Patriotism Poems (214)

To Fight And Die

They serve to fight and die,
Yet does anyone even ask why,
For they are heroes hidden away,
That keep us safe every day.

They take the battle far away,
Where evil has long held sway,
To show that right is the way,
Correcting those once led astray.

In ages past knights prevailed,
As valour sought what was entailed,
Thus started a fire that still burns
Within darkness where freedom yearns.

Here they come down the street
The men and women marching along
Family cheering, crouds roaring and the men and women in uniform waving
As the march along with the flag
We solute the marching and honor the fallen
As we are safe and free

Swirling up into the sky, escaping from the abyss of the alibis.
Memories inprisoned by walls of stone.
Words sprouting as if cast out of devils home.
Years and years claimed its ground.
Roots reaching to claim their destiny.
Through territory of times that are gone.
Traveling sometimes entwined sometimes alone.
Standing unshook while winds beat it with their souls.
Summer comes with colors green covering bare limbs.
Oak tree standing proud facing morning sun.
Thanks to wind for leaves and nuts that came undone.
Little oak growing by its side.
Destiny.
The rains cried!!!

HERE COMES SANTA IN HIS SLAY
ALL HIS PRRESENTS HE HAS TO GIVE AWAY
BIG TOYS LITTLE TOYS ALL TO GIVE AWAY
UP UP IN THE SKY, HIS SLAY AND RAINDEERS GLIDE

OVER LAND FAR ,FAR AWAY TO GIVE HIS LOVELY TOYS AWAY
IN THE DARKNESS OF THE MOON LITE NIGHT
SANTA IS SEEN FLYING ABOUT CART WHEELS IN THE SKY HE DOES
BUT NO PRESENTS FLY OUT, ALL IN HIS SLAY THEY ARE TIED SO NONE FLY AWAY INTO THE NIGHT
DOWN CHIMMIES HE GLIDES LIKE A BIG KID ON A SLIDE

INTO LIVING ROOMS HE GLIDES SNEAKING A BRANDY OR TWO FROM THOSE WHO LIVE INSIDE AND THOSE SPECIAL MINCE PIES BAKED JUST FOR HIM BECAUSE HES NOT THAT THIN
WITH A HARTY BURP AND A SMILE AND MINCE PIE IN HAND HE SIPS HIS BRANDY AND SMILES LEAVING CRUMS OF MINCEMEAT PIE ON HIS CHIN
HAPPY IS HE WITH A HOE, HOE NOTHING BOTHERS HIM

OUT THE FRONT DOOR HE GOES TO OLD NOW HIS HE TO CLIMB THE CHIMNEY
HE SHOUTS TO HIS RAINDEERS AND CLIMBS ABOARD HIS TRUSTY SLAY ONWARD HE GOES TO GIVE HIS PRESENTS AWAY

America! the lion of the world,you roar and the Nations quiver in fear. Many faced thee in pride but as the grass they were made low. Like bewildered children,like frightened babes, to thee Nations cried and your sword you withheld not from the necks of their enemies until you dispelled their apparitions. In style your chariots in the air were swifter than the eagle with salvation in their wings to save those that were not your brothers! Therefore all the years long thy name was on every lip for to mankind thou was "helper of the oppressed". Restlessly you fought the evil man for you said,the world must be better. America! Remember you it were who preached "DEMOCRACY" and many, who as slaves served their government, were transformed by the knowledge you gave into statemen served by their government. They were freed from the sheepfold of vagabond leaders to whom they were only but sheep meant to be fleeced,butchered nd sold all for greed. America! the deliverer,the big brother in whom men boast. Why! Do you turn thy sword of war against thy people,the descendants and offsprings of your father who trust in your protection.why do you give their lands and wealth to a strange people? America! Why do you trust in the alliance of demons,under the secrecy of hell. Do you not know that they cannot be trusted. People of America,ahead lies no prosperity but death and slavery. People of the earth woe awaits us for if their swords ar turnd against their brother what shall be turnd at us. Alas! The deliverer is become the foe. The youth are blinded with the pages of pornography they are made busy with pleasure while they unleash the plague. America! Thou has murdered trust and the spirit of brotherhood. The spirit of all thy founding fathers and the blood of thy children and the pain of bethrayal shall be our missles of reciprocation against thee in thy underground fortresses your place of refuge. Goodbye America! Today brotherhood gave up the ghost. Today brotherhood died!!

To the town of Agua Fria rode a stranger one fine day
Hardly spoke to folks around him didn't have too much to say
No one dared to ask his business no one dared to make a slip
for the stranger there among them had a big iron on his hip

It was early in the morning when he rode into the town
He came riding from the south side slowly lookin' all around
He's an outlaw loose and running came the whisper from each lip
And he's here to do some business with the big iron on his hip

In this town there lived an outlaw by the name of Texas Red
Many men had tried to take him and that many men were dead
He was vicious and a killer though a youth of twenty four
And the notches on his pistol numbered one an nineteen more

Now the stranger started talking made it plain to folks around
Was an Arizona ranger wouldn't be too long in town
He came here to take an outlaw back alive or maybe dead
And he said it didn't matter he was after Texas Red

Wasn't long before the story was relayed to Texas Red
But the outlaw didn't worry men that tried before were dead
Twenty men had tried to take him twenty men had made a slip
Twenty one would be the ranger with the big iron on his hip

The morning passed so quickly it was time for them to meet
It was twenty past eleven when they walked out in the street
Folks were watching from the windows every-body held their breath
They knew this handsome ranger was about to meet his death

There was forty feet between them when they stopped to make their play
And the swiftness of the ranger is still talked about today
Texas Red had not cleared leather fore a bullet fairly ripped
And the ranger's aim was deadly with the big iron on his hip

It was over in a moment and the folks had gathered round
There before them lay the body of the outlaw on the ground
Oh he might have went on living but he made one fatal slip
When he tried to match the ranger with the big iron on his hip

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Naweh Orstraylya the plaice where
Yah wosh yer faice in a bison
The tryenes pool up at the rylewhy styeshun
And the people are berried eight foot deep

Gud guys deep down
And on a dyte
Thy corl ya myte.

Now as to cricket
It's not the ticket
When bat and ball
to Defend the wicket
Some underhand
Resorted to
A win maintained
for all to view

A talking point
For many years
Cricket's not our game
To allay your fears

In case you think
Well come and claim
That we are superb
At what's your game !!

I noticed that until we lost
Our League team, supported
and briefly claimed, By the host
As the Seedknee Wurriers

How about a prawn for tea
Out of the chill of the Esky
put it on the Barbie
and wash it down with XXXX

Go the All-Blacks

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I lay there for hours
cheek pressed to damp soil,
breathing through one nostril
least the enemy still toil...

I dozed off and on as the sun
and moon traded place...
Crickets sang while ants
formed beautiful black lace...

Working feverishly in the red pond
haloing my head, warming me,
I slept until the cricket choir
opened act three...

Not as loud now, I strained
to hear their melody...
Yearned for them to sing louder,
sing, sing for me!...

Are they leaving or am I,
where is the black lace?...
Job complete the ants marched on,
their bounty carried to a hidden place...

Floating now, high above the fray,
I see, in dried mud encased,
something familiar yet strange to me,
the imprint of my face...

I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII

A voice spoke deep inside crossing that borderline

The wind creeped below the shell of my soul to settle for which unknown

A quiet mystery penetrates the soul

Fields flowing to and fro, calling calling calling

Reaching out so hard and fast I knew not a name to be called

The longing had begun, a call to rest the weary soul

Home, home, home how can this be

A strange land to the eyes behold having not stepped before

I look one flight to my eyes a wonder

Gently rolling hills of grass and trees

Sharp crevices etched upon thee

Post after post, intertwined with barbwire

What do I see before me, calling my name calling calling

Home home home how can this be

The richness of the beauty bringing longing to thy soul

Simple and quaint marked by time,

Unmarked in the ageless flight of life

Strong backs behold here is the place

Where solid folks rest their make

Against sun worn days of toil and trouble

Solid in their stance of what is has always been

And forever shall be

Life in the towns, pastures and plains to see

Lasting into eternity

Calling my name again to be alive for times of solid lines

Hold strong to the past moving gently forward

Strong I will need to remove the citified appendages,

The anger of the crowd and lost souls encountered

Strength comes from that which is solid and fertile

A tree cannot grow in cemented ground

Wide open spaces and fertile ground to spread and nourish

Here is where I call my home

It called me over and over set your roots to be planted

Tend gently in fertile ground, solid footings will be found

I will heal, and I will hurt but I will heal again

For it is calling unto my soul this is the land, this is the place

And it is ready to undo what is wrong

A whole lot of toil to nourish the loss

Home home home this is how it be