Saturn Eating his Son

Nom nom nom

Republics are created by the virtue, public spirit, and intelligence of the citizens. They fall, when the wise are banished from the public councils, because they dare to be honest, and the profligate are rewarded, because they flatter the people, in order to betray them.

— Joseph Story, Commentaries on the Constitution, 1833

You will succeed, because you have enough brute force. But you will not convince. In order to convince it is necessary to persuade, and to persuade you will need something that you lack: reason and right in the struggle. I see it is useless to ask you to think of Spain. I have spoken.

Miguel de Unamuno

The Conqueror Worm, Final Verse

By Edgar Allen Poe

Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

How blessed is anyone who rejects the advice of the wicked and does not take a stand in the path that sinners tread, nor a seat in company with cynics.

— Psalms 1:1-2, 3, 4, 6

What have I gained, that I no longer immolate a bull to Jove, or to Neptune, or a mouse to Hecate… if I quake at opinion, the public opinion, as we call it; or at the threat of assault, or contumely, or bad neighbors, or poverty, or mutilation, or at the rumor of revolution, or of murder?

— Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essays and English

Ode to Liberty, verse 1

By Alexander Pushkin

Listless Cytherean princess, sing
No more! Begone out of my view!
But you, great scourge of prince and king,
Proud Muse of Freedom, where are you?
Come now, and rip my garland down,
And crush this coddled lyre. Let me
Sing to the world of Liberty
And strike the scum that wears a crown!


By William Ernest Henley

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.

Hat tip commenter “Douglas Erley” from the No, by Erick Erickson.

Answer to Invictus

By Orson F. Whitney

Art thou in truth?
Then what of him who bought thee with his blood?
Who plunged into devouring seas
And snatched thee from the flood?

Who bore for all our fallen race
What none but him could bear-
The God who died that man might live
And endless glory share?

Of what avail thy vaunted strength
Apart from his vast might?
Pray that his light may pierce the gloom
That thou mayest see aright.

Men are as bubbles on the wave,
As leaves upon the tree,
Thou, captain of thy soul! Forsooth,
Who gave that place to thee?

Free will is thine-free agency,
To wield for right or wrong;
But thou must answer unto him
To whom all souls belong.

Bend to the dust that “head unbowed,”
Small part of life’s great whole,
And see in him and him alone,
The captain of thy soul.

Hat tip commenter “Ann_W” from the No, by Erick Erickson.

God of Battles

By George S. Patton 1943

From pride and foolish confidence,
From every waking creed,
From the dread fear of fearing,
Protect us, Lord, and lead.

Great God, who, through the ages,
Has braced the bloodstained hand,
As Saturn, Jove, or Woden
Has led our Warrior band.

Again we seek thy council,
But not in cringing guise,
We whine not for thy mercy,
To slay; God make us wise.

For slaves who shun the issue
Who do not ask thy aid,
To Thee we trust our spirits,
Our bodies, unafraid.

From doubt and fearsome bodings
Still Thou our spirits guard,
Make strong our souls to conquer.
Give us the victory, Lord.

The Concord Hymn

By Ralph Waldo Emerson

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled;
Here once the embattled farmers stood;
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps,
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream that seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We place with joy a votive stone,
That memory may their deeds redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

O Thou who made those heroes dare
To die, and leave their children free, —
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raised to them and Thee.

The Builders

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.

Washington Crossing the Delaware


You tremble now, body? Just wait ’til you see where I take you next.

— Source TBD

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  1. Good stuff, Red.

  2. TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
    That from the nunnery
    Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
    To war and arms I fly.

    True, a new mistress now I chase,
    The first foe in the field;
    And with a stronger faith embrace
    A sword, a horse, a shield.

    Yet this inconstancy is such
    As thou too shalt adore;
    I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
    Loved I not Honour more.

  3. To my sadness, I found , as I got older , that poetry is not as popular as it was when I was a boy. I post one more then abstain:
    The New America

    I rose this morning, looked around,
    Enemy boots were on the ground;
    Walking carefully, holding my breath
    This enemy seeks America’s death.

    Must be careful, must move with stealth
    Those F—ers want America’s wealth;
    They change our laws, they say, to share
    Then condemn old folks via Medicare.

    The lies flow from his purple lips
    As his family goes on expensive trips
    While he aids our youth in discontent
    And abets in blaming the one percent.

    If you do not work do not study, avoid learning
    You will not see how America is turning
    From the home of the brave, the land of the free
    To a place where it is all me, me, me.

    And most of the folks watch the TV,
    And enjoy themselves, but do not see
    This enemy that caused this change in our land
    Which is no longer strong, no longer grand.

    We bow to those who wear a long robe,
    And show signs of weakness to all on this globe;
    We soon will no longer rule all the seas,
    This enemy within will have us down on our knees.

    So rise up patriots, pick up your swords,
    Not ones of steel but of real strong words;
    Throw out the enemy, so we don’t have to cower
    And once again be, the land of the hour.

    • Great stuff, Mr. Bill. Is this yours?

    • Wow. That’s some crazy, paranoid, racist shit, man!!

      • Eloquent stompy, simply eloquent. You can easily take poet laureate away from Maya.

      • Really? Go fornicate yourself parasite.. you need a boot party

        • I stand by my comment,misterbill. That poem is some crazy, paranoid, racist shit.

          If, by boot party, you mean an asskickin’ Vince, I doubt you are the one to give it to me.

          You may call me a troll or whatever, but I came here because I received a link to this site in one the emails I get from Tea Party Patriots. So I decided to check this blog out.

          If you are going to post those kinds of comments/ideas/attitudes, then you should be able to defend them, not with ad hominem attacks, but with “real strong words,” as you say in your poem.

          Please tell me why I’m incorrect in my opinion of your poem?

          • “crazy, paranoid, racist shit”

            ” If you are going to post those kinds of
            comments/ideas/attitudes, then you should
            be able to defend them, not with ad
            hominem attacks”

            Keep up the good work.

          • What? So, you deleted my last post??

          • stompy

            … I wrote a rather long post to you, but the update of the server kept it from making it to the site. It was polite and challenged you on racism. I will not re-enter the whole thing again. I will just put this part out there. I come from a mixed racial family.There are black and Asian members. They are one and two generations below mine.
            You are the racist. I offer a challenge back to you– point out the racism. If you cannot or if it is the typical liberal definition of racism, I ask you to leave and do not bother me again.

            We are better off without small minds like yours here.

            PS I already know where you built the racism charge from and I question if one in a million people of intelligence would judge it racism.

    • that is some awesome verbage Misterbill….had salute to your pen gifted mind.

  4. This is an awesome selection! Thanks for this, I enjoyed it a lot.

  5. Poetry is all we have now.

  6. “Future Legend”

    And in the death
    As the last few corpses lay rotting on the slimy
    The shutters lifted in inches in Temperance Building
    High on Poacher’s Hill
    And red, mutant eyes gaze down on Hunger City
    No more big wheels

    Fleas the size of rats sucked on rats the size of cats
    And ten thousand peoploids split into small tribes
    Coverting the highest of the sterile skyscrapers
    Like packs of dogs assaulting the glass fronts of Love-Me Avenue
    Ripping and rewrapping mink and shiny silver fox, now legwarmers
    Family badge of sapphire and cracked emerald
    Any day now
    The Year of the Diamond Dogs

    “This ain’t Rock’n’Roll
    This is Genocide”

  7. Well put everyone.
    I have something of a, um, Kipling Affliction, so;

    by Rudyard Kipling

    It was not part of their blood,
    It came to them very late,
    With long arrears to make good,
    When the Saxon began to hate.

    They were not easily moved,
    They were icy — willing to wait
    Till every count should be proved,
    Ere the Saxon began to hate.

    Their voices were even and low.
    Their eyes were level and straight.
    There was neither sign nor show
    When the Saxon began to hate.

    It was not preached to the crowd.
    It was not taught by the state.
    No man spoke it aloud
    When the Saxon began to hate.

    It was not suddently bred.
    It will not swiftly abate.
    Through the chilled years ahead,
    When Time shall count from the date
    That the Saxon began to hate.



  9. It’s going to take quite awhile for me to have any solace…that’s just the way it is at this point. ~

  10. Dumbed down and numbed by time and age
    Your dreams to catch the world, the cage
    The highway sets the travelers stage
    All exits look the same

    Avett Brothers….rest all for a few, then join me again in the fight. Don

  11. RedStaterNYC, I have to say this has been the most refreshing, uplifting thing I’ve read since the election. Even more so after the idiotic comments on AWD’s anti-cat post.

    Thanks for the mental reprieve. Love the answer to Invictus.

  12. The Man with a Hoe

    Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
    Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,
    The emptiness of ages in his face,
    And on his back, the burden of the world.
    Who made him dead to rapture and despair,
    A thing that grieves not and that never hopes,
    Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
    Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw?
    Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow?
    Whose breath blew out the light within this brain?

    Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave
    To have dominion over sea and land;
    To trace the stars and search the heavens for power;
    To feel the passion of Eternity?
    Is this the dream He dreamed who shaped the suns
    And marked their ways upon the ancient deep?
    Down all the caverns of Hell to their last gulf
    There is no shape more terrible than this–
    More tongued with cries against the world’s blind greed–
    More filled with signs and portents for the soul–
    More packed with danger to the universe.

    What gulfs between him and the seraphim!
    Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him
    Are Plato and the swing of the Pleiades?
    What the long reaches of the peaks of song,
    The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose?
    Through this dread shape the suffering ages look;
    Time’s tragedy is in that aching stoop;
    Through this dread shape humanity betrayed,
    Plundered, profaned and disinherited,
    Cries protest to the Powers that made the world,
    A protest that is also prophecy.

    O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,
    Is this the handiwork you give to God,
    This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched?
    How will you ever straighten up this shape;
    Touch it again with immortality;
    Give back the upward looking and the light;
    Rebuild in it the music and the dream;
    Make right the immemorial infamies,
    Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes?

    O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,
    How will the future reckon with this Man?
    How answer his brute question in that hour
    When whirlwinds of rebellion shake all shores?
    How will it be with kingdoms and with kings–
    With those who shaped him to the thing he is–
    When this dumb Terror shall rise to judge the world,
    After the silence of the centuries?

    Edwin Markham

    • Steve,

      You waken high school memories of more than sixty years ago.

      Time’s tragedy is in that aching stoop;
      Through this dread shape humanity betrayed,
      Plundered, profaned and disinherited,
      Cries protest to the Powers that made the world,
      A protest that is also prophecy.

      And so we are today, the inmates run the asylum, the population is fast becoming off balance with takers and the future of our children and their children looks ever more bleak.

  13. I should have posted this for veterans day. Perhaps someone did and I missed it. I don’t know the author.

    A Poem Worth Reading

    He was getting old and paunchy
    And his hair was falling fast,
    And he sat around the Legion,
    Telling stories of the past.

    Of a war that he once fought in
    And the deeds that he had done,
    In his exploits with his buddies;
    They were heroes, every one.

    And ‘tho sometimes to his neighbors
    His tales became a joke,
    All his buddies listened quietly
    For they knew of what he spoke.

    But we’ll hear his tales no longer,
    For ol’ Bob has passed away,
    And the world’s a little poorer
    For a Soldier died today.

    He won’t be mourned by many,
    Just his children and his wife.
    For he lived an ordinary,
    Very quiet sort of life..

    Held a job and raised a family,
    Going quietly on his way;
    And the world won’t note his passing,
    ‘Tho a Soldier died today.

    When politicians leave this earth,
    Their bodies lie in state,
    While thousands note their passing,
    And proclaim that they were great.

    Papers tell of their life stories
    From the time that they were young
    But the passing of a Soldier
    Goes unnoticed, and unsung.

    Is the greatest contribution
    To the welfare of our land,
    Some jerk who breaks his promise
    And cons his fellow man?

    Or the ordinary fellow
    Who in times of war and strife,
    Goes off to serve his country
    And offers up his life?

    The politician’s stipend
    And the style in which he lives,
    Are often disproportionate,
    To the service that he gives.

    While the ordinary Soldier,
    Who offered up his all,
    Is paid off with a medal
    Perhaps a pension, way too small.

    It’s so easy to forget them,
    For it is so many times
    That our Bobs and Jims and Johnnys,
    Went to battle, but we know,

    It is not the politicians
    With their compromise and ploys,
    Who won for us the freedom
    That our country now enjoys.

    Should you find yourself in danger,
    With your enemies at hand,
    Would you really want some cop-out,
    With his ever waffling stand?

    Or would you want a Soldier–
    His home, his country, and his kin,
    Just an ordinary Soldier,
    Who would fight until the end.

    He was just a common Soldier,
    And his ranks are growing thin,
    But his presence should remind us
    We may need his like again.

    For when countries are in conflict,
    We find the Soldier’s part
    Is to clean up all the troubles
    That the politicians start.

    If we cannot do him honor
    While he’s here to hear the praise,
    Then at least let’s give him homage
    At the ending of his days.

    Perhaps just a simple headline
    In the paper that might say:

    Pass On The Patriotism!

    YOU can make a difference A veteran is someone who, at one point
    in his life, wrote a blank check made payable to ‘The United States’
    for an amount “up to and including my life.”

    That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.