War is never over
Thought the treaties may be signed
The memories of the battles
Are forever in our minds
War is never over
So when you welcome heroes home
Remember in their minds they hold
Memories known to them alone
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
That some day, emerging at last from the terrifying vision
I may burst into jubilant praise to assenting angels!
That of the clear-struck keys of the heart not one may fail
to sound because of a loose, doubtful or broken string!
That my streaming countenance may make me more resplendent
That my humble weeping change into blossoms.
Oh, how will you then, nights of suffering, be remembered
with love. Why did I not kneel more fervently, disconsolate
sisters, more bendingly kneel to receive you, more loosely
surrender myself to your loosened hair? We, squanderers of
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
to Robert Hass and in memory of Elliot Gilbert
Slow dulcimer, gavotte and bow, in autumn,
Bashõ and his friends go out to view the moon;
In summer, gasoline rainbow in the gutter,
The secret courtesy that courses like ichor
Through the old form of the rude, full-scale joke,
Impossible to tell in writing. 'Bashõ'
He named himself, 'Banana Tree': banana
spirit is his name
racing through field or meadow
he loves to run free
in the times of blooms
in the saffron colored dawns
or red sunset dusk
for apples he comes
and you can ride like the wind
The darkness is engulfing me
I'm tired of being tired
I just want to flee
From this tragedy
All I want is to break free
And feel the wind through my hair
And I want to see
All the wonders left to behold
Just how far is the train of freedom from the discriminated son?
Just how far is the train of freedom from the black homeless child?
Just how far is the train of freedom from the disabled poet?
And just how far are the winds of change from a corrupted nation!?
Just how far is the train of freedom from the fields of Waterloo?
Just how far is the struggling warrior from the mountain top?
Just how long is 365 days 27 times behind bars, I mean,
Just how far is freedom from a lonely child at play?...
Light slithers through branches, leaves
fleeting fingerprints on the tree,
as early spring arrives, but
stacks of odd
gives an angle
of approaching winter.
Pissing on twigs and rubbish,
a gate nearby is open, leading
A ship sails upon coolly placid waters,
Into the sunset of many pastel colors,
Reflected in patches on deep blue seas,
Quite matching the skies' royal blue!
In the days of sun sea color and wind,
Into a hued horizon, soon it will blend.
Freedom and joy are not too far behind,
As purple martins follow warmer seasons.
Sun yellow to peach to orange pink red,
Drifting to sweet dreams on a watery bed!