"watchword" poems
Babylon has fallen! Aye; but Babylon endures
Wherever human wisdom shines or human folly lures;
Where lovers lingering walk beside, and happy children play,
Is Babylon! Babylon! for ever and for aye.
The plan is rudely fashioned, the dream is unfulfilled,
Yet all is in the archetype if but a builder willed;
And Babylon is calling us, the microcosm of men,
To range her walls in harmony and lift her spires again;
The sternest walls, the proudest spires, that ever sun shone on,
Halting a space his burning race to gaze on Babylon.
Babylon has fallen! Aye; but Babylon shall stand:
The mantle of her majesty is over sea and land.
Hers is the name of challenge flung, a watchword in the fight
To grapple grim eternities and gain the old delight;
And in the word the dream is hid, and in the dream the deed,
And in the deed the mastery for those who dare to lead.
Surely her day shall come again, surely her breed be born
To urge the hope of humankind and scale the peaks of morn --
To fight as they who fought till death their ****** field upon,
And kept the gate against the Fate frowning on Babylon.
11k
The Miner, Absolom
(a haibun)
green hill where sheep graze
white bones and coal, buried, held
seasons all the same
My grandfather worked in the mines from age thirteen to seventy. His life was closed in by mountains, the green one at the back, the dark looming one at the front and the pit head along the valley., winding the men in and out of the shaft, day after day, dawn until dusk when they came home singing
boots ring on the road
deep valley voices echo
backyard starlit smoke
.
They worked on their bellies or crouched, often in water for days, water that undermines rock. Shaft collapses where frequent. Life was cheap. He came home covered in coal dust to his wife and two sons, sons he was determined to keep out of the mines. Yet he loved that coal - coal that he always polished with care before lighting a fire, brushing dust off black diamond surfaces.
water breaks through rock
with wood and straining shoulders
man becomes the beam
He saved twenty lives that day, men he had known from boyhood. When his lungs were affected they laid him off, no pay, no pension, no life. He bought an insurance book with the money he had and every day he trudged over the mountains and valleys gathering pennies that would help to secure some livelihood to the widows who lost their men in the mines. He never told his wife that when a family couldn't pay he put the pennies in for them rather than leave them unprotected.
winter, summer, fall
the mountain hangs over all
tired to the backbone
When the mines were nationalised my grandfather went straight back to the coal face despite his age. He wasn't going to miss those days of glory. Safety was suddenly the watchword and changes were made very fast. Hot showers were installed at the pit head and the miners came home clean at last.
men stripped to the skin
hot water, steam, baptised
brothers singing hymns
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
O Christ—Thou rarest flower of hearts—Thou didst sail on the storm-tossed lake of prejudiced minds. Its evil-scented, gloomy thought-waves lashed Thy lily-tender soul. They crucified Thee with their evil. Yet Thou didst shed the aroma of goodness and forgiveness, and didst help them to be purified by remorse, so helping them to become attractively sweet-scented with Thine all-loving Flower-Soul.
O Thou Great Lover of error-torn brothers—an unseen monument of the mightiest miracle of love was established in each heart when the magic wand of Thy voice uttered: "Forgive them, for they know not what they do."
Thou hast healed the cataract of hatred, and now we have grown to see: "Love thine enemies as thyself, for they are thy brothers—though sick and sleeping."
Thou hast taught us not to increase their delirious kicks of hatred by battering them with the bludgeons of revenge. Thine undying sympathy hath inspired us to heal and wake our brothers, suffering from the delirium of anger, by the soothing salve of our forgiveness.
Thy crucifixion reminds us of the daily crucifixion of our fortitude by trials, of our wisdom by ignorance, of our self-control by the scathing hands of temptation, and of our love by misunderstanding.
Thy test on the cross proved the victory of Thy wisdom over ignorance, of Thy soul over flesh, of Thy happiness over pain, and of Thy love over hatred. So are we heartened to bear our crosses bravely and pleasantly. Teach us to pour out sweetness when crucified by harshness, to bear with calmness the assault of worries, and to give understanding unceasingly to those who unjustly hate us.
O Shepherd of Souls, wandering hearts are of themselves seeking the one fold of divine devotion. We have heard the ever-calling music of Thine infinite kindness. Our one desire is to be at home with Thee, to receive the Cosmic Father with joyous, open eyes of wisdom, and to know that we are all sons of our own One God.
Teach us to conquer the Satan of dividing selfishness, which prevents the gathering of all brother-souls into the one fold of Spirit.
Calling to one another by the watchword: "Love him who loves you, and love all who love you not," let us rally beneath the canopy of the universal sense of Christ-Oneness. Amen.
Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
3.2k
Sincerity is my watchword
Orderliness is my way of life
Loyalty is my duty
Discipline is my foundation
Integrity is all I have
Excellence, for it i strive
Rights? I have none.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 8:05 AM UTC
My life is about never.
you say we will never meet.
my life is about never.
I lived a living death for decades.
awoke each day begging that it be
my last, my now, my never more.
never was my watchword.
never was fate.
never was my hell.
you better go back and
read my poems from
A to V.
therein lies the stories,
true to each word.
rivers I almost jumped into.
mental faculties rusted brittle.
until by accident,
I lost the N.
never became ever.
there are the magic twenty five.
met one and the journey,
trip has begun.
a world tour,
I will make.
gonna knock on your door at the poetry hour,
around six am,
and with the biggest smile,
will hand you this poem,
and pronounce this blessing:
Gotcha.
need no will,
need no way.
cause I got me a passport
issued by the authorities of
Neverland.
As a degreed graduate,
I learned magic and how to spell,
never is spelt ever.
we will shake hands,
whenever,
whoever,
wherever.
but always
ever,
forever.
gotta get me a big suitcase,
these crazy twenty five,
who always ever read every
poem I wrote, I will meet,
on this planet earth.
they live in the craziest places,
but I got maps and google earth.
and I will find them and you sir,
hands will I shake and then grab you,
soul and body,
shake that too.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 6:31 AM UTC
Nothing in the world remains the same
Everything tends to change
Moments are the one which fade away
While our memories still haunt us in our way
No drowning man knows which drop his last breath will stop
No prodigious man knows which force will annihilate him to drops
no man while jumping off the cliff knows the number of bones he’ll break
no burning man knows which part of his body will remain bare.
Everything in this world is unknown
Trust in yourself is the watchword here
No man knows whether in future the troubles will have him blown
Or he with a patient shrug bear it all.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
“Qui Transtulit Sustinet !” Motto of light!
‘Neath the folds of that banner we strike for the right;
Connecticut’s watchword oer hill and o’er plain,
“The Hand that transplanted, that Hand will sustain.”
“Qui Transtulit Sustinet !” On the broad fold
of Connecticut’s banner this motto’s enrolled,
and flashed to the sunlight on mornings bright wings,
A promise of glory and honor it brings,
The promise of One who ne’er promised in vain,
“The Hand that transplanted, that Hand will sustain.”
Ay and surely it well has sustained us thus far,
in peace and in plenty, in want and in war.
When the foe has attacked us in battle array,
Then Connecticut’s sons have stood first in the fray;
And faith in that watchword inspires us again,
For “He who transplanted will ever sustain!”
And now, in the darkness of treason’s black night
‘Neath the folds of that banner we strike for the right!
For the RIGHT ! ‘Tis OUR COUNTRY we’re marching to save,
The dear flag of The UNION in triumph shall wave!
Faith swells every heart! Hope fires every vein!
“And Thou who transplanted, Oh always sustain !”
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
Sometimes
my crush for the world fantasy
Becomes impulsive
My instincts
Keeps driving me
To the things of pleasure
Sometimes,
I wish I ve all she has
Guess who I mean?
Sometimes
The world is ever near
I see the sight that dazzle
The tempting sounds I hear
The world is ever calling
But still my ego shy
In all this,
I remember
My mirrors lay pride on me
Sitting consciously for my breakthrough
out of the tempting world
His advice
becomes a watchword
That the tempting sounds faintly fade
The breeze blew off
The dazzling sights
And sometimes
Out of the struggle
Of fighting temptations
out of the hustles the world throws
Without straying from the pathway
I Had chosen with at most caution
That with no doubt
Victory lies ahead
And my future
Encapsulated with pure luxuries
Without blemish of any sort
My crown awaits me...
With much comfort
And outright satisfaction
That indeed I overthrown the worlds gaze
Saying this repeatedly
I came, I saw and I conquer....
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
What is strange is the lack of reason,
that blue is my favorite season.
Sadness be my bottle, and sorrow be my fuel.
Darkness shows me where the light is living, and so
blue forever rules.
An ache of puzzling pleasure
is the thorn of dark despair.
So oddly is the sound of strained emotion music in the air.
The wall of bleak depravity is like a blanket warm and soft,
enrapturing me in melancholy and keeping me aloft.
Woe is so soon my watchword, and waning resolve my cry.
Teardrops are like candy, and moonlight my exclusive sky.
So addictive it is to weep I say,
and many would think me mad,
but still it seems depression is the best I’ve ever had.
The reason does not matter, for I shall find some cause with ease;
and the season of blue,
while its ways ensue,
will give me such a tease.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
Diggin', delvin'
Such a melvin
Rattling ruins
Boston bruins
Did you get what you wanted?
Did it help with your happiness?
Did it help with those feelings you felt?
Do you feel enlightened?
Does the knowledge feel solid?
Have you started to ...melt?
Does it help with the pain?
Did you get what you wanted?
Are you where you want to be?
Shoveling crud
Dig in the mud
Turning thoughts over
White cliffs of Dover
Fumbling forward
Awaiting the watchword
Dialectic dealings
Headaches and healings
*"Did you know when one leg is longer
That it shows - or the likelihood's stronger
That the patient probably had father issues."*
...Now hand out the tissues
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
This is a time of garden gates
and all new beginnings;
Excited filled minds and bodies.
Postie walks slower these days;
smiling with sunshine.
Dogs bark round the farm
always on their toes;
Brendan their keeper never worries.
And all good things come to those who wait
so patience is my watchword;
Free to walk slow like postie
and to never worry like Brendan.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
The past is where it belongs.
Behind us, a distant echo through fog,
A ringing in your ear, or the blur in your peripheral.
The past is the autumn chill
Which stands the hair on your neck to attention
With every subtle breeze through the falling leaves,
Or the cobwebs you step through with wild abandon.
The past is right behind you.
Your shadow.
Mimicking your every step and analyzing your motions.
Time's very own Jack the Ripper, with a modus operandi so pure.
Anxiety is the weapon of choice,
Fear is its watchword.
Striking at your weakest point,
When your mind is finally clear.
A scheduled reminder that somehow,
Somewhere,
You failed.
So keep moving forward lest the Leather Apron strike again.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
Sit and think
Contemplate
The world as it is
What a difference
A year makes
Joy and love
Gives way to
Sadness and pain
Betrayal
The watchword of it all
Sit and think
What's the point?
Why is there this
Suffering
Torment and pain
Never-ending
Fades from time to time
But it waits
Watching like a jungle cat
Waiting
Just waiting
For a moment of weakness
For the prey to relax
Then it may strike
Contemplate the edge
As you thumb the blade
Wonder
What would it feel like
Is it true
That it's cowardly?
It's easier
To lay down and die
Than to keep fighting
Keep trying
And nothing changes
Forced to walk alone
For all the effort
To care so much
And nothing in return
The mind screams
That's the way it is
The heart weeps
Poor shattered thing
Wants to give
Can't make it happen
Shallow cut
On the pad of the thumb
Pulls the mind to reality
Softly swearing
The tool is cast aside
This time
As the wound
Is staunched
This time
The mind won
Survival
Over the pain
In the heart
We live to fight
Another day
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
My heart had grown small and hard
a pebble, I thought: meaningless.
I knew the world this way, and was glad.
A small crack formed and I did not notice.
One more splintering of a useless stone.
But the world had done something to me:
I was changed, after so many years.
I had molted my rough hide
and sunlight had gotten inside.
That crack showed me not a dry core
but something green.
Not a stone, then, but a seed.
And I smiled.
I tended my seed, buried it
deep and watered it.
It was like a birth, or a rebirth.
I did not know what would grow.
I anxiously awaited the first green shoot.
At first, nothing came, and I grew afraid,
But I felt it growing still.
When it poked its head above the soil
I was lifted up.
I am no gardener, and this was a new thing.
I didn’t know what to call it
or what it needed.
But I did my best to protect it
and to keep it fed.
The day I couldn’t find it
I was calm, but concerned.
Had it perished? Did it slumber?
Did it need more time to gather its strength?
I would not give in to despair.
Hope will be my watchword from this day on.
*****************
Imagine my surprise, then,
one day,
when I mounted the steps to your house
And saw a young shoot growing
In freshly turned soil, beneath the eaves
just under your window.
My face cracked open, like a seed.
I did not remember leaving it there,
yet there it was.
Later, when I looked at your face I saw
That you, too, had not noticed it.
So I will keep this secret.
I will water it a bit, as needed
(it gets plenty of sunlight now.)
And muse idly on what it shall grow to be.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
As a Teen
My path programed as a watchword
Lonely Monitored to be guided
Less worrisome
Maybe, because
I got experienced guardian
As a teenager
My path shared not to whole
Briefly monitored and barely guided
Bit worrisome to strive
Maybe, because
I seize to prove independent
As a youth
My path interweave with my career
Total responsibility to guide
Though worrisome when unplanned
Maybe, because
I penned my progress on it
As an Adult
My path for a companion
An illusion not to be guided by pretense
A worrisome challenge
Maybe, because
Love fades away as life progresses
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
Kapow
the word
of the day
today
that's all
Ahm sayin'
Exuberant
was the watchword
of the week
I watched the universe
bring it up repeatedly
and then today
and then today
and women
Ah know
my kryptonite
and I am
Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
A repost from March, 2018
Yes, Yes, But They Need Jobs in the Real World
“Forward Electronics, your victory’s achieved!
In all communication, progress is our creed!
Ignorance is darkness, technology is light!
Radio, our watchword; radio, our might!”
-Komsomol youth singing in “For the Good of the Cause,”
Solzhenitsyn, 1963
The plans for your construction are precise
The design and engineering are true
The foundations solid, the drains are laid
In mathematics pure, infallible
The offices are bright with light, well-aired
The flow of work geometrically set
The shops and stores convenient to the staff
In tactical practicalities placed
But do you wonder, at night, beneath your lamp -
Why are you building a concentration camp?
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 8:16 AM UTC
That’s not all we crave for
Need to think greater and apart
Cease the heart that pertains to sink
Call the clouds and moon to fill
Something deep rings, deranges the mind
All of a sudden takes a good hype
Rule, that arouses your way to fluctuate
You always stand, start to communicate
Stop staring at case studies of contacts
Wrap yourself with a fake display
Curb the waves that come out of you
Evaporate the saline feelings every second, each day
Keep a watchword on the box
Remember the stones and stars from it
Never give a way to form a channel
Reach to the accounts and blast the kernel
Stuck to the part
Taste the fodder
Rely upon the words
That come from the locker
You tried every time to set in
It’s not worth being benign, you see
Prayed and yelled, stooped and flowed
Two and three but next comes all
Going then on the trial for sure
Deeming and searching for the new and more
The twin feeling still exists here
But the keys that open, don’t care to bother
Rank your necessities and set your liabilities
As a sequel, honor will be yours
Leave the opponent and ponder for winning
Close to the soul, bear no more
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
I'm the only one
looking for the only one
I'm sick of the other one
But another one shows up
I'm up for just one
as you know only one is my priority
My watchword:loving only one
It's one important decision
For one life time
The journey to one altar
One wedding party
It must be the right one
The only one God help me make one right choice
To have,to hold, to love
Till death do us part
To my one and only
One important sentence on one altar to my one sure comfort
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC