Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Monday, January 14, 2013

There is a time for courage.

Gird your loins, kittens.

INVICTUS

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul. ----W. E. Henley

Monday, November 5, 2012

The Sixth of November

I wish I knew who wrote this.

The Sixth of November

Remember, remember, this sixth of November,
The radicals’ treasonous plot.
I know of no reason the radicals’ treason
Should e’er be forgiv’n or forgot.

The Sixties were waning, and Leftists were claiming
That radical changes were due.
Their Marxist solution was armed revolution:
The Weathermen made their debut.

The radicals raged on the national stage, and
Horrific explosions ensued.
Their bombs were dramatic, but also erratic;
They sometimes killed radicals, too.

The Leftists grew older, the underground, colder,
And so they came in from the cold.
“Subvert from within – in the long run, we’ll win,” said
The Leftists, determined and bold.

And thus it began – this nefarious plan – and
The radicals slowly took charge:
Complete infiltration of all education;
The long institutional march.

The journalist schools would produce useful fools, for
The Left would need media shills.
And Hollywood, too, would assist in the coup, with
Its slick propagandizing skills.

“Community action” would build a new faction;
’Twould organize proles on the street.
A smooth politician would front for the mission,
And run for the president’s seat.

The radicals’ goal, which they proudly extol, is
A communist U.S. of A.
Collectivist schemes lead to brutal regimes, and
For this do the radicals pray.

But Jefferson’s aim, with the charters he framed, was
To guard individual rights.
And “redistribution” was not a solution,
But one of the evils to fight.

So let us remember, this sixth of November,
Just what is at stake on this date.
Will Jefferson’s dream, or the radicals’ scheme, now
Determine America’s fate

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Someday I Will Be Old


When I Am An Old Horsewoman


I shall wear turquoise and diamonds,
And a straw hat that doesn’t suit me
And I shall spend my social security on
white wine and carrots,
And sit in the alleyway of my barn
And listen to my horses breathe.
I will sneak out in the middle of a summer night
And ride the old bay gelding,
Across the moonstruck meadow
If my old bones will allow
And when people come to call, I will smile and nod
As I walk past the gardens to the barn
and show instead the flowers growing
inside stalls fresh-lined with straw.
I will shovel and sweat and wear hay in my hair
as if it were a jewel
And I will be an embarrassment to ALL
Who will not yet have found the peace in being free
to have a horse as a best friend
A friend who waits at midnight hour
With muzzle and nicker and patient eyes
For the kind of woman I will be
When I am old.
-Author Unknown

Afterthought: Of course this doesn't apply to Ann Romney because she spends too damn much money on her horses.


Sunday, April 1, 2012

COMING CLEAN


Squeeze life.
Make a mess.
You traded pristine robes and angel wings
For mud pies
And sandy toes.
Don’t go home clean.
Make a mess.
God will clean you up.