POETRY - QUOTES

Once touched by love, all men become poets.

-Plato, 400 B.C.

To the poet belongs life in its full and absolute entirety, not merely the beauty that men look at, but the beauty that men listen to... Most people become bankrupt having invested too heavily in the prose of life. To have ruined one's self over poetry is an honour.

-Oscar Wilde

First they ignore you.
Then they laugh at you.
Then they fight you.
Then you win.

-Gandhi

All great truths begin as blasphemies.

-George Bernard Shaw

The race is not to the swift,
Nor the battle to the strong,
Neither yet bread to the wise,
Nor yet riches to men of understanding,
Nor yet favor to men of skill;
But time and chance happeneth to them all.

-King Solomon (Ecclesiastes 9:11)

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn, long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you,
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth, and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

-Rudyard Kipling

THE YOUNG BRITISH SOLDIER


When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
   Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
    Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
    Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
    Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
         So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!

Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
   A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
    Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .

First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
   An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
    Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .

When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
   An' it crumples the young British soldier.
    Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .

But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You ~must~ wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
   An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
    Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .

If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
   That it's beer for the young British soldier.
    Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .

Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
   Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
    'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .

If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er:  that's Hell for them both,
   An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
    Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .

When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
   And march to your front like a soldier.
    Front, front, front like a soldier . . .

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
   An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
    Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .

When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
   For noise never startles the soldier.
    Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .

If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
   And wait for supports like a soldier.
    Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
   An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
    Go, go, go like a soldier,
    Go, go, go like a soldier,
    Go, go, go like a soldier,
         So-oldier ~of~ the Queen!

-Rudyard Kipling

OPPORTUNITY

THIS I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:-

There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;

And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged

A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords

Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner

Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.

A craven hung along the battle's edge,

And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel-

That blue blade that the king's son bears,-but this

Blunt thing-!" he snapt and flung it from his hand,

And lowering crept away and left the field.

Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,

And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,

Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand,

And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout

Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down,

And saved a great cause that heroic day.

-Edward Rowland Sill

Therefore, I say: Know your enemy and know yourself; in a hundred battles, you will never be defeated. When you are ignorant of the enemy but know yourself, your chances of winning or losing are equal. If ignorant both of your enemy and of yourself, you are sure to be defeated in every battle.

-SUN TZU
From The Art of War

It is true that you may fool all the people some of the time; you can even fool some of the people all of the time; but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.

I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me and causes me to tremble for the safety of my country. ...corporations have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high places will follow, and the money power of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people until all wealth is aggregated in a few hands and the Republic is destroyed.

-Abraham Lincoln

If a man empties his purse into his head, no man can take it away from him. An investment in knowledge always pays the best interest.

People who give up liberty for security deserve neither.

-Benjamin Franklin

Any coward can fight a battle when he's sure of winning; but give me the man who has the pluck to fight when he's sure of losing. That's my way, sir; and there are many victories worse than a defeat.

-George Eliot

Courage is fear that has said its prayers...

-anonymous

Some readers across the nation saw a devilish face in this photo taken of the World Trade Center towers in New York after the terrorist attack September 11. People who saw the photo in their local newspaper called to ask if it had been tampered with.


The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.

-Edmund Burke

Semper Fidelis

-US Marine Corps

Ironic

At a recent University of North Carolina lecture they played a video of Oliver North during the Iran-Contra deals during the Reagan administration. There was Ollie in front of God and Country getting the third degree. But what he said was stunning. He was being drilled by some senator:

"Did you not recently spend close to $60,000 for a home security system?"

Oliver replied, "Yes I did sir."

The senator continued, trying to get a laugh out of the audience, "Isn't this just a little excessive?"

"No sir," continued Oliver.

"No. And why not?"

"Because the life of my family and I were threatened."

"Threatened? By who."

"By a terrorist, sir."

"Terrorist? What terrorist could possibly scare you that much?"

"His name is Osama bin Laden."

At this point the senator tried to repeat the name, but couldn't pronounce it, which most people back then probably couldn't. A couple of people laughed at the attempt. Then the senator continued.

"Why are you so afraid of this man?"

"Because sir, he is the most evil person alive that I know of."

"And what do you recommend we do about him?"

"If it were me I would recommend an assassin team be formed to eliminate him and his men from the face of the earth."

ENDURE

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

When the road you’re trudging seems all up hill,

When the funds are low and the debts are high,

And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit,

Rest, if you must---but don’t quit.

Life is strange with its twists and turns,

As every one of us sometimes learns,

And many a failure turns about

When he might have won had he stuck it out;

Don’t give up, though the pace seems slow---

You might succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than

It seems to a faint and faltering man,

Often the struggler has given up.

When he might have captured the victor’s cup.

And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,

How close he was to the golden crown.

Success and failure turned inside out---

The silver tint of the clouds of doubt

And you never can tell how close you are,

So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit---

It’s when things seems worst that you mustn’t quit.

Author Unknown

POETRY ON WAR IN IRAQ

Outside the city, shivering with dread,
We're Falluja bound.
Can hear the explosions when I raise my head. . . .
Foreign soldiers, invaders from another land;
When I look through the hatred in their eyes,
I almost understand.
R.P.G.'s, mortars, and friends dead on the road.
My youth is gone,
Crushed from sensory overload.
Assaulted yesterday up an Iraqi street.
R.P.G. explosion, a scream,
Seared my face with the heat.
Dragged him through the blood-streaked dust and dirt,
His screams in my ears,
His blood type tagged to his shirt.
Covered with blood, he cried, Don't leave me alone.
Died in my arms;
Now I just want to go home.
Officers yelling, Get out of your holes!
We're Falluja bound;
Please pray for our souls.

Tim Johnson

Knock the dust off your boots, my boy,
It's time to ride again.
The frontier has gone restless now
And we must crush this rebellion. . . .
These people understand only violence,
So let's give it to 'em now.
We'll ride 'em down like Cherokee;
We'll trample 'em like Pueblo.
These savages are ruthless;
They understand no law.
So we'll pick up our Peacemakers,
And shoot 'em like Choctaw. . . .
Rally round the flag, my boy,
And grab your rifle, too.
The Red Man's turned Brown, my boy,
And there's a lot of peacemaking to do.

Anonymous Second Lieutenant

Confusion, fear and lies;
What good can come when people die?
Red Blood spilt
On barren land
To complete an alchemical plan,
Red Blood to Black Gold,
Deviously poisoning, polluting, choking our Heart.
Men tortured, defiled, dishonored by their Brethren,
Captured on film, a permanent bruise
Not to be overlooked.
Truth and honor wither away;
They know they do not belong.
Boundaries grow hazy
Accompanied by roles:
Who the victim? Who the villain? Both? Neither?
For what purpose and to what end?
Why fight a war
Paid with lives
Only to gain confusion, fear and lies?

Megan Foley

Off now, children! Off to war! Kill in your country's name!
For murder on behalf of kin is what allows our boys to win
And rest someday in cherished lore. So off now, off to war!
Off now, children! Off to war! Make your fathers swell with pride!
For though you're young, they love to hear that you're a splendid bombardier
And dodge death like a matador.
So off now, off to war!
Off now, children! Off to war! Bring smiles to your mothers' eyes!
They hate to lose you, sure that's true, but if flags of red, white and blue
Are at your funeral, souls will soar.
So off now, off to war!

Zach Chotzen-Freund

Alexander Nemser of New Haven wrote about the death of a pilot:

His mother sent him pictures of his truck,
A pickup, hubcaps polished every time
He stopped to fill the tank, as clear as mirrors;
The dog, who'd lost an eye last spring; his town,
Apollo, Pennsylvania, near the falls
On Roaring Run; the watch his uncle won
From playing cards; his empty chair at dinner,
Audacious as the space left by a tooth.
We traded rifles, scripted final letters
And promised their delivery home. At night,
We planned escapes to Istanbul to join
The dervishes. Eleven miles from Baghdad,
I stood, dumb as a cow, and watched two choppers
Collide like fists and spin across the sky.

Jim Brown, a former U.S. marine now in Sydney, Australia, wrote from a soldier's point of view:

It's only a short dash, from this dusty wall to that one;
But you try it:
When someone you can't see is sending hot, cracking thunderbolts your way,
And you're clutching your young wife's sweat-faded photo so tight,
Your legs don't work properly.
Or try to tell the good Iraqis from the bad ones;
Make a mistake:
The good ones become bad ones, and you make the evening news.
The answer is to get from this dusty wall to that one, and get home.

Frank Sandoval of Louisville, Colo., thought of children:

A young girl in a pretty dress;
Her first kiss, her dried lips pressed
Into the dirt of a road. . . .
She's now a horrid little carcass,
Flies, tears dried to gelatin in her eyes,
Hair dirtier than a woman's hair should ever be.
She's free.
I look now at my little girl,
Blue eyes prettier than a flower,
Laughter more joyous than a bird song.
My heart swells in my chest and while I laugh,
I feel fear, smell a faint stench of insanity.

David Keppel of Bloomington, Ind., responded to the Abu Ghraib torture:

Did I hold a dog
To your terrified nakedness
Or perch you on a box,
Your outstretched arms wired
To the current of fear? . . .
Tell me what I have done,
I beg you, as you begged me,
Tell me what I can do
To make you forget
That my people never remember.

My favorite poem, from James Yeck of Boulder, Colo., focused on those left behind:

A tiny piece of metal hangs upon a frame,
That has "father" written below the name.
The tiny piece of metal hangs in glory there,
Never left to tarnish by neglecting care.
The tiny piece of metal brings fame to the home,
Glory for its man who crossed the ocean's foam.
Politicians send praises into the peaceful air;
Others smile now who once would only stare.
People from all around come especially to see
The tiny piece of metal, a symbol of the free.
A country's grateful token to the bravest of its land. . . .
Proud of their famous town the village people say,
"Do you know what this means?" with pride most every day,
To the little boy whose father went to war.
"Yes," softly he replies, "I have no daddy any more."

As You Like It

Act 2
Scene 7

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

-William Shakespeare

Intelligence is like four-wheel drive; it just allows you to get stuck in more remote places.

Garrison Keillor
"A Prairie Home Companion"

In general, the art of government consists in taking as much money as possible from one party of the citizens to give it to the other.

-Voltaire

On Kissing The Homecoming Queen
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