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