Last Commented Patriotism Poems (214)

He is all one of us,Serves all for with time....
And we remember them only,by murmering few lines.
He is also one of a son,Who serves for the country...
And all such sacrifice let,nation grow like a tree.

Lets think of them also,only salutes are not enough....
They serves us all boders by,either some day dont have dough.
Let be not so selfish all,We enjoy all eve with our members....
For them nation only is family,The one thing only they remember.

Lessons learned
by first the Chinese
then France
and the Unites States...

Never underestimate
unconventional units
or guerrilla warfare
supported by regular units...

Dien Bien Phu
Bernard B. Fall
called it
"Hell in a very small place"
soon after 1954
America walked the "Street without joy"

The Viet Minh
attacking satellite positions
seven in all
such names as

"Huguette"
"Claudine"
"Gabrielle"
"Beatrice"

General Giap
former school teacher
later besieged Khe Sanh
saved only by B-52 air strikes...

What men will die for
makes less sense
as time goes by...

Perhaps it is
the unspoken honor
among comrades
and brothers...

Still they soldiered on
60 years has passed
and around the world
the madness has grown...

Another poem perhaps
nothing from the Muse
and yet I feel the glimmer of thought:

As I ride the waves of time
There have been many lives
Reading the histories of the Crusades
I felt myself at the gates of Jerusalem
The excitement of victory
The sadness of slaughter and mayhem
Vague memory of a Viking drowning
in a storm unable to die in battle
of entry into Valhalla despairing
The end of the Celtic World
And the bitternsss of defeat

I shrugged off these morbid thoughts
And had recourse to lunch al fresco
A cheddar sandwich and a glass of beer
and drank to past comrades in arms.

coming out enchanting
sparkling shamrocks on
a harp playing
bewitching music
from the irish sea
from the mist of hibernia
entering a cold mystical island

a lonely teddy bear out in an ocean
dressed in her forty shades of green
her lush finery
from the land of the leprechaun
king of the fairies

tales of a land of forever young in the fianna
soldiers of the king
magical blossoms shades her beauty
classical in her name eire
modern irish emerald green
jewel of her color
arising from the land
of eternal winter

geographers strabo
pomponius melba
quoting describes a cold chilling land
inhabitated by a bunch
of wild savages
who feast on the flesh
of their dead fathers
despite the cold
the grazing was so tasty
very lush sweet
that cattle exploded fat
if allowed to eat unchecked

in a new kingdom
penunnular broach
used to fasten her shawl
son of the high king
fiacha finnfolaidh
his father was overthrown
killed in a revolt
by the king of ulster
tutathal's mother
who was daughter
of king of alba

britian at the time
because alba became
the name for scotland
later on fled to britain
with her son 20 years later
he returns to eire
defeating his father's enemies
turns in history

subduing the
entire country
he became the high king
of tara
there he conveyed
in a conference
were he established
himself law in the land

he annexed territory
for each four provinces
creating central control
in the province of meath
four fortresses where built
one for each our green fields
span an irish republic

An ancient story
from the emerald isle
the jewel of every
Irish heart treasured
unwrapping it's beauty
waves of green
descent a
world over
spilling onto
the streets
like a tidal wave

Core of our ancestors
plucking them straight
from the ground
a little scarce
this year
gathering myself
a right
glorious bunch

Taking them home
a feeling
of great pride
as I wash them clean
plucking dead
ones out
putting the cleaned shamrocks
in a glass
as taught down
from my guardian parents

Come our saints day
I will have a massive
great bunch
knowing i could
sell a big chunk
to a few friend smiling
with spare ones
left at home
depending on
the demand
laughing out loud

With reverence
to our great
Saint Patrick
on our day
of green
who banished
the serpents
from our soil

His story
is truly magical
amongst the Irish
sparkling shamrocks
the blessed trinity
a tale of lore
he appeared
in Tir Na Og
meaning in English
land of forever young

Our true Irish flag
is the harp and shamrock
dating back to the Fianna
warriors of a king
he is Paddy
and i am one
very proud patron

On this wave
of green rises
for our great Saint
raising my glass
three cheers
drowning Paddies shamrock
in good style
hail glorious
Saint Patrick

No court here played to feathered Kings
of once grand plumes and pompous things,
long since quenched and forgotten lie,
thier wanton greed doomed so to die,
riding high from the storms of fate,
the pen of justice did to all await,
to walk anew the sun blessed road,
relieved, once the down trodden native abode,
as now, beneath life's tranquil shade,
a monument to peace, here forever laid,
no glory plied or ingenious shame,
just freedoms unconquerable name,

its banners claim no marked grave,
just homespun joys they cherished gave.

I drag my weary feet
To the last meeting
tis the end of freedom
we are all doomed.
All venues are closed
Now we are defeated
Let us drink comrades
To the world’s ending,
And a new beginning.
I weep overcome by sadness
For the world’s madness
So I drink to feel no pain.
Now I am drunk and broke
I feel no pain but weep,
now for my weakness.

To all poets who entered or took part in any way in
"Mizzy's Green Challenge" I would like to extend my
warm thanks. I must say I was bowled over with the
response. You are all such a great bunch of people
and such fantastic poets, its simply a pleasure to
be part of the corner. I think it helped to bring us closer,
as Paddy's Day brings the world together in Green.
A special mention to Lady Odette (Josephine) for all
the lovely sentiments throughout, and to Robert for the fun.

Thanks again, Slàn libh go lèir.
Mick. ( Mizzy )

Please go and rest
my friend, my hero
dream of a land and lea
mountains, and rivers,
ocean, lakes, placid and serene
as once your youth was
before the momentum
of brainwashing and believing
in your innocence
how I will live free
under the serene and calm
swaying of the trees,
leaves fluttering in the winds ..
a music to my freedom.

Go and rest your weary soul...
remember I am with you all the way
to this cause...
I can't do it all
by myself
and while tears are yet pouring
for a cause I never knew
nor understood
until now,
with the torments of
your heart and soul
left among the pains
among the sorrows
far deeper
than love can cause
in the jungle, was I to know?
was I to be told?
that my freedom
was the very depth of your
sufferings?
so that my children
and their children's children
and billions more to come
can really be free?
Rest, oh thy heart that
has been torn
body that was broken
will that was bent
and a soul that is restless.

Rest and I will pray for you
as all of those who gave
their innocence and youth
their strength and hopes
and yet neglected, misguided
misunderstood, left for no good
the least I can do
for right now.

Rest..I am with you.


God bless.

gold hidden in the rugged earth
upon which lay your quest
yet murky and turbid is the dew
that is harvested in a cup of sand
your weakness never sets
over the parch and scorching heat
nor will your strength
ever laid to rest
until you will run out
of your sweats
you will want to know
deep within your heart
why all this land
is covered with blood
and yet the world lay witness
and mightily unconcerned
to its naked plight

your mind will never fathom
why the rift is burning strong
so you will keep on digging
until you reach the bottom
hoping it will lay bare
all the reasons,
that this blood covered land
is a conflict no more
in the mighty difference
of white and black color
but the gap of those
who have and who don't

the question is...will man ever learn
how to vanish indifference?
give those that have not
and even out the earth's wealth
so revolt will not explode?

perhaps nobody really cares...
you are alone, abandoned
in this quest...buried
in a drifting sand
stained with ruthlessness
by the greed of human hand
glued forever
in human blood.