The roman soldier
The Roman Soldier
It was late evening, when walking along the walls of
the ancient city of Chester, I saw him, the old centurion,
he stood alone dreaming of retirement, the land and
slaves he had been promised when he joined the army.
He and his kind was hated here, in his own beloved land
the almond tree stood in ornate regalia whishing spring
welcome by strewing a carpet of flowers on its path.
He didn’t see the two terrorists sneak up on him, when
he did it was too late, and slowed by age he was knifed
repeatedly. I think they must have sensed my presence,
looking my way they stopped, jumped over the parapet
and vanished. I held the centurion’s hands, he opened
his brown eyes, a brave little smile, and said: “Guess
I shan’t see the flowering of the almond tree this year.”
poem by Jan Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
Roman Sentry
A soldier's curse is not the copper pay,
stationed here in this gods-forsaken place!
I'd bribe a centurion to leave today.
Anywhere! —lug my shield on the Appian Way
or guard the quarry slaves in rocky Thrace.
A soldier's curse is not the copper pay.
The land is weary, fit for thorns and clay.
The towns are crowded with a bearded race.
I'd bribe a centurion to leave today.
This hill is bald as a skull, cold and gray,
—and I left my woolen tunic back at base!
A soldier's curse is not the copper pay.
Sentry for rebels crucified today—
last year in Rome I won a chariot-race!
I'd bribe a centurion to leave today.
This one I know: I heard the governor say
'Ecce homo! ' (I don't forget a face.)
A soldier's curse is not the copper pay.
I'd bribe a centurion to leave today.
poem by William F Dougherty
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In Another Land
In another land where the breeze and the
Trees and flowers were blue
I stood and held your hand.
And the grass grew high and the feathers floated by
I stood and held your hand.
And nobody else's hand will ever do
Nobody else will do
Then I awoke
Was this some kind of joke
Much to my surprise
I opened my eyes.
We walked across the sand and the sea and
The sky and the castles were blue.
I stood and held your hand.
And the spray flew high and the feathers floated by
I stood and held your hand.
And nobody else's hand will ever do
Nobody else will do
Then I awoke
Was this some kind of joke
Much to my surprise
When I opened my eyes.
We heard the trumpets blow and the sky
Turned red when I accidently said
That I didn't know how I came to be here
Not fast asleep in bed.
I stood and held your hand.
And nobody else's hand will ever do
Nobody else's hand
Then I awoke
Was this some kind of joke
I opened my eyes.
Much to my surprise.
song performed by by Rolling Stones from Their Satanic Majesties Request
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I said to the almond tree, "Friend, speak to me of God," and the almond tree blossomed.
Nikos Kazantzakis in Report to Greco (1961), translated by Peter A. Bien
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Whites Of The Almond Tree
THE WHITES OF THE ALMOND TREE
The whites of the almond tree
A shiver down my spine-
The golds and greens,
Olive and pine,
Joy for the eyes-
God Bless the world Outside-
Saint- Simon Park,
Jerusalem Light.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Discontent
Winter of discontentment
I fear my almond tree has bloomed too early, a few good days,
it and I thought it was spring. Cold wind, they may die before
the flowers are ready to shed their petals and pretend its snow.
We are both stalwarts, when I first came here it was but
a sapling. I have a fire roaring and the dog no one looks after
is sleeping on the chair near the fire. Weather bad I didn’t have
the heart to leave it outside. I’m not prince Charles I don’t talk
to trees, but I do give it a friendly slap on its trunk if no one is
looking. I’m a sucker for down and outs, today I bought a chicken
dinner for the Roma woman who begs outside the supermarket.
A guard came and told me I mustn’t feed them, like they should
be some sort of animals. I love my almond tree it reminds me
of mother when she was sick and old, but beautiful in her frailty.
There was little I could do only tell of my love for her.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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My Little Soldier
For you, my little soldier,
I got you an army;
An army of little green men waiting,
Obeying every command.
For you, my little soldier,
I got you a car;
One that raced, and
Flashed by the tree.
For you, my little soldier,
I got you a plane;
A plane that flew, by
The ceiling fan.
For you, my little soldier,
I got you a letter;
One that gave blessings, and
Kept you safe.
For you, my little soldier,
This year I got you flowers;
Flowers that shone against the snow, and
kept vigil at your stone.
poem by Valerie Pratt
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The Almond Tree
This snowy cold December morning
the pen
is full of almond branches, leaves
and black gnarled twigs covered
with white blossoms
the scent of that tree is intoxicating
for here on the real earth,
such trees do not ripen,
nor bear the fruit of that tree.
As children our first movement is to sing joyous songs,
innocent voices, filling mountains and dales with arias.
As adults our first movement is toward joy,
yet we give it away, venting full expression
to a gloomy tho not unfamiliar view of life.
once delighted with the world as children
now the world is in a tangle,
for opened eyes have seen only the glow of fires,
massacres, injustices, humiliations,
and the unrelenting shame
of braggarts and despots.
I look at the pen, it's branches, twigs, leaves
now covered, with cherry blossoms
and breathe in the intoxicating scent of that tree
knowing full well such a tree does not grow in dirt
nor can humanity cut down that tree.
That tree does not desire to save
nations or people
heal the sick,
raise the dead,
connive with politicians,
nor change drunkards and fools
with songs of hope...
The only goal is this, only this
that I see and smell the almond tree,
learn to look with love,
heal this heart,
without knowing from various ills-
for that almond tree says to me: Friend
stand in the glow of ripeness with me
not knowing what purpose served.
Through worm filled tufts
in that sweet garden
that almond tree raises it's eyes
and every blossom
enjoys the air it breathes
poem by Liberatore Suffoletta
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The past lends value
In late sixty, she stood
Like an autumn tree
To all who stood around.
To me she was not so.
I have seen her with flushes
Of leaves fully green
When she was in her spring.
24.09.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Clans
Clans, can, cans, an, as, Ian, scan;
Surounding it with love is what i need,
And like a fortified city in my land!
For you are all that i need.
To build and to plant,
For she touched my lips with her lips;
And like an almond tree in the land of joy!
But she is all that i want.
I can see the rain up high in the sky!
But her love to me is like the rainbow across the ocean;
And now she's never lonely,
Because the rainbow-fish brought her to me! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Maybe you're right, boss. It all depends on the way you look at it. Look, one day I had gone to a little village. An old grandfather of ninety was busy planting an almond tree. 'What, grandad' I exclaimed. 'Planting an almond tree' and he, bent as he was, turned round and said, 'My son, I carry on as if I should never die.' I replied, 'And I carry on as if I was going to die any minute.' Which of us was right, boss
quote by Nikos Kazantzakis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Irish Soldier
The Irish soldier, cast for fight,
Stood to his arms at dead of night,
Watching the east, until its ray
To the battle--field should show his way;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though they call you slave,
And though you but help a bandit hand
Uncheck'd to kill in your native land.
The soldier thought on his chance of doom--
How the trampled sod might be his tomb--
How, in evening's dusk, his sightless stare
To the small pale stars might upward glare;--
Soldier, soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight though you think of the grave--
Though it yawn so near you, black and chill,
Honor and courage man you still.
And o'er his solemn brow he made
The Christian sign, and humbly said--
``Your prayers, good saints, if I should fall;
And for mercy, O Lord, on you I call!''--
Irish soldier, soldier brave,
You will fight, although you crave
The prayers of the saints your own to aid,
And the sign of the cross on your brow have made.
The morning broke--the bugle blew--
The voice of command the soldier knew,
And stern and straight in the van he stood,
And shouting, he rush'd to the work of blood;--
Irish soldier, soldier bold,
Thousands lay round you, crimson'd and cold--
But over their bodies you still fought on,
Till down you sank as the day was won.
And the Irish soldier now hath come,
Worn, and wounded, and crippled, home,
The hated, and slander'd, and scorn'd of those
Who safely slept while he faced their foes;--
Irish soldier, soldier bold,
In your native land you now are told
'Twas traitor--blood on that field you lost,
For you call'd on the saints, and your brow you cross'd!
poem by John Banim
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The Almond (In Answer To A.E. Housman)
Prettier, more pure white
than the cherry tree,
is the almond to me, when she
flowers in spring
spreading her wedding cloak,
while a thousand birds sing
in a vast welcoming
and no little tree sprite
in her branches roam
like they do in the giant oak,
but birds do their chattering.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Because of love
I became an almond tree
Ugly in winters
Come spring I wear pink flowers
And feel ever so artistic
tanka by Oskar Hansen
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I Say There's A Tree, A Horizon
Big tree
right outside my room
tell me when your flowers will bloom
big tree
a wars'a comin soon
this war'll bring you alotta doom
big tree
spread your leaves and fly
cuz you dont wanna be here when your flowers die
big tree
uproot yourself and run
run from the bullets and run from the guns
war
from the oceans to the land
no more water to fill your hands
flowers
I'll try to water you
but theres salt in my tears and that jus' wont do
big tree
they dont understand
that what they do effects your land
big tree
by you I've made a bed
and I ask you how this war moves us ahead
big tree
my friend whats the cost
if only they could see the faces of the lost
pinecone
shaped like a grenade
the grass where you lay is all I could save
big tree
where have your sisters gone?
to make more boxes to lay flags on?
big tree
where have your brothers gone?
to make more boxes to carve names on?
poem by Chris Osterbrock
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Just To Keep You Satisfied
(m. gaye/a. gaye/e. stover)
You were my life, my hopes and dreams
For you to understand what this means
I shall explain
I stood all the jealousy all the bitching too
Yes I forgot all once in bed with you
Ooh darling how could we end up like this
Ooh baby let me reminisce
And when we ooh we stopped the hands of time
You set my soul on fire my one desire was to love you
And think of you with pride and to keep you satisfied
Ooh baby, ooh baby
We could not bear the mans astray
Leave you I never meant to
Now you see how much you hurt me
But if you ever need me Ill be by your side
Though the many happy times we had
Can never really outweigh the bad
I never loved nobody like I loved you baby
Now its time for us to say farewell
Farewell my darling
Maybe well meet down the line
Its too late for you and me
Its too late for you and i
Much too late for you to cry
Its to late for you and me
Much to late for you and i
Its too late for you and me
Much too late
We tried God knows we tried
Didnt we didnt we didnt we try
God knows we tried
Its too late for you and me
Much too late for you to cry
We stopped the hands of time
Ooh ooh
Its too late for you and i
(fade)
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rather mulberry than almond. (The almond-tree is in blossom earlier than the mulberry.)
My heart is
My heart is like a almond tree,
with snow white
flowers in spring.
My heart is like a loerie bird,
that teases life
from a fruit tree
My heart is like a rainbow’s beam
that appears with the last drops
over the country side.
All of these things are vague
like morning fog,
compared to the happiness
that you bring to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Janice and You and the Spider
You stood
in the playground
of St Jude's school
which was really
the basement
of a bombed out house
which had been gutted
and the basement tarmaced
and the walls
were still there
where kids climbed up
and around
the thin ledge
when Janice
put her hands
over your eyes
and said
guess who?
and you put
your hands
into the pockets
of your short trousers
and said
Miss Murphy
or Miss Ashdown?
no
Janice said
it's me
and she removed
her hands
from over your eyes
and you turned around
and looked at her
and she had
her red beret on
and a pink scarf
around her neck
to keep out
the cold
you must
have known
it was me
she said
who else
would put their hands
over your eyes?
her eyes were bright
and you thought
you could see yourself
in them
as if they were small mirrors
Jupp might do
or maybe Carmody
you said smiling
she didn't smile back
but pulled her lips
tight in a line
then she took your hand
and pulled you
along the path
that led
to the school toilets
and pushed you
inside a cubicle
and shut the door
behind you both
and said
don't you love me?
there was a large spider
hanging from
the cistern chain
close to
her red beret
and it hung there
suspended
swaying back
and forth
and you said
of course I do
right down
to your white socks
but there's a spider
above your head
and she looked up
and screamed
and a voice
outside the door
asked
are you all right
in there?
Janice's eyes widened
and she watched
as the spider
moved up the chain
and she said
yes it's all right
Miss Murphy
just a small spider
and you stood there
next to Janice
wondering what
Miss Murphy
would say
if she saw you
and Janice
in the lavatory
together
and the voice said
ok as long
as you
are all right
and the footsteps
moved away
and Janice took
your hand in hers
and you sensed
how cold it was
slightly blue
and it was just
9 year old Janice
and the big spider
and 9 year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Dreaming Tree
Standing here
The old man said to me
Long before these crowded streets
Here stood my dreaming tree
Below it he would sit
For hours at a time
Now progress takes away
What forever took to find
Now hes falling hard
He feels the falling dark
How he longs to be
Beneath his dreaming tree
Conquered fear to climb
A moment froze in time
When the girl who first he kissed
Promised him shed be his
Remembered mothers words
There beneath the tree
No matter what the world
Youll always be my baby
Mommy come quick
The dreaming tree has died
The air is growing thick
A fear he cannot hide
The dreaming tree has died
Oh have you no pity
This thing I do
I do not deny it
All through this smile
As crooked as danger
I do not deny
I know in my mind
I would leave you now
If I had the strength to
I would leave you up
To your own devices
Will you not talk
Can you take pity
I dont ask much
But wont you speak
Please
From the start
She knew she had it made
Easy up til then
For sure shed make the grade
Adorers came in hordes
To lay down in her wake
She gave it all she had
But treasures slowly fade
Now shes falling hard
She feels the fall of dark
How did this fall apart
She drinks to fill it up
A smile of sweetest flowers
Wilted so and soured
Black tears stain the cheeks
That once were so admired
She thinks when she was small
There on her fathers knee
How he had promised her
You1ll always be my baby
Daddy come quick
The dreaming tree has died
I cant find my way home
There is no place to hide
The dreaming tree has died
Oh if I had the strength...
Take me back
Save me please
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pre Spring
Pre Spring
It had stopped raining I went for a walk, the sun came for a visit and
it got hot. Took my coat off, marched on till the sun had had enough
and rolled back home. The almond tree, by the lane, looked puny
spindly twigs for branches, and grey bark. Ghostlike if it hadn’t been
so pathetically ugly. Looked closer and saw a pair of pink buds on its
a twig. Now the tree was beautiful and I fretted about the chill in
the wind and if frost comes in the night, will it snuff out this new life?
I took pictures of the buds, but the photos were a bit blurred and
colours not so bright as those I saw with naked eyes, yeah, like my
eyes should be undressed most of the time, or hidden behind dark
sunglasses. In about three weeks, if all goes well, my bare, nutty tree
will be covered in pink flowers and look lovely. Elderly hearts will
feel young again and beat too hard. In the vale, where I live, there are
many funerals in March.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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