Epic Poems
Muy Vieja Mexicana
by Alice Corbin
I've seen her pass with eyes upon the road --
An old bent woman in a bronze-black shawl,
With skin as dried and wrinkled as a mummy's,
As brown as a cigar-box, and her voice
Like the low vibrant strings of a guitar.
And I have fancied from the girls about
What she was at their age, what they will be
When they are old as she. But now she sits
And smokes away each night till dawn comes round,
Thinking, beside the pinyons' flame, of days
......
To My Children
by Sarojini Naidu
Jaya Surya
GOLDEN sun of victory, born
In my life's unclouded morn,
In my lambent sky of love,
May your growing glory prove
Sacred to your consecration,
To my heart and to my nation.
Sun of victory, may you be
Sun of song and liberty.
......
The Last To Leave
by Leon Gellert
The guns were silent, and the silent hills
had bowed their grasses to a gentle breeze
I gazed upon the vales and on the rills,
And whispered, "What of these?' and "What of these?
These long forgotten dead with sunken graves,
Some crossless, with unwritten memories
Their only mourners are the moaning waves,
Their only minstrels are the singing trees
And thus I mused and sorrowed wistfully
......
The Shangani Patrol
by Douglas Gird
On the banks of the wide Shangani,
Neath a dark and leaden sky,
In a glade of green mopani
A patrol went forth to die.
They crossed the rising river
On the trail of wayward Chief,
With orders to reconnoitre
And the coloumn would bring relief.
......
The Iliad: Book 1
by Homer
Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought
countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send
hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs
and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the
day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first
fell out with one another.
And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was the
son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent a
pestilence upon the host to plague the people, because the son of
Atreus had dishonoured Chryses his priest. Now Chryses had come to the
......
The day of rage
by Phillip Nine-Mafunga
He rode on a colt
To raid our vault
While sychophants find no fault
We have to bring this to a hault
By the gun an'the bullet as we revolt
All that fat will not hold
Our rage will bring all this to nought
PHILLIP NINE MAFUNGA
28 JULY 2024
Echo, Bells of Harmony
by Quinn Smorenburg
Echo, bells of harmony.
Ring your radiance down valleys
so cold. Shatter black ice covering
land. Make heavy shapes get up
and stand. Your gift guides paradise,
coming this way.
Resound, oh bells of harmony.
Fold your music as solid and shove
every ear idly lying; their souls slowly dying.
......
Woman And War
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
We women teach our little sons how wrong
And how ignoble blows are; school and church
Support our precepts and inoculate
The growing minds with thoughts of love and peace.
‘Let dogs delight to bark and bite, ’ we say;
But human beings with immortal souls
Must rise above the methods of the brute
And walk with reason and with self-control.
And then – dear God! you men, you wise, strong men,
......
The Revelation
by Robert William Service
The same old sprint in the morning, boys, to the same old din and smut;
Chained all day to the same old desk, down in the same old rut;
Posting the same old greasy books, catching the same old train:
Oh, how will I manage to stick it all, if I ever get back again?
We've bidden good-bye to life in a cage, we're finished with pushing a pen;
They're pumping us full of bellicose rage, they're showing us how to be men.
We're only beginning to find ourselves; we're wonders of brawn and thew;
But when we go back to our Sissy jobs, -- oh, what are we going to do?
......
Kathleen
by Robert William Service
It was the steamer Alice May that sailed the Yukon foam.
And touched in every river camp from Dawson down to Nome.
It was her builder, owner, pilot, Captain Silas Geer,
Who took her through the angry ice, the last boat of the year;
Who patched her cracks with gunny sacks and wound her pipes with wire,
And cut the spruce upon the banks to feed her boiler fire;
Who headed her into the stream and bucked its mighty flow,
And nosed her up the little creeks where no one else would go;
Who bragged she had so small a draft, if dew were on the grass,
With gallant heart and half a start his little boat would pass.
......
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Arthur Patchett Martin (1 poems about Epic)
18 February 1851 – 15 February 1902 / Woolwich, Kent, England -