Tag Archives: History

Liberty’s Lament

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

liberty back

I stand alone agape in horror, my heart beat racing as voices o’er the sea and land decry in throes, “Liar! Temptress!” sustained echoes that bend their eyes upon my stead, recounting words I’ve loved and said, “Give me your tired, your poor, your tost”, meant in truth but somehow lost.

immigrants

Their eyes on me in deep mistrust, regardless of these words in rust, as families weep and children cry, my God, compassion, somehow denied. I feel their struggles’ burdened weight. I know their pains but not their fate. I sense their road, their oppressive trail. I long to save their lost, their frail.

But something’s wrong, some truth’s misplaced, their hopes are dashed upon my gate. Their jeers come forth, their hopes are lost, as here they find again they’re tossed at threshold of the golden door, as burgeoned hopes fall flat once more, as children weep and mothers cry, my heart’s compassion cast as lie!

My God! Why???

I stand in hope that good prevail, that men of courage will rise to tell the story of our history in terms of truth and liberty. I pray our strength in spirit grows against our selfish interests’ blows, and welcomes to our golden door, the burdened hopeful, the tired and poor.

In every ounce of who we are, in every grain of soul collective, we stand united states as one, as through our history we’re reflective images of those suffering now, for we were they with hopes in how our lives could gain a freedom’s breath. We sacrificed through life and death, became collective, many, one, that through our love and faith we’ve summed the vey best in all of us. We fought oppression, we fought the lust, we stood for truth and knew what must be done to keep a free man free, to stand against the tyranny. We wear compassion on our sleeve, yet stand with strength in values, these, that all men are created equal, we’re born with God’s unalienable rights, our truths are life and liberty, pursuing happiness in our sight.

For not a single one of us can in truth claim or deny that we are something different, that we claim solely, that we’re the “high”. We, collective brethren, who, traversed the sea to come here, true, to wear our values, born in creed, to live an honest life in deed, to show the past our strength is summed in compassion, love, for all bar none, have built this shining star of hope, where others come to work and cope, to use their values truest song, building unity and history long. We are the products of immigrants, we the children of other lands, have come to stand united, compassion dealt with strength in hand.

Liberty crying

So I weep, I mourn this time. I bleed in colors that are not mine. I beg forgiveness to those who trust, and pray our better angels must but rise to mend this broken day, and from it form collective clay to forge anew these values, ours, heal these wretched wounds of scars. I pray we come to rise above, to show compassioned strength in love.

I stand in truth as this!

liberty front

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

18 Comments

Filed under History, LIberty, Perspective, Poetry

The Inexplicable Story

As recalled by Geoffrey Chaucer while traveling with the Queen

“Hold fast the lantern Beauregard, her lifted skirt sees light of day!”,
while as I told the dog to sit, I looked the other way.

For all is right in Flanders when castles turn to shades of poor,
but things just got sidewayser, when once her panties hit the floor…

She grabbily garbled gobbly-gook guffawing at her silly scene,
till seeing lace around her shoes, she blushed in peach and loudly screamed!

“My dear! My God! what happened here, how did this come to be?”,
and as her crown came tumbling down I closed my eyes so not to see.

“Oh Geoffrey! Geoff! Good gracious! My! Good Heavens and a cracker stew!
It seems I’ve lost my underpants and kicked them there to you!”

I glanced in shock upon the floor and there beside my muddy boot,
laid lace and floral lingerie, lightly smeared with blackened soot.

“Dear Queen!” my broken cracking voice exclaimed in instant shock,
how could it be at 90 plus her Majesty can walk?

Let alone the giggling presence to lose her clothes in Palace Square.
I raised the panties with a stick and held them in the air.

“Oh my!”, she squealed, “Those must be mine! How will this ever do?”,
while grabbing quick the lacey stuff, and politely stepping through…

Ruffle pressing prattling, she stoically stood and raised a grin,
“If ever I come back to your city, I pray that you’ll let me in.

Good day….”

14 Comments

Filed under History, Poetry

The Marker

Marker

How did the stain of past life find its place upon this silent grave?
What aged the emerald crescent’s arc, kindly blotched the written stave?

What of its words and heartfelt kiss
that left a summer’s rain amiss?

What countenance divine embraced
this site befitting, this resting place?

Through what redacted soulful truths
did heaven ride to seal the proofs?

Who stood upon this sullen ground
in saddened prayer, in whispered sound?

What happened here? Who knew the scene?
What time sustained and held between
the moments of the resting?
What moments from the fight?
Who stoops above this sacred stone,
in haunt and love each night…?

21 Comments

Filed under Angels, Family, Memory, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Carousel

Carousel.PNG

Standing in a summer’s mist,
early morning heat and dew,
a carousel abandoned,
ebbing from a fairground’s stew.

Echoes of calliope,
hushed in rusting pipes,
risen by the subtle breeze,
groans in tempered gripes.

Soprano tinseled screams escape
the platform’s gentle rolling,
whispers stitched among the chants,
Gregorian and tolling.

O’er the stays of canvas frayed,
reds and blues tease gently, torn,
rounding boards ornate and wide,
tarnished crackle, sadly worn.

Leaden mirrored center blinds,
ghostly grey and steel,
stirring passing images,
tintype memories, laughter’s squeal.

Oaken massive platform stained
with seasoned mud and puddled rain,
rusting mounts of tired ponies,
saddened in their lonely pain.

Dare I not to step aboard,
as history’s watch is mercy’s keeping,
so gather witness to my soul,
for all my childhood dreams there sleeping.

20 Comments

Filed under Dreams, History, Memory, Perspective, Poetry

Histories’ Fortitude

labour

Deny me not this fleeting moment, forged form pain in workday spent!
Deny me not the chance to grasp this truth in passing as it’s rent
from in the flagging husks of time where captured souls of labour fall.
Embrace my soul in words unspoken that from their pallid ashes call
the clarity of a hopeful love, the danger in the risen beam,
the tensiled courage plans to build a nation’s growing dream.

What strength imbibes these few of honor?
Who engineers each step they take?
Where do they rest their inner spirit
when all is done for finished sake?

Long past have these ennobled men graced our living spirits’ truth!
Their iron will and honesty, left in structures as their proof!

Photographs – United States Public Domain

Prompt from dVerse Poet’s Pub (https://dversepoets.com/)  17-Jan-2017
Write in consideration of an artisan or wright, for example a weaver, thatcher, wheelwright or carpenter. I was drawn to these old images of the brave men who built so many of the engineering feats of the world.

18 Comments

Filed under History, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Histories’ Fortitude

labour

Deny me not this fleeting moment, forged form pain in workday spent!
Deny me not the chance to grasp this truth in passing as it’s rent from in the flagging husks of time where captured souls of labour fall.
Embrace my soul in words unspoken that from their pallid ashes call the clarity of a hopeful love,
the danger in the risen beam,
the tensiled courage plans to build a nation’s growing dream.

What strength imbibes these few of honor?
Who engineers each step they take?
Where do they rest their inner spirit when all is done for finished sake?

Long past have these ennobled men graced our living spirits’ truth!
Their iron will and honesty, left in structures as their proof!

Photographs – United States Public Domain

Leave a comment

Filed under History, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

The Old Road

Ragged edge of road, framed in fray and grasses gold. Held in drunken course by bits of broken stays from fences split. Gathered there, around each post, lays lagging wind and moonlight’s ghost.

She wanders o’er the silent lea disturbed to find her way, where once she knew an arrowed path between the barn and forest’s lath, now stumbles towards the wood, in sway.

A silvered grey and fallen barn counts her steps in jest, laughs in hollow whispered grins then slowly slips back off to rest. Ravens perch upon a plow whose earth has frozen still its lust, captured in an eon’s tuft of grasses tall and tawny rust. They bob in exultation, guffaw in crow-ish song, as crossing o’er the rock filled stream she lifts her skirts and tip-toes on. She stumbles through the slope of hill where years before she scarred her spine, exposing what was laid beneath, now blushing from another time.

Before her stands the vacant wood where once she loved to play, wherein she loved the lack of sound, echoed in old memory found, and subtle longing just to stay.

She trips across the ashen timber, fallen fast asleep, brushes back her silver hair and enters to the cold wood’s keep. She scarcely knows her destination among the ruins thick and grey, but being more than child here, starts and stops and weaves her way toward what she knows is waiting, toward where the day so calmly ends, yet caught in hesitation, denies her fear and wanders thin. Upon the wooded knoll she finds the memory of much kinder times, where snow once graced her lengthened dress and teased her with its hushing rhymes.

Pausing there in sad recall, she hears the river’s gentle hush, dreams an ancient dream of youth when eagerly she gladly rush toward the gallant sparkles cast upon the water’s play, come to meet the boats there, and wade in just a way.

She staggers o’er the broken stones, between reposing trees, lifts her skirts at water’s edge and steps in to her knees. All the diamonds in the world are cast upon the aged stream, conjured by the sun and wind, lay sparkling in a dream. She calmly lets her aging go, reaching toward the distant shore, wanders in, gently laughing, until she is no more.

Upon the ragged edge of road, kept to course by ancient posts, a gently whispered dirge is sung by lagging winds and moonlight’s ghosts.

2 Comments

Filed under Dreams, History, Memory, Nature, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul