For Valour
Hail to you, comrades, who have won,
Where the torn lines of battle run
By tattered town and ruined mead,
The honour that men give with pride
To those who, daffing death aside,
Have done the valorous deed.
And has the war, then, brought to birth,
As flowers that spring from western earth
At summons of the pelting rain,
The courage that can force its way,
And hold the shadowing wings at bay,
And smile at lingering pain?
And is it true that only now
Life lifts from her heroic brow
The smothering shroud of deadly peace,
And laughs to sniff the morning air,
And bids a thousand bonfires flare
The news of her release?
Hell’s throat may swallow down its lie,
For men knew how to live and die
And take the gifts of motley fate,
Before the fiends of fear and greed,
Clasping, engendered from their seed
The hissing brood of hate.
Are they not sightless fools who crave
The sombre splendours of the grave
To prove that man is more than dust;
Who dabble fingers in the side
Of him who lives because he died,
Believing, when they must?
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Related quotes
Tattered & Torn
Tattered and torn
Tattered and torn
Thats where my soul is worn
Tattered and torn
Thats when I was born
Tattered and torn
I broke away from me
Tattered and torn
I knocked me to my knees
Tattered and torn
I drink my own cells
Tattered and torn
A decomposing well
Tattered and torn
Roaches in my head
Tattered and torn
I become the living dead
Tattered and torn
Tearing myself apart from the
Things that make me hurt
song performed by by Slipknot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tattered and Torn
Tattered and Torn
That's where my soul is worn
Tattered and Torn
That's when I was born
Tattered and Torn
I broke away from me
Tattered and Torn
I knocked me to my knees
Tattered and Torn
I drink my own cells
Tattered and Torn
A decomposing well
Tattered and Torn
Roaches in my head
Tattered and Torn
I become the living dead
Tattered and Torn
Tearing myself apart from the
things that make me hurt
song performed by by Slipknot from Slipknot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Torn And Tattered Heart
my heart is torn and tattered
it seems like nothing else matters
i gave my heart, soul, and mind
and thought it would last for a long time.
you find someone which you grow to love and
it gets deeper and higher than the stars above.
you feel that this love will forever last
but it becomes part of the past.
when you see this person change their points of view
but! not to satisfy you.
just to satisfy their blown egos and their conceit
and your love they could never meet.
and now your heart is a divided road with
nowheres to go.
you pick up the pieces of your torn heart
and look for another place to start.
this torn and tattered heart knows it must
pick itself up again-and start the search all anew
in hopes that it'll find someone better than you.
someone who will appreciate all the love
that you have to give.
for in the long run they will win.
they'll win a heart which has gotten strong
and with you it will belong.
this is my heart which i give to you- which will
no longer be sad or blue.
poem by Louis Rams
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The Color Sergeant
(On an Incident at the Battle of San Juan Hill)
Under a burning tropic sun,
With comrades around him lying,
A trooper of the sable Tenth
Lay wounded, bleeding, dying.
First in the charge up the fort-crowned hill,
His company's guidon bearing,
He had rushed where the leaden hail fell fast,
Not death nor danger fearing.
He fell in the front where the fight grew fierce,
Still faithful in life's last labor;
Black though his skin, yet his heart as true
As the steel of his blood-stained saber
.
And while the battle around him rolled,
Like the roar of a sullen breaker,
He closed his eyes on the bloody scene,
And presented arms to his Maker.
There he lay, without honor or rank,
But, still, in a grim-like beauty;
Despised of men for his humble race,
Yet true, in death, to his duty.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Futurity
The show is on.
Sedition will play with death now.
Deceitful black knives, white gloves.
No hope, battle lines are drawn.
The wasps are whirring at a furious speed
stings ready to inject venom.
Bronzed body,
huge turbaned skull.
Eyes looking beyond you,
hauls you through slumber
of ages. The autopsy extracts out a bullet
fired at close range, poured into chest.
Death had a party.
Frilled guns,
yellow metal
are ready to kill.
Extended pain of centuries haunts the future.
Give me the tearful farewell
for another ruined journey.
We will bury the present, forget the past.
poem by Satish Verma
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Torn Butterfly
Torn butterfly torn butterfly
Seeing you there it makes me cry
Torn butterfly your wings they tore
From the weight that they bore
Torn butterfly it's plain to see
That you are just the same as me
Torn butterfly the world is tough
Hard as stones and just as rough
Torn butterfly I know your pain
And I don't want to know it again
Torn butterfly come join me now
And we'll regain our wings somehow
Torn butterfly it's sad but true
In death our wings become brand new
Torn butterfly just fade away
And we will fly this very day
Torn butterfly this note I send
And hope that you will cause your end
So we can fly in clear blue skies
Where no one hurts and no one cries
Torn butterfly with my last breath
I ask you to come join me in death
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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March On Comrades, March On
Yonder in the East, our comrades are shouting,
Yonder in the East, our comrades are fighting,
Yonder in the East, our fate they are carving,
March on comrades, march on.
From the East, slogan is echoing,
Scrap automation, allow us due living,
It is bare minimum, is it much asking?
March on comrades, march on.
Make haste comrades, lest we be late,
The fight may be over and seal our fate,
Spurn the enemy with due hate,
March on comrades, march on.
The posterity will curse us if we linger,
Firmly in unison let us march thither,
Smother all those who our progress hinder,
March on comrades, march on.
Let us herald The New Era in,
Whence no one shall trade in empty sermons,
When khadi capped traders shall be banished,
When doing and not talking shall be the criterion,
March on comrades, march on.
What if we perish in the process,
We shall have lived with a purpose,
We shall have met an honoured death,
Our goal so humble, our cause is just;
March on comrades, march on.
Chinaski's Smiling
I reach
for the
tattered book
off of my toilet
tank, and
think...,
'Wouldn't
Bukowski
be proud'
Blurred,
sunken eyes
and rotted,
coffee-stained
teeth
'Wouldn't
Bukowski
be proud'
Crapping,
with the
Stench
of death
surrounding me
'Wouldn't
Bukowski
be proud'
Another hard-fought
battle with the bottle
And still: I'm
sucking in air....
'In with the good-
out with the bad'
Bukowski's dead.
Soon, I'll be dead.
Death
doesn't
have
pride
Ask Elvis.
Ask Chinaski
Tattered Remnants of your broken pride
Tattered remnants of your broken pride
Tattered remnants laying everywhere
Tattered remnants of your broken pride
Now you lay disgraced, no honor, and no pride so bare
Ill bury you in your own shame
Like it’s some kind of fuckin game
Yah beat you down and shove the disgrace
All in your pathetic mother fucking face
Take your pride and smash it to pieces
Stomp on your life until it ceases
Shame you to the point of tears
Make you weep in front of your peers
You challenged my honor and now you must learn
You fuckin play with fire and it’s gonna burn
A threat against my pride
This dare shall not be denied
You’ve chosen to challenge me in physical warfare
Ill leave you for dead without a god damned care
I will not stand for this degradation
Seeing you beaten on the ground; such elation
Bloody and shamed
Bruised and tamed
Now walk away, no crawl away
Ill let you live to fight another day
poem by Spooky Mind
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Alone And Torn
Stuck in a corner, or so it feels
Struck into dark, my light conceals
Snuck on past, past the repeals
Tuck my mind, depressing ideals
Searching for the will, alone, torn,
I depart inward, alone, torn
My greater jihad, ignorance would be bliss
Nigh is temptation, cast into a sinful abyss
Why is the question, one to reminisce
Cry out for help, somethings terribly amiss
Yearning for the will, alone, torn,
I emaciate away, alone, torn
Dazed by the truth, longing to repent
Fazed by my failure, inwardly I lament
Phased must be this battle, a battle of torment
Amazed if I succeed, I can't circumvent
Corroding without the will, alone, torn
I asphyxiate my soul, alone, torn
poem by Izik Alcox
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Above the Battle
Honor and pity for the smitten field,
The valorous ranks mown down like precious corn,
Whose want must famish love morn after morn,
Till Death, the good physician, shall have healed
The craving and the tearspent eyelids sealed.
Proud be the homes that for each cannon-torn,
Encrimsoned rampart have been left forlorn;
Holy the knells o'er fallen patriots pealed.
But they, above the battle, throng a space
Of starry silences and silver rest.
Commingled ghosts, they press like brothers through
White, dove-winged portals, where one Father's face
Atones their passion, as the ethereal blue
Serenes the fiery glows of east and west.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Having two bathrooms ruined the capacity to co-operate.
quote by Margaret Mead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The King Of England
In that eclipse of noon when joy was hushed
Like the bird's song beneath unnatural night,
And Terror's footfall in the darkness crushed
The rose imperial of our delight,
Then, even then, though no man cried 'He comes,'
And no man turned to greet him passing there,
With phantom heralds challenging renown
And silent-throbbing drums
I saw the King of England, hale and fair,
Ride out with a great train through London town.
Unarmed he rode, but in his ruddy shield
The lions bore the dint of many a lance,
And up and down his mantle's azure field
Were strewn the lilies plucked in famous France.
Before him went with banner floating wide
The yeoman breed that served his honour best,
And mixed with these his knights of noble blood;
But in the place of pride
His admirals in billowy lines abreast
Convoyed him close like galleons on the flood.
Full of a strength unbroken showed his face
And his brow calm with youth's unclouded dawn,
But round his lips were lines of tenderer grace
Such as no hand but Time's hath ever drawn.
Surely he knew his glory had no part
In dull decay, nor unto Death must bend,
Yet surely too of lengthening shadows dreamed
With sunset in his heart,
So brief his beauty now, so near the end,
And now so old and so immortal seemed.
O King among the living, these shall hail
Sons of thy dust that shall inherit thee:
O King of men that die, though we must fail
Thy life is breathed from thy triumphant sea.
O man that servest men by right of birth,
Our hearts' content thy heart shall also keep,
Thou too with us shalt one day lay thee down
In our dear native earth,
Full sure the King of England, while we sleep,
For ever rides abroad, through London town.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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The Cross Africa Bears
The mysterious blackness scares;
It's the organic rhythm
Undecipherable by the Klan
Or souls from the bongo drums
That fracture bones of injustice
While stamping feet give us hope.
So we stamp,
We spin,
Raise our feet,
And dip in suns;
It's the cross of Africa we bear.
Hail! hail! hail!
Ancestors rise;
Hail! hail!
Tell us of blistered years,
How you overcame the shame,
How you survived the scorns;
Hail!
poem by Buxton Shippy
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The last hope
Equality brutalized insanely,
Humanity is at the edge of disparity,
Unsung battle at the verge,
As if decoying mist in heed of clarity,
Comatose failures died insane,
Synchronizing colossal tears in smile,
Still a hope revives from death
deeming a lame to be agile.
Humanely existence bleeds treachery
Dissecting emotion in name of parity,
I am weary of this combat
Thy soul, free me from self inveracity.
A master slash harmony,
Skirmishing against irrational style,
Lost in aiding disgrace,
Yet practicing it to gain the pride
Tantalizing death annoying life,
Misunderstood phoenix as craven,
Yet standing tall with pride,
As if renewed hell into heaven
Who will revive the phoenix,
The battle of battle is on,
Death has quenched life,
The only beam is also gone.
poem by Diwakar Pokhriyal
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Italia
ITALIA! thou art fallen, though with sheen
Of battle-spears thy clamorous armies stride
From the north Alps to the Sicilian tide!
Ay! fallen, though the nations hail thee Queen
Because rich gold in every town is seen,
And on thy sapphire lake in tossing pride
Of wind-filled vans thy myriad galleys ride
Beneath one flag of red and white and green.
O Fair and Strong! O Strong and Fair in vain!
Look southward where Rome's desecrated town
Lies mourning for her God-anointed King!
Look heaven-ward! shall God allow this thing?
Nay! but some flame-girt Raphael shall come down,
And smite the Spoiler with the sword of pain.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Tear Tram Lines
This town has lost its sparkle,
The stars have lost their shine,
This town’s too full of echoes,
And my face too full of lines.
The shore has lost its tide,
The waves have lost their rhyme,
This town’s too full of tears,
And my smile too full of lines.
The clock has stopped it’s ticking
My feet dance out of time,
This town’s too full of yesterdays,
And my frown too full of lines
The cinema’s showing it’s last reel,
The pubs have all called time,
This towns too full of actors
And my script too full of unread lines….
Company K
There is a cap in the closet,
Old, tattered, and blue-
Of very slight value,
It may be, to you:
But a crown, jewel studded,
Could not buy it to-day,
With its letters of honor,
Brave 'Co. K.'
The head that it sheltered
Needs shelter no more:
Dead heroes make holy
The trifles they wore;
So, like chaplet of honor,
Of laurel and bay,
Seems the cap of the soldier,
Marked 'Co. K.'
Bright eyes have looked calmly
Its visor beneath,
O'er the work of the Reaper,
Grim Harvester Death!
Let the muster roll meagre,
So mournfully say,
How foremost in danger
Went 'Co. K.'
Whose footsteps unbroken
Came up to the town,
Where rampart and bastion
Looked threat'ningly down!
Who, closing up breaches,
Still kept on their way,
Till, guns downward pointed,
Faced 'Co. K.'
Who faltered or shivered?
Who shunned battle stroke?
Whose fire was uncertain?
Whose battle line broke?
Go, ask it of History,
Years from to-day,
And the record shall tell you,
Not 'Co. K.'
Though my darling is sleeping
To-day with the dead,
And daisies and clover
Bloom over his head,
I smile through my tears
As I lay it away-
That battle-worn cap,
Lettered 'Co. K.'
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Enough Of War
Enough of war from war there is no gain
Only injuries, bloodshed and death and pain
What we need is love and peace and harmony
Enough of war and it's tragic history,
Enough of war for god and territory
And yet in the twenty first century
People are dying in war zones every day
For war in death and in suffering we pay,
Enough of war 'tis still seen worth a brag
To take up arms to honour your Nation's flag
Old long gone battles with pride we recall
We have not learned from the past at all
Far too much of war and of war men we do know
'Tis time that we did give peace a fair go.
poem by Francis Duggan
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