Only Mules
'The submarine was quite within its rights in sinking the cargo of the Armenian,—1,422 mules valued at $191,400.'
No matter; we are only mules
And slow to understand
We drown according to the rules
Of war, we contraband
War reckons us as shot and shell,
As so much metal lost.
And mourns the dollars gone to swell
The monstrous bill of cost.
Would that we had been wrought of steel
And not of quivering flesh!
Of iron, not of nerves that feel,
And maddened limbs that thresh
The sucking seas in stubborn strife
For that dim right of ours
To what no factory fashions, life,
No Edison endowers.
Our last wild screams are choked; you know
It does not matter, for
We're only mules that suffered so,
And contraband of war.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sonnet: On The Evolution Of A Language
Nothing we do now like in yester-year's;
Nothing those days looked like we do today;
Just like a motor has its many gears,
In many ways, we try to write and say.
Convention shouldn't encroach on convenience;
By traditions, rules are for readers’ sake;
Nevertheless, one can't show lenience;
There is a way to cook; a way to bake.
But things do change for good or worse with time;
The fashions of the day dictate the rules;
But they must suit the changes in the clime;
Yet, mules aren't horses; Neither Horses mules!
What we accept today, the morrow won’t;
The old returns whether we like or don't.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Election set a trend
Despite dismal performances,
The mule has been reelected
By the mixed population
Of horses and mules in the stable.
The whole mules voted for the mule.
The opponent horse lost the race.
The horses divided themselves
And voted on ideology.
The victory of the mule is
Due more to the racial backing
Than to the performance reckoning,
An ugly trend set for the first time.
08.11.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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With a Beat and Lots of Rhythm
They will not support themselves,
Or the local performing artists...
With words of encouragement,
That nourishes with motivation.
But they will pay thousands of dollars,
To import the entertainment done,
By those picking fleas off mules...
While taped gospel music plays,
In the background!
With a beat and lots of rhythm!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Tell It
Tell it horns,
Tell it drums
When they worth less than mules
Bareback on plantations
In the blazing sun.
Tell it whips,
Tell it spits
How flesh burns
How it bleeds.
Tell it seas,
Tell it ships
Lost of the mother-tongue,
Muted songs from the mother-land,
The packing,
The hunger,
The liturgy of death;
The stench;
Tell it.
Tell it earth,
Tell it skies
Of freedom stolen,
Of dignities crowned with scorn.
Tell it abeng,
Tell it spirits
Bodies left for vultures;
An heritage splintered.
Tell it dungeons,
Tell it flies
A sordid history
Of a human race.
Tell it.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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If we are both masters, then who shall lead the mules?
Mules help to scratch each other. [The bad commend each other.]
Mules are always boasting that their ancestors were horses.
He who is a Basque, a good Christian and has two mules, needs nothing more.
The man who chases mules and believes women will never get to Heaven.
In Tennessee where I grew up, there were animals, farms, wagons, mules.
quote by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mules make a great fuss about their ancestors having been horses.
Mules make a great fuss about their ancestors having been donkeys.
Horses from Ragusa, mules from Spaccaforno, and jackasses from Modica .
Horses should be bays, jackasses should be greys, and mules should be blackish.