"trooping" poems
The angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering dead.
God's laughing in Heaven
To see you so good;
The Sailing Seven
are gay with His mood.
I sigh that kiss you,
For I must own
That I shall miss you
When you have grown.
11.3k
Love is the greatest force of all mankind...
of all cosmos, of all movement
of all that is wild and deranged
held safe in a locket, clandestine,
casually singing reigning from clouds of rain
sonnets of seismic sound sway trees
encouraging sodded fields grow greener than yesterday
yet sprightly and anew
soon
nudging the node
of the naysayers neighing,
bulging out their blue button ups
cramping, beastly belly's brooding to feast
on the blooming young,
the callow of a courageous continuum
trooping along gaily with gallantry
on trails, heralding gnarled roots
but this is rhythm
and rhythm is rhyme
and rhyme reconciles reasoning
"i love you for no other reason
but i love you"
says the tales of two
seeking singularity,
soaking in the sauna of one,
sovereign sun.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
I'm truly blessed
to be counted
amongst the
trooping pilgrims
walking dusty roads,
negotiating rocky
Himalayan trails
on the way
to the mountain top.
Together
as brothers
and sisters,
we traverse
precarious paths,
strengthening
each other,
bucking up,
getting a
second wind
to make that
final push
to scale the most
jagged boulders
that lie nearest
the peaks.
I'm heartened
to see
Dorothy Day,
Mahatmas Gandhi,
The Dali Llama,
Nelson Mandela
and Johnny Cash,
trooping along side me;
keeping me in step
as we press on to
the promised land.
If I get hungry,
Dorthy will
serve me soup
to feed my
spirit.
If I get lonely,
Mahatmas will
muster up a posse,
freely welling from
salt of the earth
to walk with me.
If I take a
wrong turn,
The Dali Llama's
smiling eyes
and sage
advise
will get
my feet
back on the
right path.
On this
tiresome journey
if my will begins
to falter and my
commitment wanes,
Nelson will remind me
to endure the trial
with the grace
of fortitude.
And if we enter
dangerous canyons,
filled with the
cacophony of
boisterous hate,
The Man in Black
will strum his
guitar to quell
the angry noise
and fill our hearts
with loving harmony.
We're on our way
to Freedom's Land
and some believe
we're almost there.
We can see
Martin looking
over those last
jagged ledges,
he's got a prayer
of encouragement
on his lips,
and he's waving
Mrs. Liberty's torch,
showing us
the way,
guiding us
home.
Music Selection:
Sweet Honey on the Rock:
Ain't Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around
MLK Jr. Day
1/16/12
Oakland
jbm
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
***Sometimes when ev'ning lamps are ebbing low
And all the earth lies hushed in solemn sleep
Within my lonely heart there burns a glow,
As lengthening shadows about me creep.
My weary glance falls o'er the dismal room
Where with rapturous eyes I seem to see
Beyond thick cobwebs, dust and direst gloom
A merry host of friends-my own library!
Worn musty books on shelves from olden days,
Brittle pages yellowed by hands of time,
Illuminating night with gladsome rays,
Lifting my bleak spirit to realms sublime.
Trooping merrily before my rapt gaze
Into flick'ring lamplight I watch them come,
Quaint men and ladies of forgotten days;
Golden laughter echoing in my home.
Into my eyes they smile, murm'ring with grace
Aerial speech they blithely chat with me,
They seem to belong to another race
Wakening in my heart sweet melody.
Dying lamplight sputters and they are gone.
Vanished! I stare about but find I none
Save a drowsy thrush flutes with hush of dawn
Only myself in the parlour alone.***
~Hilda~
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 10:50 PM UTC
On the banks
of the
Delaware
where
memories
of Valley
Forge's
dire winter
encampments
still linger
where sons
and daughters
of liberty
shook off
a mid-winter
rigor mortis
risking the
slow death
of complacency
to seize
the prized
celestial
article of
freedom
America's
Labor
Movement
amassed
in the
streets of
Trenton
a vigilant
battalion of
General
Washington's
invading
brigands
speaking
in tongues
of radical
insistence
armed with
the might
of truth
demanding
respect and
equitable
treatment
from the
lordships
of state
doing the
bidding of
527 llc's
Unionists
stand
firmly
on the
shoulders,
walking
in the
tracks
rowing
the boats
of militant
forebears
pledging to
fight on
in a battle
that never ends
to
liberate
the
******
river
of justice
hijacked
by the
privilege
of plenty
diverted
into
culverts
of greed
a
gluttonous
few
siphoning
off
the spoils
of liberty
engorging
themselves
leaving
workers
wanting
democracies
require
the cup
of liberty
to be
shared by
all
The Spirit
of
General
Washington
has
mustered
new
legions
to turn
back the
entitlistas
the
pelting
rain of
lies, the
flinging
arrows of
ridicule
will not
deter
the workers
trooping
for
justice
the
fight
to roll
back
the ugly
tide of
greed
coursing
through
the veins
of America
despoiling
the blood
of our
democracy
is on
the
explosive
dynamite
of struggle
will blast
the dam
of inequity
to bits
unleashing
the river
of justice
to roll
again
Music Selection:
Pete Seeger:
Solidarity Forever
Trenton
2/25/11
jbm
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
I knew it was coming
The inevitable slowly crawling up my legs
Always an Elephant in the room whenever I visited
Whispering words of encouragement in your ear
Murmuring “I love you”, it was just for you to hear
I thought, in the Autumn when everything seemed to hit rock bottom
Maybe in the Spring when your cheeks sunk in-while life was supposed to start, of all things
You perked up in the Summer, soaking up the heat just like a flower and became strong again
Alas, we came full circle; Autumn was finally back, bringing your spirits down with the leaves
I knew it was coming
The days became shorter, my hope wearing thin
Visits were becoming a weekly occurrence
My prayers altered
Trying to figure what would be best
Should you let go of your pain or keep on trooping?
I knew it was coming
In the morning, hearing the news
Memories began to play in my mind
Teaching me how to fish. Shock
Showing me how to be brave. Denial
Telling me stories of your past. Numbness
Days before, you told me I was beautiful. Shock
Wearing the locket you gave me. Longing
I knew it was coming
Silence covered the house like a soft blanket
Reflecting on my past with you
Going on a run
remembering the good times and the bad
Where the December rain mixes with my tears
I knew it was coming
The big day
Family coming in the worst way
Meeting your high school partner in crime, your cousins, your neighbors
Learning about your past
Riding a bike backwards
Swimming two and a half laps without taking a breath
Becoming the best father in the world
The best grandfather
Your last words “I’m ready to go.”
I knew it was coming
But I told myself over and over:
Not this year
Not this week
Not today
Not now
But finally, it came
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
If any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
- William Allingham
(19 March 1824 – 18 November 1889)
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
I sat with another clip board, another list
welcoming those whose once small faces,
mad dashes, hot tears
and cold contempts
rattled these walls for five years
Some had beards, some hips, brio,
some adult eyes
that took two or three glances to recognise
the child still in
Almost all had smiles
Behind them, trooping colour to the tennis courts,
their summer school scions
began their own gangly rise
ad infinitum
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 12:32 PM UTC
AFTER LONDON
The silence deepens.
As if it were a living being
it forages in the forest.
The next step taken
takes me out of the present
into history
into fantasy
as if I have become
a fairy story.
Tropes trooping through
the clearing.
The huff and puff
of a bad wind rising.
The silence broken.
Inside the belly
of the forest
where green is
the only colour seen
lies a partly
digested house.
Vines snaking through
its empty windows.
Its roof thrown
upon its floor.
Its wall crumbling
back into nature.
I sit and read my
Richard Jefferies.
A finger of frond
reading along with me
eager to turn
the next page.
The silence
deepens.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 6:15 PM UTC
As the Unseelie Court enchants the just torment
Either of Heaven or Hell upon the Eleven Trooping
Aristocracies to pay Ichor, the whole zero sum of all passions
The Great Chains of Gaia: Derekh ha-Shemoth,
Liosalfar and Dockalfar; The Image and The Similitude-
Existence and its Expenditure become of mind quintessense.
However, the sensitiveness of the soul finds providence
In blessed feer, propounded a reward unparalleled if
One could be prized 'The Last Standing, Not Falling',
Beyond the Infinite Way an Ipsissmus
Of the eight Sha'are 'Orah sorceries that the wind bloweth
Where it listeth to grant thee power unto the ages,
Gods' corporeal even-tide: The Sword That Keeps Eden!
ELEETE J MUIR
Jul 31, 2022
Jul 31, 2022 at 12:34 AM UTC