"salute" poems
Sunday sermons are spilling on the inner city streets
through the green heaps and brown bags
through the downtown whisperers
and sage solitude souls
Army bands prepare for march
(their trench members filling packs with canister and cane)
the high command and tricked militia head pinned
quick on the look for splinter, lorry and skuttle
Traffic patterns change at the COP connect
camouflage bearers break formal stride
battle men slip between colorful floats
unsuspecting slumlords (vein pricked and weary)
grin in their second suite dying rooms
Twitching men and rubbernecks
sit discreetly on the corner wall
JJ and the chief revere a 21 gun salute
holy rollers raise cheer (in a moment of silence)
chess men hold steady
with ivory cues
Flames belt from the distant foundry
streets come alive with crackle and dust
members of the attic group glance down from their perch
an elderly man in a straight jacket (happy in the now)
sits solemnly with a cold reflective stare
It’s not far from the steely mud holes
from the flying fragments and sharp broken dreams
from the arsenal digs and madmen (who quietly turned the *****
the ivy trellis
and flowing white gown
are a nocturne fit
for this elevated rolling highland
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
sages and brethren
gather, and share
and slowly souls
are bared
their tempered voices
and quiet eyes
reserved of judgment
with passing smiles
moments blend
in current trends
opinions wide
and reflections deep
the concepts
and irregularities
once murky
now clear
they prioritize
and familiarize
that staunch resolution
of generation net
will remunerate
and illuminate
through the checkpoints
and formal reviews
through the purple curtains
and open stage
nothing tainted
or bitter
left for taste
cause its they
who’ll plant the seeds
the captains of commerce
healers and jugglers
the coaches and councilors
negotiators and compromisers
the kings and queens
hustlers and hellcats
(who've all found their way!)
let us tip our hats
and salute them*
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 2:05 PM UTC
The pigeons are sad
The pigeons saw that
The future comes with bad
The pigeons were telling that
The prophets born here
The prophet know that
It is the land of kind
, welfare and tied
The religions at that land
The assembly of religions
The peace between nations
Were established there
Here was the prophet David
Who the mounts the trees ,
The stones and the birds,
Repeated his prays
He governed with justice
After him ,Solomon was gotten
He governed with justice
The welfare had increased
And the peace with there
The Romans occupied it
And the injustice appeared
The killing and the theft
Were actually increased
Here was born Jesus
Who invited to peace
At shortest and clear
That was not admired
By Romans or Jewish
Who were there
They planned to **** him
The land became unfair
The decreasing of welfare
The increasing of fear
Till the new nation appeared
The new religion increased
It called for justice
It led to peace
The Muslims achieved a victory
As they built a great glory
And they blockaded the land
The patriarch man said,"
We didn’t give the keys
Except to your leader
Who is justice’s famous"
They wore one of soldiers
The smartest cloth
They introduced him
As the prince of Insurers
as the caliph of Muslims
The greatest patriarchs said,"
That is not the man we did
Actually knew and have red
At our book that mentioned
Him actually as we saw awake."
The leader of soldiers ordered
To sent a letter to the caliph
At bright city wide distance
As he wanted to keep blood
Out of bleeding
He wanted not to ****
The innocent people
He didn’t want to bore
His name over death
His religion ordered them
To save the innocent people
To the caliph to came
The caliph and a servant moved
The leader of the greatest land
At that time, at that moment
From the kind and light city
He read the yassin of holy
Quran that equals twenty
Minutes
For riding the donkey
And his servants walks only
Then the caliph got off only
And the servant rode the donkey
And they read the yassin for away
To count and know time
And mention the God only
Then the caliph and servant also
Walked with their donkey
To rest it also
They keep reading yassin only
Till they reached near the holy
City that mentioned with holy
In Quran with great respect
The turn is on the servant
To get that donkey rode
And the caliph would walk
He said," my prince! I must
Get down and you must
Ride that donkey"
He said," then I will be called
Injustice caliph led the insurers
To be injustice at every talkers
And it is your turn
If the air came to me smelt
With good smell than yours
If the water I drink
Have more delicious than yours
If I created from mud
Made of silver and gold
I will rode that animal
And you must go walker
Ride it my good insurer"
The soldiers saw him
They did great clutter
They wanted to salute him
The patriarch said with amazed,"
See what is that noise?
He looked and said
That is him , that is him!"
The patriarch went and looked
He counted patch in his
The cloth of the greatest prince
Of the greatest Nation motioned
At the ancient, at the present
He said," you are who is mentined!
You are the caliph
"Omar" was the caliph
He gave them the safe deal
That mentioned by his name
The patriarch gave him the keys
Of Jerusalem to him
The time for afternoon pray came
The caliph prayed out the church
The patriarch said
Why you didn’t pray at that
Place at the inner of the church
Omar said if I prayed here
The Muslims after that
Say "Omar" prayed here
And they took it
To be a mosque indeed
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 4:38 AM UTC
Seagulls squeak and
As thunderclaps salute the laws of physics
I imagine they could speak
Sensory inputs of fresh strawberries become
A raging flood of summer sweetness that
Fuses with the hot electrified air
And I'm daydreaming that
Above this veil of angry clouds
Roams unseen ancient eyes
With tears braver than
What is boundless
Stronger and brighter than even
Endless darkness
They lie in wait
Their love
Their warmth
Bursting forth
Wombs of rainbows
And all that is precious
Yet still untold
Waiting to kiss the atoms of your skin
And once again
Paint your summer smile
Blink and you might forget that
They were you
Before you were even born
Sunset
Sunrise
Watch them never skip a beat
Wake up.
Kick ***
Repeat.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
Manila,
Manila,
Your bustling streets vibrate with the rumbling of the jeepneys
and the hollers of the drivers as they say,
“Pasahero diyan, kasya pa, kasya pa!”; (Any passenger there, some seats are still free!)
Your nights twinkle with the Christmas lights
that surround every tree around the Meralco building
when September begins;
Your endless traffic jams keep McDonald’s and KFC alive
twenty-four by seven
where traffic enforcers dodge cars
and vans
trucks and tricycles
and jeepneys and bicycles
while dancing to the rhythm beating in their own ears
with a smile and a salute to all the drivers
from dawn to dusk;
The noise awakens the outskirts of your city
filled with people who never fails to smile
even when the storm pirouettes like a tempestuous ballerina,
where children watch the roads
transform into this ocean of black water
and small wooden boats become the means of transportation;
paddling in between houses
as the adults try to go to work;
where chickens waddling upon roofs
and cats chasing rats
become the best forms of entertainment
but Manila,
your lingering smell of cancer
comes with the dark blue starless sky
telling people to grip their bags until it merges with their bodies.
Manila, say good night
while they hold it tight
protecting it from the dark humid air
where thieves come out to
thumb down unscrutinised objects
from shallow pockets
by the flickering lamps
across the blazing red and emerald green lights
you see less
and less
and less
faces
as the Sun sinks and says good bye.
Stop
and try to tranquilise yourself.
Your city is now lead
by a blood-thirsty leader.
Apologies from gunshots overpower the cries of help from your people.
Manila,
ignore them
and sleep well.
Let the truth decay
while lives burn and vanish.
Prayers cannot save your mutinous ignominy.
Halcyon days are over
but
Manila,
you are still a beautiful city.
Your resilient people
overflows with hospitable hearts.
Their faces plastered with big smiles
as they welcome us for you
and say, “Mabuhay!” (Long live!)
proud and mighty.
Offering their minds on banana leaf plates to everyone who visits,
Giving away their hearts in small loot bags to everyone who leaves,
The Pearl of the Orient Seas
was my hood.
Manila,
despite your lack of snow
and intense weather swings,
You are
and will always be
my home.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
To walking out of the house alone
To killing enemies with every dying emotion
To those who stand still in soulfading light
To those who don’t hesitate taking a bullet with pride
We salute you because you're willing to fight!
To face every plight without getting afraid
To bathe sometimes in the rain of grenades
To those with their eternal will
To those with the restless spirit
We salute you because you refuse to quit!
To the sacrifices that seemed very normal
To the courage amidst the literal horror
To those who dare to fight their own fears
To those who die fighting for us at the border
We salute you because YOU all are the real avengers!
And all those mothers who shed tears at night
All the wives keep waiting in the fading sight
All the families who lost their beloved ones
To those all who only lived once but shall stay forever
In our hearts, in our memories
In the history, for their dauntless bravery
To the real superheroes of our nation who don’t fight for any fame
I salute you because it's not a shame!
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 2:39 AM UTC
We play holi with colours,
And soldiers play it with guns and rifles.
At the risk of their own life,
They give us comfortable sleep and life.
A soldier is never sure of his life ,
And will he ever meet his daughter, son and wife.
Hats off and a dozen of salute,
Is nothing above a soldier and his sacrifice.
Besides a soldier his family also compromises,
Children sometimes starve to spent time with their father,
Mother's sometime don't even get to see dead bodies of their only son.
And what to say about the love of a wife,
Her sacrifices and compromises are just priceless.
After death a soldier is only remembered for a month or two,
Media is told to stay away too.
Payment of his life is done by some amount of money,
Is that all our duty towards our indian army?
This often chills my spine,
And brings a million years in my eyes.
A great salute to the Indian Army,
From the bottom of my heart.
I would help them anytime if they need me,
With each and everything I have.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 11:27 PM UTC
A Good Man Died
A good man died and we say goodbye
On earth he touched so many lives
A guardian sent to protect and serve
Now with Angels wings, much deserved
A good man died and so we cry
Friends and family salute his life
A man of courage who protected all
He stood his ground when duty called
A good man died we ask not why
For we know he serves on the other side
With a heavy heart we bow our heads
We pay respect for the life he lived
A good man died and we say goodbye
On earth he touched so many lives
A guardian sent to protect and serve
Now with Angels wings, much deserved
A good man died
In Honor and Respect
For
Detective, Ron Price
1940-2013
Columbus Ohio Division of Police
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 7:13 AM UTC
In the last months of March 2014,
Soldier Othello the Moroccan moor
Was in Stratford-upon-Avon at the graveside
Of William Shakespeare the English bard,
He was observing the anniversary
Of Shakespeare and his European brother Cervantes,
He had in his pocket another charm and amulet
Given to him by his paternal grandfather,
This time round not a charm for love portion,
But a mystique totem to raise the dead from dusts,
As Othello himself has hitherto over-matured
Above the painful torture of *** with aristocrats,
He has left it for the Jewish aristotrash; Frantz Kafka,
Whose torturous appetite for *** with German women,
Was the sorriest eyesore of his thespic efforts.
Like Jesus at the grave of Lazarus
Othello groaned by shouting; William the son of John!
No response, he shouted again; Shakespeare the bard!
Then the mystique powers of Othello’s amulet
Electrified Shakespeare back to life,
What is your problem you black moor,
The ***** of Morocco, the soldier
Who beguiled Desdemona into betrothal,
Not because of glory of your work,
But due to charms of your love portion
Bequeathed to you by your witch mother,
What brings you to my sepulchre,
For only to perturbed my purgatorial peace,
What brings you!?
Questioned Shakespeare the bard.
Am no longer the moor, blackness is class
But not the race, as race is bankrupt,
I come here to salute you with good news,
That your European brother, Alfred Nobel,
Currently rewards thespic bards like you,
Whether black or white, blue or green,
The ***** bards from the natural forest,
He also rewards, so wake up and pick the prize!
Retorted Othello in virtue of truth,
And also tell me the native bricks
Of your beautiful architecture;
Where and how did you mold thy bricks?
Your brown English bricks that walled your culture;
***** clown, leapfrog, mercurial, oxymoron,
Falsitafity, Shyllocking, colleaguery and window,
Cauldron, graymalkin, woo, betroth, infatuation and so on.
From underneath his sepulcher Shakespeare broke
A violent gaggle of laughter as if he was ten English skeletons,
You Othello you are still a beautiful moor
Whose foolishness time has not condemned to oblivion,
You are as a fool as I created you ; I will only teach you
One brick, the window , that you go and put on
Your wind disturbed African huts,
Put the wind door on your hut,
And be flexible in your tongue
To give it English elegance
Combine and shorten wind and door
To get your cultural brick of; window !
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
You choose to ask me about me, you choose to want to know me. You speak words out my vocabulary! You speak of your world so fine. You lure me into your mind. You try speak the truth while talking lies. You tell me about beauty and brains combined. You tell me I look fine and my poetry is in line. You tell me you'd want to know if I'm woman enough. If I can really play tough with whips and cuffs! I ask you how? Cause this is my body? What more can a woman define being a woman? I then realise the misconception. Try give you direction, but your minds path is too narrow, filled with ***** ***** and lubes! Reluctant to teach a head with no backbone, I smile:) you then begin again. You tell me that that smile you have, is worth a million rands, you tell me my curves don't lie, that could handle me right? you tell me about the bed, the floor, the kitchen counter, you define me by how many rounds I can encounter! This is my body..how dare you try you undress me? How dare you define my womanhood out of desperate needs?
You terminate my soul and don't bother to ask more. You say thanx like I did a good job. For watering your ego and moaning your insecurities away. Respect my body sir. Then ill Salute you.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 7:17 AM UTC
Maybe some day we will dance
Holding hands in disbelief
As tears of joy
flow from our eyes
While the field of flowers
will cheer in salute
Maybe our eternity
will come to an end
And our day will come
to begin . . . just maybe
Just maybe I hope
beyond my dreams
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 12:02 AM UTC
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.”
John Quincy Adams, 6th President of the United States
<>
a bad weakness, mine, mess with the perfect of others,
unsure what to add that will addictive illuminate further,
but as homage, a tribute, a salute
got to
got too,
no middle class delayed gratification for me, none, whatsoever,
read the words and my own hands choke me
as if to pull out, to free
the upsurging words in my chest-forming,
to uplift me up, from the floor where I am roiling in
wonderful wonderment at a prophecy come true
my recent family history,
about 400 years worth, got it written down someplace,
escapees from a Spanish Inquisition,
a Roman one before that,
meandering Jews who found a respite, a small welcome
in a small village in Germany
(the irony does not go unnoticed)
from villager to merchant, from tiny town to big city folk,
we went, warriors if any, kept secret, best unheard,
attract no attention, but do what survival doesn’t
always politely request
here I am child of the proverbial wandering jew,
fancy me a poet with, at best, a very small p,
one of three children, historians, book writers, scholars and even
poet~traders,
and so a President’s words, hammer my cells
upon an anvil for human skins,
the future shape of me foreseen
and I think to myself,
alone and out loud:
This, This!
is what makes America great,
welcoming the stranger,
even predicting their
possible pathway to a peaceful existence,
giving their descendant’s generations liberty,
liberty to become poets,
free, who can stand upright*
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
Africa, Oh Africa!
Africa, Oh Africa!
My Motherland,
Why not take pride
in who you are?
When you converse,
You use the language of the West.
The offspring of the same parents,
And still use the language of the West.
Your own children try to distance themselves
and dress and talk like
Those from the West.
Your airwaves are filled with music,
Fast beats, foul language
and heavy metal from the West.
Even the food you eat
All processed and purchased
From the West.
Your fields are dry.
You laugh at traditional foods and ceremonies.
You have forgotten who you are.
Your heritage cries out
From the depths of the tombs
you're filling up with immorality
and your self-destructive ways.
You despise who are,
You ridicule who you are,
You try so hard to change
Who you are
Your heroes and comrades
In entertainment and politics
In the community, the society
Have been overshadowed
By those from the West.
Remember them,
Revere them,
More so alive than after death.
Resurrect Ubuntu,
Show a little compassion
For a fellow who needs it.
Stop the hate, tribalism
And racism.
This path of destruction
Will get you nowhere.
Let peace rule in the Motherland.
Respect your elders,
Salute the teachers
Who try to lead your youth
In the right direction.
Teach your children well
Violence is not the way
The pen is still mightier
Than the sword
Eradicate illiteracy
End child labour and
Marriages.
Honour, love and protect
Your women and children.
They will give you respect
and happiness in return.
Follow the footprints
Of your forebears.
Live in harmony with
Yourself.
Africa, Oh Africa!
Africa, Oh Africa!
Take note
Before it's too late!
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 6:41 AM UTC
I remember my old grand dad
Always wore his Sunday best
We always called him "Poppy"
It was always pinned upon his chest
For as long as I remember
He always had that piece of red
Tattered, torn, but sturdy
In memory of the dead
Echoes in his mind of years
Images so real
I never asked him what he saw
His tears...they sealed the deal
A silver screen of vintage flicks
In his brain of days gone by
Of good times with the friends he had
Of the days he saw them die
"Poppy" sat out on the porch
With his beat up Meerschaum pipe
He kept it tight between his lips
I never once saw it alight
He'd stare out in the distance
Seeing things from back in time
He'd listen to the voices
He never quite heard mine
We lost him back in eighty three
When "Poppy" got the wire
He was the last of his platoon
They had just lost Cpl. Squire
Echoes in his mind of years
Images so real
I never asked him what he saw
His tears...they sealed the deal
A silver screen of vintage flicks
In his brain of days gone by
Of good times with the friends he had
Of the days he saw them die
"Poppy" went inside himself
Never spoke another word
He was back with his old friends
As free as a free bird
Each year he would get dressed up
"Poppy" would go out on parade
He never, ever left the house
The porch was the longest trip he made
On the eleventh of November
He'd would polish up his boots
And at precisely eleven hundred hours
He would stand there and salute
Two minutes more of silence
From a man who didn't speak
But his actions, they said volumes
They showed that "Poppy" was not weak
Echoes in his mind of years
Images so real
I never asked him what he saw
His tears...they sealed the deal
A silver screen of vintage flicks
In his brain of days gone by
Of good times with the friends he had
Of the days he saw them die
"Poppy" never left his prison
The one he created in his head
His world was just the front porch
And the life that he once led
I remember my old grand dad
With his poppy, beat by time
It would adorn his chest proudly
And I now wear it on mine.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
1, for the slumber that tumbles us round,
2, for the remedy, the musics bold sound.
3, for the tree that became your canoe
& 4 for the rain, it's ambiguous blue.
5, to escape, to a world we contrive,
6 for the tricks that I played to survive.
7, because heaven, is supposedly on earth,
& 8 for my mother, and her unknown worth.
9 for the failures, the faults & mistakes,
10 for the fears that keep us awake.
11, for my father, consoles me each night, whispers advice crystal clear, filled with insight- words on courage & kindness, love & delight.
12- when you wake but it's already night.
13 forever, with strength glory and might,
14 with wisdom, discretion, insight-
both numbers together sizing up every fight.
15, for my little sister, and all her turmoil,
15, for her spirit, the last one to spoil,
she and the world but water and oil,
15 for her soul, and like the mighty cobra it's coil,
deadly & graceful defends its home soil.
16 for the evil- the wicked & cruel, the endless hate they spin into fuel.
17, for reason, justice & art,
and all the other virtues life etched on my heart,
18, to redeem, to admit your mistake, to truly move on then perhaps to retake.
19 for that shame, always the same, so familiar it almost comforts my brain. 19, for the suffering, agony & betrayal.
19 true stories retold as mere tales- how they surpass logic and induce other's fails.
20. For my years. For the moment, for now. For to the past I salute, and to the future I bow; All with the hope that next year I'll know how
to do what everyone else can.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC
There is this place
It’s called Palestine
It used to be pretty
And peaceful and lively
The people lived as they do
Everywhere else.
Then there came to be this place
It’s called Israel
Which is basically Palestine
But mercilessly occupied
It attacked Palestine
And took over most of its land.
So now in Palestine
Or what’s left of it
Where there used to be quaint houses
There’s just a lot of rubble
With broken and burnt doors, utensils and limbs
Jutting out from underneath.
Where there used to be bright smiles
That could light up the world
There now are tears,
burn marks and bloodied cuts
That can rend any human heart
Except those that are not human.
It is a war, not between states
Not between races, nor between fates
Nay, this is a bigger war, one of faith
At least, that is how it started
But now, it is between
human and non-human.
Tell me, please
Is it human to **** innocent people
For the sake of self, and the sake of hate?
Is it human then also, to remain quiet
And watch such tyranny be?
It must also be human, to point guns at 4 year olds.
And by this definition,
Humans of this world, humans that feel
Are not humans at all, because they care
And those that don’t, well
They’re humans at their prime
The most evolved of them all.
Israel, I salute you, a salute full of mock
At your utter humanity, and benevolence
Your bombs when they land
With the cheers of your people,
And your guns when they point
At 4-year old terrorists; surely they can ****
Palestine, I stand with you, sincerely
Your children, your people, your land and your peace
Are my children, my people, my land and my peace
Their bombs when they land, make my prayers fiercer
Their guns when they shoot, make my eyes water
But know this, Palestinians, we are one.
So when they shoot you, I bleed
And when they bomb you, I ache
When they hurt you, I feel the pain
And when you cry for help, I pray
We are blood, we are one body
We are the Ummah, we will rise.
Until then we pray, we pray and we try
Dear Palestine, stay strong, stay firm…
Help shall come, in ways unimaginable
*Do not weaken, and do not grieve
You will overcome them, if you are true believers*
Allah has promised, and His promise he upholds.
~Moniba.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
We love our motherland like our mother
We are gallant sons of our pure chaste soil
Our love is our anchor our faith is armor
We work for its glory we never stop to toil
We tackle with all the enemies of God
We will send them to their ultimate end
Life as we aspired is very tough and hard
To live head high is our ultimate trend
Life is what a gift for beloved country
We celebrate death with zeal and fervor
Defense of our motherland is a valid plea
Every heinous crime we have to answer
Salute to motherland from gallant sons
Long live my mother land till the last day
Our lethal actions are like lethal guns
Love for motherland is never ending ray
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
XLI
I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little near the prison-wall
To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart’s
Or temple’s occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voice’s sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divinest Art’s
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To hearken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot
My soul’s full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from Life that disappears!
7k
A place of history, lives lived and life lost.
We know not today the human cost
Of battles fought by the ghosts of our past
To create a peace uncertain to last.
Walk slowly, walk quietly and open your mind,
To a world and its people that are here to find.
Floors trodden heavy with memories rich,
Walls with secrets they are happy to pitch.
Love, laughter; joy, sadness all under one roof;
Feel the emotion and imagine the truth
About the people who lived here long long ago
And whose spirit you salute when through this castle you flow.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
Be composed—be at ease with me—I am Walt Whitman, liberal and ***** as Nature;
Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you;
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you,
do my words refuse to glisten and rustle for you.
My girl, I appoint with you an appointment—and I charge you that you make
preparation to be worthy to meet me,
And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till I come.
Till then, I salute you with a significant look, that you do not forget me.
6.3k
The sun rise as your beauty widen naturally
The fragrance of the beautiful sunshine
Corresponds the butterfly as they
step toward its soft petals
Your smile that will never fades
are the most wonderful thing
in this World.
You are so adorable
that even the stars from the galaxy
they could chase you
From the moment you've opened
your eyes in this World
I'm glad that you became my Mother
And I'm lucky to be your daughter
You are like a superhero of our century
The way you are,that makes you precious
The way you handle everything
I salute you for being strong
and brave enough
You are so positive for having and taking
the courage to live this life
You are one of a kind
Simply amazing Mom
That I couldn't ask for anything else
Except you,
And I lovingly tell you the truth
I really enjoyed everything about you
Cause in who you are right now
Is the most brilliant and spectacular
thing that we could ever had
As this day bless you with
great joy &
another years to come.
I greet you a "Happy Birthday"
As you grow older,
Always remember
That you are always
Love.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 4:24 AM UTC
Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The Flowry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.
Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
Mirth and youth, and warm desire,
Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,
Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcom thee, and wish thee long.
6.1k
She walks down this path so many Mothers have walked before her,
Crisp uniforms line the path..a heavy heart..Tears in her lap.
An American Flag snaps to attention as if to say we know your pain Mother, but we don’t.
Through this all, she carries on the pride and resolve despite an unthinkable loss.
The twenty-one gun salute resonates through every city in America
Reminding everyone to take a moment to honor this fallen son.
On the 6 O’clock news Taps plays on every television.
And we shake our head in disbelief.
An unbroken line of Patriots that passed before him,
Line the stairway to heaven to welcome their brother home.
And a banner hangs in Moms living room window..Displaying one Gold, two blue stars
“Lord please bring my boys home safely”, she prays
I hope you’ll think of some of the reasons why our brave sons & daughters make the ultimate sacrifice…..Here are just a few……..
The American Flag
Our military men and women
Freedom
Patriotism
America the Beautiful
Land of the Free
Home of the Brave
4th of July
Memorial Day
The Bald Eagle
Democracy
Free Enterprise
God Bless America!
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 4:10 PM UTC