An Army Corps On The March
WITH its cloud of skirmishers in advance,
With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a whip, and now an
irregular volley,
The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on;
Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun--the dust-cover'd men,
In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the ground,
With artillery interspers'd--the wheels rumble, the horses sweat,
As the army corps advances.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Related quotes
Underground Army
Ill be a soldier for you
Protect you and the cities surrounding too
Your underground army will be swarming
If you just say you want me too
Ill be a soldier for you
Lost in your spirit
Rolling down hills
But you cannot see you are
Nothing makes sense when everything else is
Finding the downside
Think of the faith were running out of days
Well get through the meantime
The road is long no forces drove home
But you will be all right
And I will feel better when you feel better
Ill be a soldier for you
Protect you and the cities surrounding too
Your underground army will be swarming
If you just say you want me too
Ill be a soldier for you
Go first in all that you do
Your underground army will be swarming
If you just say you want me too
You cant just love you and let you through
You seek out whenever home
So Ill stick around and help you figure out
These situations coming through
Weve come to an end and there is much to defend
And I will feel better when you feel better
Ill be a soldier for you
Protect you and the cities surrounding too
Your underground army will be swarming
If you just say you want me too
Ill be a soldier for you
Go first in all that you do
Your underground army will be swarming
If you just say you want me too
Woah woah
I said Id be a soldier for you
Protect you and the cities surrounding too
Your underground army will be swarming
If you just say you want me too
Ill be a soldier for you
Go first in all that you do
Your underground army will be swarming
If you just say you want me too
Your underground army will be swarming
If you just say you want me too
Oooohh Woooaaah
I said Ill feel better when you feel better
song performed by by Anastacia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bang-bang
Bang bang, you shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down
I was five and you were six
We rode on horses made of sticks
I wore black, you wore white
You would always win the fight
Bang bang, you shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down
Seasons came and changed the time
I grew up, I called you mine
You would always laugh and say
Remember when we used to play
Bang bang, you shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down
Music played and people sang
Just for me the church bells rang
After echoes from a gun
We both vowed that wed be one
Now youre gone I dont know why
Sometimes I cry
You didnt say goodbye
You didnt take the time to lie
Bang bang, you shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There are some people that the press like to pick on and not just the gay press, but the press in general. And some people, the press just doesn't care about at all.
quote by Nathan Lane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some do not like it when the poems are sad
as there's a lot of life to push so hard push through
voice heard praying to be died out
too many tears already cried out
a dropp falling down further than the ground
they will not call it won't make this sound
of their own press hard press deep to forget
pump the heart hard to break and not to let
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Nixon, who spent much of his career attacking the press and saying he was a victim of the press, was in fact created by the press, in this case the L.A. Times.
quote by David Halberstam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Andrew Jones
I hate that Andrew Jones; he'll breed
His children up to waste and pillage.
I wish the press-gang or the drum
With its tantara sound would come,
And sweep him from the village!
I said not this, because he loves
Through the long day to swear and tipple;
But for the poor dear sake of one
To whom a foul deed he had done,
A friendless man, a travelling cripple!
For this poor crawling helpless wretch,
Some horseman who was passing by,
A penny on the ground had thrown;
But the poor cripple was alone
And could not stoop--no help was nigh.
Inch-thick the dust lay on the ground
For it had long been droughty weather;
So with his staff the cripple wrought
Among the dust till he had brought
The half-pennies together.
It chanced that Andrew passed that way
Just at the time; and there he found
The cripple in the mid-day heat
Standing alone, and at his feet
He saw the penny on the ground.
He stopped and took the penny up:
And when the cripple nearer drew,
Quoth Andrew, "Under half-a-crown,
What a man finds is all his own,
And so, my Friend, good-day to you."
And 'hence' I said, that Andrew's boys
Will all be trained to waste and pillage;
And wished the press-gang, or the drum
With its tantara sound, would come
And sweep him from the village.
poem by William Wordsworth
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The French were generous in giving us assistance in corps and army artillery, with its personnel, and we were confident from the start of our superiority over the enemy in guns of all calibers.
quote by Kelly Miller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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T Baggin' Skit
[Dial Tone]
[Numbers being pressed]
Hello, Thank you for calling Disturbing Tha Peace.
To help expodate your call, please listen carefully to the following options.
If you're calling to solicit to a demo tape, press 1.
If you're calling regarding a job, press 2.
If you're calling to borrow money, press 3.
If you're calling to find the nearest weed spot in your area, press 4.
If you're out of alcohol on Sunday, press 5.
If you need a ho for the evening, press 6.
If you woke up with a hang over, and a pair of hairy balls on your forehead, press 7
7.
[Number gets pressed]
You've just pressed 7.
You've been victimized and introduced to a moral crime known as t baggin'.
We suggest you probably hang up the phone,
Beat the ass of any white guys you hung out with last night
and find and destroy all photos before they appear on the internet.
Thank you for calling.
Good luck.
Goodbye
[Dial Tone]
song performed by by Ludacris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Devil To Pay (July 1st, 1863)
In July 1863, A nation torn in tragedy
A trick of fate two great armies merge
Gods of war at Gettysburg
Devastation lies ahead
50,000 bodies..litter the land
Hell raises,three full days
The reaper sows,and there's a devil to pay
The press is on and the reb's attack
They Yanks must hold, they cant fall back
Just two brigades, 2000 strong
Against 20,000 they cant hold long
General Reynoldsmakes his way
Expect no mercy from the "Iron Brigade"
Until he shows, theyre on their own
But Buford's men have a will of stone
Bayonet's gleam in the morning sun
Smoke & fire belching from their guns
Another volley and again they strike
Thousands more coming to the site
***?
Chorus:
The tragedy and what it brings
All the devastation...
Men will kill & blood will spill
To preserve the nation
Sound the tone down the Emmitsburg Road"
The first corps are starting to show
For Buford's men they're here just in time
The desperate need to stregthen the line
Bodies droping, the blue & the grey
Muskets fire and the cannon blaze
The union fight, defending the town
but their outnumbered and losing ground
For they know very well as more Rebel's arrive
Thousands more and the fight multiplies
McPherson's Ridge and the Black Hand Strike
A rebel sharpshooter takes Reynold's life
Chorus:
The tragedy and what it brings
All the devastation...
Men will kill & blood will spill
To preserve the nation
Attack! Attack!
General Lee gives command
Theyre overwhelemed, the situation demands
The Federals retreat, theyll rush out of town
But they are fortified and save the high ground
The day ends victory for the South
Lee scales defence, says God's will is profound
They are invincible and theyre cause is just
but Longstreet is cautious
And lacking in trust..
Across the way, the Union did cheer
The Round Tops Cemetary makes it hard to close in
Their lines are strong, no denying this day
When the Confederates strike, theyll be a Devil to pay
Chorus
song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Republic and its press will rise or fall together.
quote by Joseph Pulitzer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some of the press who speak loudly about the freedom of the press are themselves the enemies of freedom. Countless people dare not say a thing because they know it will be picked up and made a song of by the press. That limits freedom.
quote by Geoffrey Fisher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Press Intrusion
The World’s Press are often extremely intrusive,
Just so they can obtain a ‘world exclusive.’
When a celebrity pops out to buy a new pair of shoes,
It’s really not that thrilling or potential headline news.
We also see photos of celebs with spots on their faces,
And sweat patches under their arm pits, in some cases.
With really pointless pictures, they fill column space,
And, of everyone’s time and effort, it really is a waste.
The same old celebrities are pictured time and time again,
And it’s increasingly becoming a really annoying pain.
The Press are making themselves a real laughing stock.
And I feel on some of their activities, there should be a block.
They don’t care about anyone, who their actions may affect.
They hone in on the tiniest shred of emotion they can detect.
When celebs are doing normal things or are just on the phone,
The Press really need to just butt out and leave them all alone.
They often set up camp outside celebs private homes,
And this type of behaviour, I really can’t condone.
When people are at one of the lowest points of their entire lives,
The last thing they really want is the Press sticking in the knives.
If a member of the press was at an all time low,
Would they like the whole wide world to know?
I really don’t wish to see photos of people lying around dead,
Or of people upset and injured with blood bespattered heads.
If someone is obviously upset or wincing in severe agony or pain,
Then, from sticking a camera in their face, the Press should refrain.
When a famous footballer breaks their little toe,
The Press seem to think the whole world wants to know.
People often break bones. It happens every single day.
But their injuries aren’t reported to everyone in this way.
There were photos of the lovely Princess Kate in Waitrose,
But, when she’s off-duty, I don’t really care where she goes.
They timed her trip and listed all the items which she bought.
For her personal privacy, they never gave a second thought.
When the Press take photos, they really should ask for permission.
Not just consider that the taking of a photo is their rightful decision.
The Press do not seem to have a shred of respect for anyone.
They see what they do as business, or, in some cases, a bit of fun.
The situation really is becoming more than just a little strange,
And I truly believe that there are things which need to change.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Gathering Dust
They sink into the ground with silence,
Voices we’ll never hear making a sound,
Only wishful smiles appear in a trance,
Gathering dust where the names are found.
They cannot rise from the deep isles,
To raise a smile even to murmur a sigh,
More darkness pours into the abyss,
Sunlight has closed time against the sky.
Idle flowers bowed in quiet solitude,
Left to revive by the morning early dew,
Flatten with footprints walked in tribute,
Push the hollow ground from distant view.
There they lay on bed of silent dismay,
Awaiting eternity, bodies gathering dust,
Old moss and rocks cover the mystery,
The verdant grass becomes a blanket of rust.
In disguise spirit rise to fly like an arrow,
Leaving the resting place to gather dust,
They may return as forces in a shadow,
And walk over grass where they lay the host.
poem by Gerry Legister
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Helen Thomas
In her time she's seen them all:
Johnson's anguish and Nixon's fall
From Camelot's dissolution
In a grieving nation's tears
Helen Thomas was a witness
to the history of my years.
She held a place of honor
Where all to her deferred:
Senior writer in the press corps
Well respected, sometimes feared.
Now she's fired and disgraced-
banned from her accustomed place.
The arbiters of elegance
took umbrage at her words
Her statement lacked “correctness”
As per the beltway herd
She's a racist and a bigot, An old and senile shrew-
They have no need of sticks and stones who know what words can do.
Once upon a better time
We had a Bill of Rights
The press was free and speech was free
We were vigilant of our rights.
But now it's just a paper
a tapir burning in the night..
These days the press conveys the lies
that government wants heard.
If any dare to disagree
They're soon kicked to the curb.
The rest will heel at master's voice
Like obedient whipped curs.
Her speech may have been hateful
Doubtless many will agree
But speech must be protected
Or else none of us is free.
Where's our Voltaire with courage rare
to defy rank tyranny?
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Proem
IN the black night, along the mud-deep roads,
Amid the threatening boughs and ghastly streams,
Hark! sounds that gird the darknesses like goads,
Murmurs and rumours and reverberant dreams,
Trampling, breaths, movements, and a little light. —
The marching of the Army of the Night!
The stricken men, the mad brute-beasts are keeping
No more their places in the ditches or holes,
But rise, and join us, and the women, weeping
Beside the roadways, rise like demon-souls.
Fill up the ranks! What shimmers there so bright?
The bayonets of the Army of the Night!
Fill up the ranks! We march in steadfast column,
In wavering lines yet forming more and more;
Men, women, children, sombre, silent, solemn,
Rank follows rank like billows to the shore.
Dawnwards we tramp, towards the hills and light.
On, on and up, the Army of the Night!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Press
Darling, I love you very, very, very much,
And I really am relying on your touch.
But with all these people listening in,
I dont know where I ought to begin.
Maybe we could hit upon a word,
Something that the others havent heard,
When you want me to love you,
Just tell me to press.
Right there, thats it. yes. when you feel the stress
Dont just stand there, tell me to press.
You can give me what I want I must confess,
My body needs attention my mind is in a mess,
Oklahoma was never like this.
Never like this, it was never like this,
Ever like this, say was it ever like this?
Oklahoma was never like this.
It was never like this ...
Darling, I know it really wouldnt be a crime,
If I say I want to lnve you all the time.
But with all these people listening in,
I dont know where I ought to begin.
Maybe we should have a secret code,
Before we both get ready to explode.
When you want me to love you,
Just tell me to press. press ...
Right there, thats it. yes.
When you feel the stress,
Dont just stand there.
Wont you tell me to press?
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Me Compose Myself
let me compose myself
like a symphony
note tumbling upon note until
they are chasing each other
down the staff
and through the measures until
i have composed an opus
a song calm as the thrust
of the ocean upon sand
so i can turn
and have a song to play
trembling fingers on the violin
dragging from the strings
song and sound
a composition, a calmness
the thought of my body
in your arms
when you cradled all of me
and carried me home
and the song i have sounds
the way the air smells like winter
in the morning
around november when
the wind carries a bite
and the bite is its warning:
'Get out while you can
the winter is harsh
your skin will be chapped and red
and the cold will kill the crops
your stomachs will rumble
like the roll of a drum
your winter hunger will expand
beyond the need of food
your cold fingers will
long for the warm press of summer'
as they press the strings against
the fingerboard
pulling the silence from the air
and funneling it down my throat:
i am quiet;
you are bringing forth into
my wordlessness the reality of sound
you are replacing the silence
with song
a composition i remember
as my own
(july 2007)
poem by Ryan Blood
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A Song Inscribed To The Fremont Clubs
BENEATH thy skies, November!
Thy skies of cloud and rain,
Around our blazing camp-fires
We close our ranks again.
Then sound again the bugles,
Call the muster-roll anew;
If months have well-nigh won the field,
What may not four years do?
For God be praised! New England
Takes once more her ancient place;
Again the Pilgrim's banner
Leads the vanguard of the race.
Then sound again the bugles, etc.
Along the lordly Hudson,
A shout of triumph breaks;
The Empire State is speaking,
From the ocean to the lakes.
Then sound again the bugles, etc.
The Northern hills are blazing,
The Northern skies are bright;
And the fair young West is turning
Her forehead to the light!
Then sound again the bugles,. etc.
Push every outpost nearer,
Press hard the hostile towers!
Another Balaklava,
And the Malakoff is ours!
Then sound again the bugles,
Call the muster-roll anew;
If months have well-nigh won the field,
What may not four years do?
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Clinton... believes that the Washington Press Corps is so out of touch that it is absolutely inconceivable that reporters would understand the issues that people are really dealing with in their lives.
quote by Bob Woodward
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those 40 or 50 national correspondents who had followed Kennedy since the beginning of his electoral exertions into the November days had become more than a press corps - they had become his friends and, some of them, his most devoted admirers.
quote by Theodore White
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