One Bastion
One bastion so burdening and cruel is like a nocturnal visit,
Its light inside enlightens us more than anything else;
Fulfilment has come about, for the internal light has spoken,
Traversing the air with sound as well - an explosion is heard!
One hears of such events, a bastion is burnt forming new life,
Then a new life has replaced the old life, and the old ones
Count as blessings, too much vitality is with them.
Vital signs showed us the way to safety, this is a volcano
Beginning to erupt, as the lava has flowed within us.
One only is allowed, the others are just not existent,
Force is the direction we become, forceful means is needed.
To conquer this good noise one forsakes the bastion,
And then the bastion surrenders to the crime,
For we shall fight on with our bastion, once enlightened.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Sam's Christmas Pudding
It was Christmas Day in the trenches
In Spain in Penninsular War,
And Sam Small were cleaning his musket
A thing as he'd ne're done before.
They'd had 'em inspected that morning
And Sam had got into disgrace,
For when sergeant had looked down the barrel
A sparrow flew out in his face.
The sergeant reported the matter
To Lieutenant Bird then and there.
Said Lieutenant 'How very disgusting'
The Duke must be told of this 'ere.'
The Duke were upset when he heard
He said, 'I'm astonished, I am.
I must make a most drastic example
There'll be no Christmas pudding for Sam.'
When Sam were informed of his sentence
Surprise, rooted him to the spot.
'Twas much worse than he had expected,
He though as he'd only be shot.
And so he sat cleaning his musket
And polishing barrel and butt.
While the pudding his mother had sent him,
Lay there in the mud at his foot.
Now the centre that Sam's lot were holding
Ran around a place called Badajoz.
Where the Spaniards had put up a bastion
And ooh...! what a bastion it was.
They pounded away all the morning
With canister, grape shot and ball.
But the face of the bastion defied them,
They made no impression at all.
They started again after dinner
Bombarding as hard as they could.
And the Duke brought his own private cannon
But that weren't a ha'pence o' good.
The Duke said, 'Sam, put down thy musket
And help me lay this gun true.'
Sam answered, 'You'd best ask your favours
From them as you give pudding to.'
The Duke looked at Sam so reproachful
'And don't take it that way,' said he.
'Us Generals have got to be ruthless
It hurts me more than it did thee.'
Sam sniffed at these words kind of sceptic,
Then looked down the Duke's private gun.
And said 'We'd best put in two charges,
We'll never bust bastion with one.'
He tipped cannon ball out of muzzle
He took out the wadding and all.
He filled barrel chock full of powder,
Then picked up and replaced the ball.
He took a good aim at the bastion
Then said 'Right-o, Duke, let her fly.'
The cannon nigh jumped off her trunnions,
And up went the bastion, sky high.
The Duke, he weren't 'alf elated
He danced around trench full of glee.
And said, 'Sam, for this gallant action.
You can hot up your pudding for tea.'
Sam looked 'round to pick up his pudding
But it wasn't there, nowhere about.
In the place where he thought he had left it,
Lay the cannon ball he'd just tipped out.
Sam saw in a flash what 'ad happened:
By an unprecedented mishap.
The pudding his mother had sent him,
Had blown Badajoz off map.
That's why fuisilliers wear to this moment
A badge which they think's a grenade.
But they're wrong... it's a brass reproduction,
Of the pudding Sam's mother once made.
poem by Marriott Edgar
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That's what the Senate is about. It's the last bastion of minority rights, where a minority can be heard, where a minority can stand on its feet, one individual if necessary, and speak until he falls into the dust.
quote by Robert Byrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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National boundaries are not evident when we view the Earth from space. Fanatical ethnic or religious or national chauvinisms are a little difficult to maintain when we see our planet as a fragile blue crescent fading to become an inconspicuous point of light against the bastion and citadel of the stars.
Carl Sagan in Cosmos
Submitted by Catalin Popescu
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Beloved Friend
(To she who always encourages, appreciates and praises my writings)
Beloved friend…
I most humbly offer;
The acuteness of my mind
The openness of my heart
The bastion of my soul
The vastness of my spirit
Now and evermore
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Chemical Warfare
Tragic minds are terrified
Life as if a grave
Silent death marks high and full
The wings of revelation
Haunting death from chemicals
Errant is as one
Annihilation must be swift
The soil with our destruction
Counts on the throne must be watching from Hell
Waiting no bastion of side
Soldiers defeated by death with the spell
Bodies lie dormant
song performed by by Slayer from Haunting The Chapel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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AMERICA a shared Destiny
born with legacy, somewhere beyond
imagination, reality fulfill its
destiny where great and brave men
bastion the world with a leadership
that breeds the righteousness of
existence
conquer yet never been defeated, a
Daffodils in the land of the conqueror,
blooming and dazzling with jewels
topping the crystal springs of the
star
all eyes glimpse the beauty, the
owe of wonder of the world, the glory
that zoom the vision of men where the
answer leads the aspiration of a
genuine peace
long live America you're the soul of
Democracy that spark in the day and
night of our daily lives, the shared
lighthouse of this destiny we dream
off and the fulfillment of what
life brings
AMERICA a nation that we adore forever
poem by Antonio Liao
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Song from Heine
MY heart, my heart is heavy,
Though merrily blooms the May;
Out on the ancient bastion,
Under the lindens I stay.
There stands by yon gray old tower,
The sentry-house of the town;
A red clad peasant soldier
Goes pacing up and down.
He toys with his shining musket,
That gleams in the sunset red,
Presenting and shouldering arms now,—
I wish he would shoot me dead!
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Safe Harbor
When fear fills my being
When I cannot go on
When disquiet I'm fleeing
"Darkest before dawn"
Beloved;
Thy heart is my bastion
Where I feel safe n' warm
Thou art safe harbor
Protected from storm
Move swiftly beloved;
Come be by my side
Open thy arms
Take me inside
Save me once more
Sweet one, I adore
ROTMS
View ROTMS writings, images and video at;
rotms.blogspot.com
poem by Ray Lucero
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The Demon Within
When I was eleven years of age
my mother whispered in my ear
that everyman has a demon inside
and it lives within men’s fear.
When he struggles to get his way,
the demon will show a mood.
Find fault with all manner of things,
and become extremely rude.
And when it’s feeling sorry for itself,
it will say as it raises its ugly head,
“No one thinks or cares about me, ”
and throws a tantrum, and goes to bed.
After having a long stressful day at work,
the inner demon is straining at the leash.
Its temper is fermenting and ready to explode
at anyone within easy reach.
When a man is in a quiet subdued mood,
and something weighs upon his mind.
The demon is stirring up another volcano,
and an eruption is only a matter of time.
If a man is losing his way in an argument,
it will prompt them to raise his voice.
At the very least this will overpower everyone,
of course it’s a last bastion of intercourse.
When you grow up my son and become a man
remember your hidden demon.
For everyone’s sake keep it locked away
and don’t release it for any reason.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Media’s Slant
On the American Bastion of Conspiracy, daily in America watch and see,
News broadcasted day and night, portrayed to make wrongs seem right,
The Editor takes footage and skews, their final piece, they call the News,
Taking what is viewed and said, editing that piece to their needs instead.
My dear friend, it’s easy as “A B C”, to notice who leads this conspiracy,
Friend, it’s somewhat hard to deny, that they feed daily, the public’s eye,
For their sound bites lead the way, for this nation’s liberal agenda today,
While conservatives see that exit door, liberal ways abound all the more.
Many watching don’t see the stage, being set for the final end time sage,
Who will lead all to the final mark, in a future that will be darker than dark,
Being forged by the Media’s elite, to bring conservatives down to defeat,
Perpetuating the left, liberal cause, as the nation’s moral foundation falls.
They will continue to skew all their news, until they reap their eternal dues,
Falling directly in line with Satan’s plan, up until they see The Son of Man,
Trying to explain the Rapture away, before they shall face Judgment Day,
When the focus of their news will be, on a world leader they’ve yet to see.
They’re moving to a figurehead, mortally wounded will rise from the dead,
And though they dismiss Jesus Christ, the Media shall exalt the Antichrist,
After The Church is lifted from earth, things down here will get only worse,
When the Image all will worship friend, shall be driven by the Media again.
The End Media Bastion of Conspiracy, will usher many souls into Eternity,
Being used as Satan’s End Time tool, in deceiving every unbelieving fool,
Broadcasting that everything is well, as the multitudes are headed for Hell,
Ending eternally with the ultimate liar; cast into an everlasting Lake of Fire.
(Copyright ©07/2008)
The Survival
To-day’s house makes to-morrow’s road;
I knew these heaps of stone
When they were walls of grace and might,
The country’s honour, art’s delight
That over fountain’d silence show’d
Fame’s final bastion.
Inheritance has found fresh work,
Disunion union breeds;
Beauty the strong, its difference lost,
Has matter fit for flood and frost.
Here’s the true blood that will not shirk
Life’s new-commanding needs.
With curious costly zeal, O man,
Raise orrery and ode;
How shines your tower, the only one
Of that especial site and stone!
And even the dream’s confusion can
Sustain to-morrow’s road.
poem by Edmund Blunden
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Rendition of the Soul
wish to be right, though not perfect, the aim
high lead to low, what more i can do, but
to do the right direction my Mama and Papa
want me so
all my life lives in my sweet Daddy and
Mommy my sister my brother gives me all
what i say, they never told me not to cry, until
i remember the story of the falling angel who
once to be happy
days and night, my heart wonder, why people
want to be free and at the end of that day, tears
fall to the ground of no where to be found in
their heart so sad, even ready to be fire ring
squad, in front of the one they love
like a thirst of the hand that never drunk and
in the eyes that can't see; bring me then back
the old hand that call, thy bosom arm my heart
is so cool, let me ask some pity in the tears that
flows, taste it seems its empty, for thy soul
wanted to see, the bastion of the One whom
comes with the heart that hold in the soul that
folds
here i am, open my lonely heart, and hear the
rendition of my soul....all comes in you Lord,
promise that I may fall in your mercy
i am full......
poem by Antonio Liao
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JESUS Wept
flesh came to being, rapped
with linen cloth,
feet wrap with sheep sandals, roaming thru
daylight until the opening
of the night leaves no stone untouched
the special instant
celebrity of the hour, Jesus of Nazareth
a visionary, fought with only
the armor of faith,
as it challenge the long disbelief of the
Pharisees and the Sadducee, love by
the thousand,
believe to be the catalyst of change and hope
amongst the oppress and the exploited
a dweller who obey and crack down
the inner passion of the
essence of Life; the Alpha
and the Omega of all exiting being in the
Universe, the lasting name above
other names, who lay down
the bastion of shield to shade the glory of
our destiny, so that all things maybe completed
to honor the One who send Him
Father into your hands I comment my Spirit...
poem by Antonio Liao
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God is Angry
god - he was
angry again
above my pillow
two nights ago
he called out my name
it's a stern male voice
not shrouded with mystery
but a voice that echoes
a bastion of knowledge
patience, reasonbleness
forgiveness
yet harsh as truth
a voice intruded into
the terrain in the mind
that could hear without ears
he is angry
and i am afraid
for reason i seek to find
god cultures ears
in the mind for his - and his angels
to reach out to homo sapiens!
if you could make out
the difference between
the imagined and the real!
the battle to reach God
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Happy Birthday America
Happy Birthday America, tried and true;
235-years-old, but with precepts that keep you new-
Not enough say this, but 'I am so proud of You! ',
The colors that do not run-The Red, White And Blue!
The bastion of Freedom, sweet Lady Liberty,
Thank you for the Honor, that you give to me:
To be counted amongst those who may say,
'I was fortunate enough to be born in the U.S.A.! '
Sta young still, my dear, beloved friend-
You began a 'revolution', now do not let it end;
To Thine Own Self remain true,
Yet, also stay true to me, as I shall, to You!
Happy Birthday America, I wish you many more indeed-
Continue to shine as a beacon, for many more, in need!
-Maurice Harris,3 July 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Sonnet: Our Great Land- Bharath
My Mother India is a great nation
Of peoples, states, creeds, languages galore;
Our diversity is our main bastion;
Our Democracy our neighbors’ eye-sore!
We inherit a great culture so old,
Rich traditions and sacred heritage;
Our minds and hearts are something more than gold;
The land is home to scholars, saints and sage.
Non-violence is our guiding principle;
We want to live in amity with all;
Our country is a great world-example!
We’ll fend our frontiers but will never fall.
Let not our foes us underestimate;
Our Will is strong which none can decimate.
5-31-2002 by Dr John Celes
poem by John Celes
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Timeless Gesture
a thumb up sign reveals the pleasant stay of warm
heart, emptied in the pasture of care, where the spirit
of wonder begins to settle down in the bosom
tears of joy and happiness bestowed on the lasting
arms of smile of the soul
touch my dear heart the arrogant fingers of my
youth, capture the knight of the wind, as it paddle
on, out from the wealth that comes in the mature
shield of the past, a cream of the crops you
empathize, of the beginning time, we kiss
make my dear brave heart to nestle my feet in the
ground, the bastion of everything that holds my pious
of the heart has now, take the springs of moving on
the final moment of a great victory of my cause; as
if it takes wonder to captivate the captain of my soul
that bond and a hope of the timeless gesture of lifted
spirit in the pendulum of wonderful pedestal, I conquer
left me high to the feet I stand, for the wind beneath
your wings hold the hope of sailing on from a
distance sky my dear one ….
poem by Antonio Liao
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Cradle the Lion's Grave
The meandering Lion, impaired by a trance
Of feral instinct and hedonistic impetus
Torn to avert or succumb his fated tragedy
But only festoons the lion's unwritten fable
Ensconced by the eaves of pure enigma
Slithering the ornate tangling forlorn forest
Whilst the Moon stroke the fiery wisps
Of his cynical golden tresses and bastion
Grazing on his poignancy to submission
And scintillating a cordial theme park
Clandestine with a selfish feisty carnival
From the Lion's lacerations that stalls
Upon the labyrinthine forest's walls.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Collective: The Demented Soldier
A fist, a gun, a belligerent soul to ramble;
A soldier sifted from colossal fears
In sanguinary grounds you amble
With valiance often excessively fierce,
A turret you held not to fumble
Amidst the delusion of mocking leers
In times of calamities, steadfast you are
Beguiling yourself with such convictions
Shredded from a destitute war;
Wrath on trigger, crosshair visions
But inside yourself ran the scar—
The bomb that fulminates the turbulent condition
Soldier lost, wield not a rifle
For treachery lingers not in your dominion
This torment in your head maims you a cripple
Armed with loathe of weak constitutions
So let the bastion slumber but do not topple
Vex yourself no more with hostile dispositions
The crowd roared, you shot the adversary
The king bled from the mirror of tyranny
poem by Norman Santos
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P R I D E
Pride and armor
of a lineage, a perception
cautions and lifts inner to a
pedestal.........
lessons on its rule book
taught not to run back...
but fight back with dignity...
that is pride...
precursors wrote in regal ink
a kind of aura it transpires
a blend and its majestic ensemble
imprinted on a realm...
laurels from a bastion
a difference of a shield so strong..
royal drapes and its layers
vanished on sheets of democracy
but the blood veins carries
a blend...that holds power...
power to fight back with dignity
not to run back on tribulations..
not to fear back on defeats...
A circlet cosseted by ethnicity
on all odds and not to panic
on ordeals or die like a coward....
great grand mother scribbled before death
“Pride is not mind’s arrogance....
pride is mind’s power to hold self
on a revered and meaningful
pedestal....”.
poem by Rema Prasanaa
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