Freedom(Gaston Gros)

Ring the Bells of Freedom,
and liberty tolls for we.
Quench the Ring of Freedom,
and oppression tolls for thee.

PATRIOTISM ANDREA GUERRA

I STAND ON HISTORY'S CORNER


I once was called a State House, now I'm Independence Hall

I stand on history's corner on a Philadelphia mall

I face the green where freedom rings in silence to the ear

But the bell tolls daily in the minds of those who want to hear



In the chambers of my meeting place, two hundred years ago

Words of strong debate from out my chambers overflowed

A government was founded and a portrait finely etched

And the face of freedom's guarantee on parchment had been sketched



I listened to the arguments, I heard the strong debate

I shed a tear of joy when they discussed the people's fate

They granted all a freedom that nobody could refute

The right to speak what he believed was granted absolute



It is a freedom that's denied to millions on this earth

Yet many here still don't appreciate its' golden worth

For every freedom guaranteed, there rests a certain trust

In the right of conscience, right of thought, to say the things we must



Every day the tourists come, to visit chamber halls

To hear the words of independence echo off the walls

They glance out rippled windows at the beauty of the green

Some understand the magnitude of all that they have seen



There is an unmarked boundary by which speech is well embraced

That does not smile upon the words that scar and that deface

That offend another's tenants, that degrade and that abuse

From one without a conscience, where his freedom is misused



But yet between the lines of freedom, tolerance is clear

Sometimes we listen to the things we never want to hear

Then anger and mistrust arise within the murky mist

Of one who utters or displays what principles resist



But yet he has the right to what his conscience will attest

To those I say, just turn your back and silently protest

Rejection is the deepest pain that one will ever feel

And silence speaks the loudest as it echoes what is real



There is another boundary that blows in freedom's air

That does not allow the right to speech that cause s one's despair

Inciting danger or upheaval, with a word or sign

Intended to create despair and others to malign



The law will call to justice, the one who oversteps

The line of freedom's limits with the weight of ignorance

Those who've passed the boundaries, marked on wooden floor

Where freedom was first granted, never walked into my door



For if he had, he would be overcome with the debate

As ghosts of freedom argue in the favor of his fate

He'd hear his name be mentioned as deserving to the wise

For "every individual" was equal in their eyes



He'd understand the privilege of living in a land

Where censorship's forbidden to the eyes of every man

Where every pen is free to write the thoughts within his soul

And every soul is free in seeking knowledge as his goal



I stand on history's corner, a building with a name

Where people look at freedom's bell through rippled window pane

And realize their eyes are gazing through the very glass

Of eyes that once looked out as well in shadows of the past



Come here to see where freedom's voice was duly given birth

Come here to understand the measure of your voice's worth



-- Submitted by Elizabeth Santos from Pottstown, PA

e-mail: mesantos1@comcast.net

Got Your Back


by Autumn Parker



I am a small and precious child,

my Daddys been sent to fight

The only place I will see his face,

is in my dreams at night



He will be gone too many days,

for my young mind to keep track.

I may be sad, but I am proud,

my Daddy's got your back



I am a caring mother,

my son has gone to war

My mind is filled with worries

that I have never known before



Every day I try to keep

my thoughts from turning black

I may be sad, but I am proud,

my son has got your back.



I am a strong and loving wife,

with a husband soon to go

There are times I am terrified,

in ways most never know



I bite my lip and force a smile,

as I watch my husband pack

My heart may break but I am proud,

my husband's got your back.



I am a soldier;

serving proudly, standing tall.

I fight for freedom, yours and mine,

by answering this call.



I do my job while knowing,

the thanks it sometimes lacks.

Say a prayer that I come home,

its me that's got your back



A M E R I C A


A

is for the Attitudes

that conquer any quest

M

is for the Multitudes

who know just why they're blessed

E

pluribus unum

from sea to shining sea

R

for all the Riches found

where everyone is free

I

for Individuals

who sacrifice their all

C

because our Christian faith

will answer every call, so one more

A

for Attitudes

That live inside of us

God has blessed America

Cause God is who we trust



G O D B L E S S A M E R I C A !

I Hear America Singing -Fareez Mamood

I Hear America Singing







by Walt Whitman (from Leaves of Grass, 1900)










I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;


Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;


The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,


The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;


The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat—the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;


The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench—the hatter singing as he stands;


The wood-cutter’s song—the ploughboy’s, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;


The delicious singing of the mother—or of the young wife at work—or of the girl sewing or washing—


Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;


The day what belongs to the day—


At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,


Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.

A Nation’s Strength - Fareez Mamood

A Nation’s Strength







by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1904)










What makes a nation’s pillars high


And its foundations strong?


What makes it mighty to defy


The foes that round it throng?






It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand


Go down in battle shock;


Its shafts are laid on sinking sand,


Not on abiding rock.






Is it the sword? Ask the red dust


Of empires passed away;


The blood has turned their stones to rust,


Their glory to decay.






And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown


Has seemed to nations sweet;


But God has struck its luster down


In ashes at his feet.






Not gold but only men can make


A people great and strong;


Men who for truth and honor’s sake


Stand fast and suffer long.






Brave men who work while others sleep,


Who dare while others fly...


They build a nation’s pillars deep


And lift them to the sky.

patriotic poem (chevar cummings)

Any Woman to a Soldier


by Grace Ellery Channing



The day you march away let the sun shine,

Let everything be blue and gold and fair,

Triumph of trumpets calling through bright air,

Flags slanting, flowers flaunting not a sign

That the unbearable is now to bear,

The day you march away.



The day you march away this I have sworn,

No matter what comes after, that shall be

Hid secretly between my soul and me

As women hide the unborn

You shall see brows like banners, lips that frame

Smiles, for the pride those lips have in your name.

You shall see soldiers in my eyes that day

That day, O soldier, when you march away.



The day you march away cannot I guess?

There will be ranks and ranks, all leading on

To one white face, and then the white face gone,

And nothing left but a gray emptiness

Blurred moving masses, faceless, featureless

The day you march away.



Any Woman to a Soldier

by Grace Ellery Channing

patriotic poem (chevar cummings)

A Toast to our Native Land


by Robert Bridges



Huge and alert, irascible yet strong,

We make our fitful way 'mid right and wrong.

One time we pour out millions to be free,

Then rashly sweep an empire from the sea!

One time we strike the shackles from the slaves,

And then, quiescent, we are ruled by knaves.

Often we rudely break restraining bars,

And confidently reach out toward the stars.



Yet under all there flows a hidden stream

Sprung from the Rock of Freedom, the great dream

Of Washington and Franklin, men of old

Who knew that freedom is not bought with gold.

This is the Land we love, our heritage,

Strange mixture of the gross and fine, yet sage

And full of promise destined to be great.

Drink to Our Native Land! God Bless the State!



A Toast to our Native Land

by Robert Bridges

The Present Crisis by James Russell Lowell

When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth's aching breast


Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west,


And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within him climb


To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime


Of the century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of Time.






Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the instantaneous throe,


When the travail of the Ages wrings earth's systems to and fro;


At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start,


Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute lips apart,


And glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps beneath the Future's heart.






So the Evil's triumph sendeth, with a terror and a chill,


Under continent to continent, the sense of coming ill,


And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his sympathies with God


In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be drunk up by the sod,


Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the nobler clod.






For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along,


Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong;


Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast frame


Though its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or shame; --


In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim.






Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide;


In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side;


Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight,


Parts the goats upon the left hand and the sheep upon the right,


And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light.






Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou shalt stand,


Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land?


Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 'tis Truth alone is strong,


And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng


Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong.






Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments see,


That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion's sea;


Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding cry


Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet earth's chaff must fly;


Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by.






Careless seems the great Avenger; history's page but record


One death- grapple in the darkness 'twist old system and the Word;


Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne, --


Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,


Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.






We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is great,


Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate,


But the soul is still oracular; amid the market's din,


List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave within, --


"They enslave their children's children who make compromise with sin."






Slavery, the earth-born Cyclops, fellest of the giant brood,


Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched the earth with blood,


Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer day,


Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable prey;


Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless children play?






Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust,


Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to be just;


Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside,


Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified,


And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.






Count me o'er earth's chosen heroes, -- they were souls that stood alone,


While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone,


Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline


To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine,


By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's supreme design.






By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I track,


Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back,


And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned


One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet-hearts hath burned


Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to heaven upturned.






For humanity sweeps onward: where today the martyr stands,


On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands;


Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn,


While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return


To glean up the scattered ashes into History's golden urn.






'Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves


Of a legendary virtue carved upon our father's graves,


Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light a crime;


Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time?


Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Plymouth Rock sublime?






They were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts,


Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the Past's;


But we make their truth our falsehood thinking that hath made us free,


Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits flee


The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them across the sea.






They have rights who dare maintain them; we are traitors to our sires,


Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar-fires;


Shall we make their creed our jailor? Shall we, in our haste to slay,


From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away


To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of today?






New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth;


They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of Truth;


Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires! we ourselves must Pilgrims be,


Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea,


Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key.

The Great City by Walt Whitman

The Great City



by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)


The place where a great city stands is not the place of stretch'd wharves, docks, manufactures, deposits of produce merely,


Nor the place of ceaseless salutes of new-comers or the anchor-lifters of the departing,


Nor the place of the tallest and costliest buildings or shops selling goods from the rest of the earth,


Nor the place of the best libraries and schools, nor the place where money is plentiest,


Nor the place of the most numerous population.






Where the city stands with the brawniest breed of orators and bards,


Where the city stands that is belov'd by these, and loves them in return and understands them,


Where no monuments exist to heroes but in the common words and deeds,


Where thrift is in its place, and prudence is in its place,


Where the men and women think lightly of the laws,


Where the slave ceases, and the master of slaves ceases,


Where the populace rise at once against the never-ending audacity of elected persons,


Where fierce men and women pour forth as the sea to the whistle of death pours its sweeping and unript waves,






Where outside authority enters always after the precedence of inside authority,


Where the citizen is always the head and ideal, and President, Mayor, Governor and what not, are agents for pay,


Where children are taught to be laws to themselves, and to depend on themselves,


Where equanimity is illustrated in affairs,


Where speculations on the soul are encouraged,


Where women walk in public processions in the streets the same as the men,


Where they enter the public assembly and take places the same as the men;


Where the city of the faithfulest friends stands,


Where the city of the cleanliness of the sexes stands,


Where the city of the healthiest fathers stands,


Where the city of the best-bodied mothers stands,


There the great city stands.

Fate(Gaston Gros)

Life is a Game
Fate is an Umpire
You are a Player
In your Play Fate is not a True Umpire
As you are the Player and it’s your Play.

Life is a Game
Fate is an Umpire
You are a Player
In your Play Fate is not a True Umpire
But how you played in your Game is later said as your Fate.

Life is a Game
Where every one has an Entrance and Exit
Life is a Game where every one as a Role to Play
But Fate is not which makes you Play
But you play and say it is Fate.

Fate does not decide your Play
Because, you are the one who Play

Life is a Game
Where you should play a good Play which should decide your Fate
Don’t let your fate to decide your play
Play a Sincere play thinking you are here only to play
Then there is nothing for your Fate to do with your Play

Narendra kuppan

Fate(Gaston Gros)

Fate is it something we make,

Fate in who we are & what we fake.

Fate to believe in what we make.

Fate but not being able to have a date,

Fate and wishing I knew the path to take.

Fate is it who we are & what we create.

Samantha Cooney

They Did Their Share(Gaston Gros)

On Veteran’s Day we honor
Soldiers who protect our nation.
For their service as our warriors,
They deserve our admiration.

Some of them were drafted;
Some were volunteers;
For some it was just yesterday;
For some it’s been many years;

In the jungle or the desert,
On land or on the sea,
They did whatever was assigned
To produce a victory.

Some came back; some didn’t.
They defended us everywhere.
Some saw combat; some rode a desk;
All of them did their share.

No matter what the duty,
For low pay and little glory,
These soldiers gave up normal lives,
For duties mundane and gory.

Let every veteran be honored;
Don’t let politics get in the way.
Without them, freedom would have died;
What they did, we can’t repay.

We owe so much to them,
Who kept us safe from terror,
So when we see a uniform,
Let’s say "thank you" to every wearer.

By Joanna Fuchs

I, Too BY LANGSTON HUGHES

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes,

But I laugh,

And eat well,

And grow strong.

Tomorrow,

I’ll be at the table

When company comes.

Nobody’ll dare

Say to me,

“Eat in the kitchen,”

Then.

Besides,

They’ll see how beautiful I am

And be ashamed—

I, too, am America.

Eagle Plain BY ROBERT FRANCIS

The American eagle is not aware he is

the American eagle. He is never tempted

to look modest.

When orators advertise the American eagle’s

virtues, the American eagle is not listening.

This is his virtue.

He is somewhere else, he is mountains away

but even if he were near he would never

make an audience.

The American eagle never says he will serve

if drafted, will dutifully serve etc. He is

not at our service.

If we have honored him we have honored one

who unequivocally honors himself by

overlooking us.

He does not know the meaning of magnificent.

Perhaps we do not altogether either

who cannot touch him.

Tall And Free

By Roger W Hancock (Gilbert Noel)


Towers standing tall and free,

within, movers, shakers of affluence.

Symbols of a vibrant economy,

to the world with freedom's influence.



From the evil of a misguided culture,

spreading hate of zealot destruction.

Killing in a land thought secure,

purpose lost in their aggression.



Towers now gone, a pile of rubble,

six thousand killed by assassins' hate.

In all of America freedom excels,

to it's demise, no one can orchestrate.



We will rebuild, paid from our affluence,

decisions to make affecting the world.

Symbols again with stronger defense,

freedom reigns in our pride renewed.



America has always stood tall, free and proud,

adversity reveals our weakness to solve.

For freedom's security we'll shout aloud,

resistance only strengthens... our resolve.

The Heroes

 By Roger W Hancock (Gilbert Noel)



Some Heroes obvious, some unsung,

their lives and health, tempting fate.

Vulnerable in tasks for our civilization,

few glories for their life's profession.



The Service men in our Armed Forces,

the cause be sure for freedom's sake.

For their family, strangers, citizens all,

few medals show their life's duress.



The policeman whose life is in peril,

by high-speed chase, gunfight ensued.

The simple traffic stop may kill,

few medals show the dangers faced.



The man who is trained as a fireman,

to save our lives, our homes from fire.

The first on scene when aid in need,

few medals show each hazardous deed.



The utilities that keep our comfort whole,

power and phone, the men on poles.

Sewage, garbage disposed for health,

no recognition for the civilian fight.



The many others whose work obscure,

performing tasks with risks not yours.

Construction, or the viral flu to cure,

no medals glory for the civilian plight.

Patriotism (What is Patriotism? & States)

What Is Patriotism
Francis Duggan

What is patriotism you are asking me

Though with the answer I give you perhaps you may not agree

With what on patriotism I do have to say

You win some and lose some life can be that way,

The meaning of patriotism I struggle to understand

But I know it goes further than love of Homeland

Or fighting under your Homeland's flag far from your Homeshore

Aggression and patriotism are different on that need one say more

Of their Nation's military might and sporting heroes so called patriots brag

But there's more to patriotism than the love of a flag

True patriots love their Homeland and people and good will with all races share

And true patriots sad to say as always are rare

And true patriots it does seem of prejudices free

And they seem very different to the likes of you and me.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The States
Edgar Guest

There is no star within the flag

That's brighter than its brothers,

And when of Michigan I brag,

I'm boasting of the others.

Just which is which no man can say —

One star for every state

Gleams brightly on our flag today,

And every one is great.

The stars that gem the skies at night

May differ in degree,

And some are pale and some are bright,

But in our flag we see

A sky of blue wherein the stars

Are equal in design;

Each has the radiance of Mars

And all are yours and mine.

The glory that is Michigan's

Is Colorado's too;

The same sky Minnesota spans,

The same sun warms it through;

And all are one beneath the flag,

A common hope is ours;

Our country is the mountain crag,

The valley and its flowers.

The land we love lies far away

As well as close at hand;

He has no vision who would say:

This state's my native land.

Though sweet the charms he knows the best,

Deep down within his heart

The farthest east, the farthest west

Of him must be a part.

There is no star within the flag

That's brighter than its brothers;

So when of Michigan I brag

I'm boasting of the others.

We share alike one purpose true;

One common end awaits;

We must in all we dream or do

Remain United States.