Certainly Lost! ! Not.
I am beseeching in the land of thoughts without any kingdom of my own,
Without any want, without any gain, in an island surrounded by the foes;
Without the artilleries, the armour or the sword,
For winning the battle;
Sure, I'll lost in the battle with my foes,
Not for their sympathy or for their liberty,
Or in the hope to win,
But I'll remain speechless and emotionless till the end!
poem by Helen Rema
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Today... 'The Glorious Sword
There is a Sword that is so sharp and so keen
the most Glorious Sword that has ever been.
Mighty in battle He has slain all His foes
and will have victory wherever He goes.
The Word of Truth and the Sword of the Spirit
overcame death and shall all things inherit.
He breaks our shackles and scatters all His foes
with His glory heaven and earth overflows.
Christ the Son of God is that Glorious Sword
Saviour of the world and Everlasting Lord.
Devils fear and angels sing as He draws near
And all creation waits for Him to appear.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Who Are My Foes?
I keep my battle cries.
But who are my foes?
With fears I can't release.
But who are my foes?
I feel much threatened too.
But who are my foes?
And when I close my windows,
I bolt and lock all doors.
I frisk my shadows cast.
But who are my foes?
I analyze all night.
But who are my foes?
Even my pet cat believes,
A spy on it has planted fleas.
I get that look from it,
And...
Brush until it's feeling freed.
I shower keeping glasses on.
To catch all my foes.
And drip to dry when done.
I don't use towels.
And when I make a mess and ready,
To take out the trash...
I take my cat with me,
And we both wear masks.
I frisk my shadows cast.
But who are my foes?
I analyze all night.
But who are my foes?
Even my pet cat believes,
A spy on it has planted fleas.
I get that look from it,
And...
Brush until it's freed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Bended Bow
There was heard the sound of a coming foe,
There was sent through Britain a bended Bow,
And a voice was pour'd on the free winds far,
As the land rose up at the sign of war.
'Heard ye not the battle-horn?
-Reaper! leave thy golden corn!
Leave it for the birds of Heaven,
Swords must flash, and spears be riven!
Leave it for the winds to shed-
Arm! ere Britain's turf grow red!'
And the reaper arm'd, like a freeman's son,
And the bended Bow and the voice pass'd on.
'Hunter! leave the mountain-chase!
Take the falchion from its place!
Let the wolf go free to-day,
Leave him for a nobler prey!
Let the deer ungall'd sweep by,-
Arm thee! Britain's foes are nigh!'
And the hunter arm'd ere the chase was done,
And the bended Bow and the voice pass'd on.
'Chieftain! quit the joyous feast!
Stay not till the song hath ceas'd:
Though the mead be foaming bright,
Though the fires give ruddy light,
Leave the hearth and leave the hall-
Arm thee! Britain's foes must fall.'
And the chieftain arm'd, and the horn was blown,
And the bended Bow and the voice pass'd on.
'Prince! thy father's deeds are told,
In the bower and in the hold!
Where the goatherd's lay is sung,
Where the minstrel's harp is strung!
-Foes are on thy native sea-
Give our bards a tale of thee!'
And the prince came arm'd, like a leader's son,
And the bended Bow and the voice pass'd on.
'Mother! stay thou not thy boy!
He must learn the battle's joy.
Sister! bring the sword and spear,
Give thy brother words of cheer!
Maiden! bid thy lover part,
Britain calls the strong in heart!'
And the bended Bow and the voice pass'd on,
And the bards made song for a battle won.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Game
I have lost this game of love
And would never come back
To you. But was winning so
Important to you?
That you lost my trust
My faith, my home in you?
So be it and let’s remain
Forever Foes
In this mortal life.
As our Friendship has gone
Cold, stale and dry.
With a heavy heart,
I bid you goodbye…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Dons of Spain
The Eagle screams at the beck of trade, so Spain, as the world goes round,
Must wrestle the right to live or die from the sons of the land she found;
For, as in the days when the buccaneer was abroad on the Spanish Main,
The national honour is one thing dear to the hearts of the Dons of Spain.
She has slaughtered thousands with fire and sword, as the Christian world might know;
We murder millions, but, thank the Lord! we only starve 'em slow.
The times have changed since the days of old, but the same old facts remain –
We fight for Freedom, and God, and Gold, and the Spaniards fight for Spain.
We fought with the strength of the moral right, and they, as their ships went down,
They only fought with the grit to fight and their armour to help 'em drown.
It mattered little what chance or hope, for ever their path was plain,
The Church was the Church, and the Pope the Pope – but the Spaniards fought for Spain.
If Providence struck for the honest thief at times in the battle's din –
If ever it struck at the hypocrite – well, that's where the Turks came in;
But this remains ere we leave the wise to argue it through in vain –
There's something great in the wrong that dies as the Spaniards die for Spain.
The foes of Spain may be kin to us who are English heart and soul,
And proud of our national righteousness and proud of the lands we stole;
But we yet might pause while those brave men die and the death-drink pledge again –
For the sake of the past, if you're doomed, say I, may your death be a grand one, Spain!
Then here's to the bravest of Freedom's foes who ever with death have stood –
For the sake of the courage to die on steel as their fathers died on wood;
And here's a cheer for the flag unfurled in a hopeless cause again,
For the sake of the days when the Christian world was saved by the Dons of Spain.
poem by Henry Lawson
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He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword
He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.
So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.
In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,
This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.
But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,
Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.
He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
sword,
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.
He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
poem by Vera Sidhwa
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Lonely & Alone
Lonely when someone feels
Alone is he the only one
He thinks
Never is it the true
For the one is
Always preoccupied
With thoughts and whelms
With friends and foes
With good and bad
Which is always inside the one?
So he should never think of himself
As the one lonely and alone
Who is left deserted in the world
The redeeming feature is that
The lonely and alone is always
The one surrounded with people
And friends and foes
Where he is always left deserted when
He needs them most.
poem by Surabhi Gupta
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Humdrum & Humble
Mistress of the mind
Take me where the air is clean
Ignorance is kind
Emerald and evergreen
30 days september, year of miracle and grief
Through the haze, remember
Youre an animal, not a mineral
And we won the war, lost the battle
Lost the war, won the battle
Won the war, lost the battle
Lost the war
All for the love of the humdrum and humble
Colour for the colourblind
All for the love of the humdrum and humble
Through the human eye
Nature a soul extreme
Nothing seems to die
Pictures in a magazine
Through the maze, precisely
Through the myriad of schemes
With your gaze, entice me
Like an animal, not a mineral
And we won the war, lost the battle
Lost the war, won the battle
Won the war, lost the battle
Lost the war
All for the love of the humdrum and humble
Colour for the colourblind
All for the love of the humdrum and humble
Through the maze, precisely
Through the myriad of schemes
With your gaze, entice me
Like an animal, not a mineral
And we won the war, lost the battle
Lost the war, won the battle
Won the war, lost the battle
Lost the war
All for the love of the humdrum and humble
Colour for the colourblind
All for the love of the humdrum and humble
Rubishing the phillistines
All for the love of the humdrum and humble
song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't fight a battle if you don't gain anything by winning.
quote by Erwin Rommel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Island
LITTLE ISLAND
Randy Newman
In two long wars, my country bled
To save the world for everyone
As through the years, the fight we've led
Too long, we stood alone, too long alone
And when at last, the battle won
We asked for no reward
An empire gone
Two generations turned to blood and dust
Only the best were lost
Only the best
And now the years have passed
The times have changed
The foe is risen up
He stands astride the world
His dreams of conquest all fulfilled
Little island, little island
Glory lost in the mists of time
They will pay for what was done
To those of us who died so young
They will pay for what was done
Little island, little island
Little island
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Friends And Foes
Better are foes than friends, sometimes, oh friend
Flip through thy pages friends, pretentiously
And say, “It's great, so nice, wondrous and good! ”
But foes! Rummage with spite them ruthlessly
In search of faults, they tear you piece by piece
God knows what foes unearth and well discern
In their inadvertence may discover
Precious jewels you hid in oblivion
And win you accolades of connoisseurs
So, friends or foes, never mind thee, oh friend
To friends say warm hello and thanks a lot
And there they come, your foes, with smiles crooked
Come on, up on thy feet and make salute
poem by Sathya Narayana
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The only thing worse than a battle lost is a battle won.
Arthur Wellesley in Aftermath of the Battle of Waterloo (1815)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Battle Cry Of Freedom (Southern Version)
Our flag is proudly floating
On the land and on the main,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
Beneath it oft we've conquered,
And we'll conquer oft again!
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
CHORUS: Our Dixie forever!
She's never at a loss!
Down with the eagle
And up with the cross!
We'll rally 'round the bonny flag,
We'll rally once again,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
Our gallant boys have marched
To the rolling of the drums,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
And the leaders in charge cry out,
'Come, boys, come!'
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!-CHORUS
They have laid down their lives
On the bloody battle field,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
Their motto is resistance -
'To tyrants we'll not yield!'
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!-CHORUS
While our boys have responded
And to the fields have gone,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!
Our noble women also
Have aided them at home,
Shout, shout the battle cry of Freedom!-CHORUS
poem by Anonymous Americas
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A Prisoner in a Dungeon Deep
A prisoner in a dungeon deep
Sat musing silently;
His head was rested on his hand,
His elbow on his knee.
Turned he his thoughts to future times
Or are they backward cast?
For freedom is he pining now
Or mourning for the past?
No, he has lived so long enthralled
Alone in dungeon gloom
That he has lost regret and hope,
Has ceased to mourn his doom.
He pines not for the light of day
Nor sighs for freedom now;
Such weary thoughts have ceased at length
To rack his burning brow.
Lost in a maze of wandering thoughts
He sits unmoving there;
That posture and that look proclaim
The stupor of despair.
Yet not for ever did that mood
Of sullen calm prevail;
There was a something in his eye
That told another tale.
It did not speak of reason gone,
It was not madness quite;
It was a fitful flickering fire,
A strange uncertain light.
And sooth to say, these latter years
Strange fancies now and then
Had filled his cell with scenes of life
And forms of living men.
A mind that cannot cease to think
Why needs he cherish there?
Torpor may bring relief to pain
And madness to despair.
Such wildering scenes, such flitting shapes
As feverish dreams display:
What if those fancies still increase
And reason quite decay?
But hark, what sounds have struck his ear;
Voices of men they seem;
And two have entered now his cell;
Can this too be a dream?
'Orlando, hear our joyful news:
Revenge and liberty!
Your foes are dead, and we are come
At last to set you free.'
So spoke the elder of the two,
And in the captive's eyes
He looked for gleaming ecstasy
But only found surprise.
'My foes are dead! It must be then
That all mankind are gone.
For they were all my deadly foes
And friends I had not one.'
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Minefield
Thunder came from the grass
and open the earth split
tearing the wheels from a armoured car
and again the ear deafening roar
just as before lightening leaped
right from the ground
slicing at a battle tank
and then most of the armour
draw back to safe ground
and two officers went right in
through the battle din of machinegun
and tank canon
to extract a tank with a wounded man
while shrapnel fell and bullets screamed
across their heads
and at the craters edge repaired,
got that piece of armour moving again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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At The Beating Of A Drum
Fear ye not the stormy future, for the Battle Hymn is strong,
And the armies of Australia shall not march without a song;
The glorious words and music of Australia's song shall come
When her true hearts rush together at the beating of a drum.
We may not be there to hear it – 'twill be written in the night,
And Australia's foes shall fear it in the hour before the fight.
The glorious words and music from a lonely heart shall come
When our sons shall rush to danger at the beating of the drum.
He shall be unknown who writes it; he shall soon forgotten be,
But the song shall ring through ages as a song of liberty.
And I say the words and music of our battle hymn shall come,
When Australia wakes in anger at the beating of a drum.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Little Knight in Green
WHAT fragrant-footed comer
Is stepping o’er my head?
Behold, my queen! the Summer!
Who deems her warriors dead.
Now rise, ye knights of many fights,
From out your sleep profound!
Make sharp your spears, my gallant peers,
And prick the frozen ground.
Before the White Host harm her,
We ’ll hurry to her aid;
We ’ll don our elfin armor,
And every tiny blade
Shall bear atop a dewy drop,
The life-blood of the frost,
Till from their king the order ring:
“Fall back! the day is lost.”
Now shame to knighthood, brothers!
Must Summer plead in vain?
And shall I wait till others
My crown of sunshine gain?
Alone this day I ’ll dare the fray,
Alone the victory win;
In me my queen shall find, I ween,
A sturdy paladin.
To battle! Ho! King Winter
Hath rushed on me apace,—
My fragile blade doth splinter
Beneath his icy mace.
I stagger back. I yield—alack!
I fall. My senses pass.
Woe worth the chance for doughtiest lance
Of all the House of Grass!
Last hope my heart gives over.
But hark! a shout of cheer!
Don Daisy and Count Clover,
Sir Buttercup, are here!
Behold! behold! with shield of gold
Prince Dandelion comes.
Lord Bumble-Bee beats valiantly
His rolling battle-drums.
My brothers leave their slumbers
And lead the van of war;
Before our swelling numbers
The foes are driven far.
The day’s our own; but, overthrown,
A little Knight in green,
I kiss her feet and deem it sweet
To perish for my queen.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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I believe in the battle-whether it's the battle of a campaign or the battle of this office, which is a continuing battle.
quote by Richard Milhous Nixon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Arthur's Men Have Come Again
[Written while a field-worker in the Anti-Saloon League of Illinois.]
King Arthur's men have come again.
They challenge everywhere
The foes of Christ's Eternal Church.
Her incense crowns the air.
The heathen knighthood cower and curse
To hear the bugles ring,
But spears are set, the charge is on,
Wise Arthur shall be king!
And Cromwell's men have come again,
I meet them in the street.
Stern but in this — no way of thorns
Shall snare the children's feet.
The reveling foemen wreak but waste,
A sodden poisonous band.
Fierce Cromwell builds the flower-bright towns,
And a more sunlit land!
And Lincoln's men have come again.
Up from the South he flayed,
The grandsons of his foes arise
In his own cause arrayed.
They rise for freedom and clean laws
High laws, that shall endure.
Our God establishes his arm
And makes the battle sure!
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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The Battle Cry of Freedom- Union
Yes, we'll rally round the flag, boys,
We'll rally once again,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom,
We will rally from the hillside,
We'll gather from the plain,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom.
CHORUS: The Union forever,
Hurrah! boys, hurrah!
Down with the traitors,
Up with the stars;
While we rally round the flag, boys,
Rally once again,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom.
We are springing to the call
Of our brothers gone before,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom;
And we'll fill our vacant ranks with
A million free men more,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom.-CHORUS
We will welcome to our numbers
The loyal, true and brave,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom;
And although they may be poor,
Not a man shall be a slave,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom.-CHORUS
So we're springing to the call
From the East and from the West,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom;
And we'll hurl the rebel crew
From the land that we love best,
Shouting the battle cry of Freedom.-CHORUS
poem by George Frederick Root
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