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"sergent" poems
Where are my stone cold optimist Roll call all positive no hostages I feed of the energy in my approximate vicinity Then whole world will know an optimist   Gather your belongings and meet me at the rocket ship Yes truly I will be with the hostages taking roll call all positive Sergent! no hostages are in Thats work for an optimist Blood and sweat my middle name Thats an optimist riding a rocket ship Our heart beats so hard numbing our veins Thats a maddening fit But you know how sweet victory is for an optimist Take is easy simpleton optimist Real optimist be like oh yeah smiling in there hearts All positive not a negated positive deluded optimist The End
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Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
Hostages and optimist
Once, upon the Salisbury plain, the English Elms stood stately tall. Sergent's paintings leave us memories for there are now few left at all. Perhaps when you were young you spent Long summer days beneath their shade. Then a fungus left them bare and horticulturists were dismayed. In Canada's far North remains examples of the old Elm Trees In Amsterdam they cultivate Elms resistant to disease. So in our children's children's time I pray that we might live to see once again on Salisbury plain Elms such as live in memory.
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Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:00 AM UTC
English Elm
The General stood looking in the mirror Perfectly attired, Cap a Pied. He turned to me and said "We must not delay this,Mister Marshall. This bitter cup that fate has handed me" I handed him his sword in silence. We'd be fighting in the hills Were it up to me, but even I knew that our men were starving, Surrounded, there could be no victory. Traveler was mounted in an instant Few looked finer on a horse than Our Robert Lee. Under flag of truce we rode to the McLean House, there to await the modern Ulysses. Grant rode up dressed in a Sergent's uniform, mud splattered, His shoulder straps the only hint of rank . He looked more like the man who had been beaten Than General Lee who had to play that part. He took Lee's white gloved hand, offered in greeting both men's faces  etched with suffering, I saw. They reminisced  about their other meeting, when both served Scott in the Mexican  War. Then General Lee asked Grant to state terms of surrender. They sat down and, in short order, ended the unpleasantness of war. The Victor was generous to the Vanquished: No Rebel would be tried, or lose their home. The men permitted to retain their side arms Rations fed to men of skin and bone. We'd Stack the drums and cannon in the field Give our parole despite our internal pain There were troops still in the field but it was over April Ninth, a dark day without rain.
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Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 10:32 AM UTC
A Dark Day without Rain ( April 9, 1865)
There before me stands the cenotaph of Master Sergent Wilfred Niles He died of his wounds received in the battle of Belleau . He is buried in the soil near the River Marne , in France He left behind his mother Maggie Her only child gone , she's now so bereft She would die in a few short months Of a broken heart from grief
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Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
Sadler's Cemetery , Sergent Wilfred Niles , March 9 , 1888 - June 18 , 1918
Dear mom It has been a wile since i wrote you Jim says hi. We lost four tanks and 60 men. we were sent to take the enemy's base. our major was hit by a ****** bullet. I have been promoted to Sergent i will have to lead these men to there death. Your son love you
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Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
to mom
Sergent Pepper has gone quiet, and John sings no more. Margaritas are not so sweet and the sand has left the shore. Rhythm and blues die in Moe Town, Las Vegas shines no more. The king has long been off of the throne and we are no longer in a New York state of mind. Lawyers have replaced musicians and computers make the latest sound. The devil in no longer he is California bound. The twang of the steel guitar died when the ran old Dixie down. Sounds that once made us dance have been taken away. Perhaps they will come back one fine day. All I know is that change is not always good, because sad songs can say so much. So as the true artist cry for a Renaissance, I can only wonder where did the music go?
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Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Where Did The Music Go