Deep-seated are the wounds dealt in civil brawls.
Related quotes
Deep-seated are the wounds of civil brawls.
quote by Marcus Annaeus Lucan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
In Finland, we learned quite a lot from our own civil war. The wounds were visible when I was a boy, but my generation went into the Second World War and it united the Finnish nation, so I do not see any more wounds.
quote by Harri Holkeri
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Easier to Digest
Civil unrest
Civil war
Civil chaos
Or...
My personal favorite,
Civil disobedience!
Which of these has more flavor...
And yet caffeine free?
More taste,
And yet less filling?
'I vote we go with civil unrest!
It's easier to digest...
And maintains that robust appeal.'
Now we are getting somewhere!
And you George...
What would you like?
~Just pass me the vodka!
No rocks! ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I keep living life as it's dealt to me. Sometimes, it's not dealt 100 percent. Sometimes it's dealt on the low '30s.
quote by Bobby Womack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Leviathans
You had dug in deep
to undo the garden.
Civil war started
between the yawning wounds.
Whose side was time:
in burning well of oil?
The autocracy will bleed
the earth till death.
An island in the canal
holds the ship of man.
For whom flows the river
in smouldering woods of hate?
Each matter, antimatter,
circles around the world,
trembles under the eyelids
and asks for a name.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Civil War
What in the world is a Civil War?
There's nothing civil about it.
Is it just a metaphor?
You say one thing and mean another.
You take up sides and kill your brother.
And that my friends
is civil?
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Promise Of Peace
The heads of strong old age are beautiful
Beyond all grace of youth. They have strange quiet,
Integrity, health, soundness, to the full
They've dealt with life and been tempered by it.
A young man must not sleep; his years are war,
Civil and foreign but the former's worse;
But the old can breathe in safety now that they are
Forgetting what youth meant, the being perverse,
Running the fool's gauntlet and being cut
By the whips of the five senses. As for me,
If I should wish to live long it were but
To trade those fevers for tranquillity,
Thinking though that's entire and sweet in the grave
How shall the dead taste the deep treasure they have?
poem by Robinson Jeffers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Zimbabwe - An Echo
The day before yesterday
they dealt with the terminally ill to free the hospitals.
Yesterday,
they dealt with those who did not contribute to the economy.
Today,
they dealt with those who oppose the government.
Tomorrow,
they will deal with those who have heard of a better life.
Next week,
do not be surprised at the truck
with bloodstains on its tailboard
at your gate tooting its impatient horn.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
~courage~
It Found me
In the deep recesses
Close to
Where
My information
Is stored
TMI OVERLOAD!
Overwhelms!
Adrenalin fueled
Deep seated NEED
To RIGHT the Many
WRONGS
It BURNS COURAGEI
Into these bones
All Life Long
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
American Civil War Chronicles 1
This series is dedicated to my friend Frank James Ryan Jr
Author’s Note.
If it had not been for Frank suggesting to diversify, this series might never have come into being. It was while thinking of what he said that the idea of writing about the American Civil War of 1861 to 1865 came into my mind. I plan to chart the Civil War in poem from its beginning to its eventual end. I will try to be as accurate as I can with my words and order of events.
DVH
BEGINNINGS BEFORE SHOTS WERE FIRED
Wars are only started
when diplomacy fails to win.
So it was in 1859
two years before the civil war began.
Neither side wanted to give an inch,
though the South was easing their stance,
and if the talking went on for another year,
the bloodshed might have been
averted completely.
However, the agitators were out in force,
and through their actions,
the talking began to crumble,
peace died and wither in dust.
When John Brown seized the Federal arsenal
at Harpers Ferry to start a slave insurrection in the South.
It was just one spark that would help ignite a war.
That in four years would pit
brother against brother, and friend against friend.
It was a war that was to shape
a fledgling country, for its future days.
The bitterness it created
was to last for years,
after the fighting
was just a distant memory,
creating distrust with wounds,
burning deep within families,
causing feuding and banditry,
before hatches were finally buried.
25 August 2007
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Star Spandgled Bummer
Ring anvil for the deal
We dealt us by mistake
Our angel made of steel
Is big enough to break
Cause the rust is at his heel
And i swear i seen him shakin'
But who'll be here to bring this body home
The cabaret was crowded
As her bed on payday night
Sammy hit a soldier
And the fools begun to fight
We scattered like the shadows
In the early morning light
But she remained to bring the body home
For longer than it seemed
She loved some honest man
Who chased her wildest dreams
And rode her like the wind
And they forged the bloody chains
For some wounds too deep for mendin'
But she was there to bring the body home
The barker stood there smilin'
As he beckoned us inside
To see the shining creature that had
Grown too big to hide
Look here, he said, he's harmless
And we wished he wasn't lyin'
Cause few remained to bring the body home
Ring anvil for the deal
We dealt us by mistake
Our angel made of steel
Is big enough to break
Cause the rust is at his heel
And i swear i've seen him shakin'
And we'll be here to bring the body home
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
One is better off seated than standing. lying than seated, asleep than awake, and dead than alive.
If I dealt in candles, the sun wouldn't set; if I dealt in shrouds, people would stop dying.
Hide Me In Your Wounds
Hide Me In Your Wounds
By your wounds, I am healed
Healed in running away from internal strife
In giving up when there is still something to give
Your precious wounds gave me the love
When I wanted to give love
And the beauty and receiving grace instead of misfortune
By your wounds, I am healed
I am a survivor, a winner
I sing a new song in my heart
I witness the breaking of a new dawn each day
By your wounds I am healed
I believe that any storms in my life shall pass
And live my life one day at a time
By your wounds, I am yours
To teach, to guide, to revive and to forgive
I have forgiven myself, as I have forgiven others who caused me pain
Thank you Jesus..for those wounds
And hide me forever…
poem by Meggie Gultiano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am A Civil Servant
I am a civil servant
That's not my real name
I am a baptised civil servant
This name puts bread on my table
I am a civil servant
Codified to obey a set of rules
Straight-jacketed to obey my masters
For a monthly stipend as a reward
I am a civil servant
Ordained to oil the engine of politicians
Who lords their policies on me
To serve like a chef at a banquet
I am a civil servant
My sobriquet is a bureaucrat
I am constantly accused of red-tapism
'Cos of my insistence on procedures
I am a civil servant indeed
My masters blame me for any misdemeanor
My people accuses me of collusion
I am just a scape goat at both ends
I am a civil servant par excellence
I am just a loyal and dutiful citizen
No nation can survive without me
Yet I am hardly appreciated
I am seen as rodent in a farmland
I am always available to serve my country
I am ready to serve the political divides
I am an uunbiased umpire
Soldier go, soldier come
The barrack is immovable
I am a loyal civil servant
Used like fresh rain water in the morning
Thrown away as dirty water at night
Condemned to paltry periodical pension
To survive for the rest of my life
That's my reward for being a loyal servant
poem by Babatunde Aremu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Scots [A Dirge]
Black Scots and red Scots,
Red Scots and black;
I hae dealt wi’ the red Scot,
An’ dealt wi’ the black.
The Red Scot is angry
Among the sons o’ men—
He’ll pay you a bawbee,
An’ steal it back again.
Black Scots and red Scots,
Red Scots and black;
I hae dealt wi’ the red Scot,
An’ dealt wi’ the black.
The Black Scot is frien’ly—
A brither an’ a’—
He’ll pay you a bawbee,
An’ steal back twa.
The Ginger Scot o’ a’ Scots,
The warst shade o’ Scot,
For he’ll pay ye naething,
An’ tak’ a’ you’ve got.
Black Scots and red Scots,
Short Scots an’ lang,
Ginger Scots an’ bald Scots—
I dealt wi’ the gang.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Peace in War?
So you sharpen your knives
You also oil your guns
What is that grenade for?
I see, you have a jungle jacket,
How smart?
Tell me, would you heal the wounds?
The wounds,
That gape and stare at you,
The wounds that wouldn't let
A nap over your eyes.
Wounds that would hollow your heart,
Dripping bloody soiled hands
That would make your seeds
Sprout with fright to the wound?
Tell me,
Was it for peace?
Now agape. Why?
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In These Poems That We Write
these are the wounds of the heart
let your fingers pierce that part
blood drips from a wounded heart
pain gleaming against the light
time has not healed the wounds
you can hear the screaming sounds
these are the wounds of my heart
we are not many miles apart
we share the wounds of the heart
in these poems that we draft
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We are losing each day an average 50 to 60 people throughout the country, if not more. If this is not civil war, then God knows what civil war is.
quote by Iyad Allawi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Lucky Me
I’ve always felt the hand I was dealt was more than fair,
Especially as I sit here and stare
At my homeland, the richest country on earth.
Then I remember parents who appreciated my worth.
They encouraged me to strive for ever new heights
While always discriminating the wrongs from the rights.
Ah yes, no doubt I was dealt a royal flush hand;
A hole-in-one, grand slam I couldn’t have planned.
At the heart of it all is monumental love’s feeling
That convinces me that life truly has no ceiling.
Happiness is for the taking; it’s right over there.
Lucky me…my dealt hand is so much more than fair!
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!