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Very Very nice CJ....But then I would expect no less from you.....
 

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A Fireman's Prayer



When ever I am called to duty, God

Wherever flames may rage

Give me strength to save some life

Whatever be its age.



Help me embrace a little child

Before it is too late

Or save an older person from

The horror of that fate.



Enable me to be alert and

Hear the weakest shout

And quickly and efficiently

Put the fire out.



I want to fill my calling, Lord

And give the best in me

To guard my every neighbor

And protect their property.



And if according to your will

I should loose my life

Please bless with your protecting hand

My children and my wife.





Author Unknown
 

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Love is not a thing to understand.
Love is not a thing to feel.
Love is not a thing to give and receive.
Love is a thing only to become
And eternally be.
 

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Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
 

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To friends at home, the lone, the admired, the lost
The gracious old, the lovely young, to May
The fair, December the beloved,
These from my blue horizon and green isles,
These from this pinnacle of distances I,
The unforgetful, dedicate.
 

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“Waving in the light”










Bright stripes,
Of red and white.

Big stars,

In a field of blue.

But what do the stars stand for,

Listen to me and hear the truth.



The first five,

Are for our unsung hero’s

Those sons and daughters

Who die unknown,

The light outlines their graves.



The next ten.

Are for their mothers and wives,

Grieving still they hide

From the lies.

Their tears sparkle in the light.



Ten more.

For all the soldiers,

Who do their best.

So we can have,

What we hold so dear.

The light shines on them.

Year after year.



Five more,

Hide in the folds of the cloth.

Spies we call them,

Hero’s unknown,

Their faces are hidden in the light.



Ten more.

Stand, in plain sight,

But no one sees them in the light.

Cooks and cleaners,

Armorers and mechanics.

Up so early, till late at night,

They labor behind the scenes,

To support the soldiers,

Who guard our dreams.



Nine more,

Are for the families,

Who boldly walk into the light.

With smiles and love,

And hope so bright.

Only to receive a coffin,

Draped in our tears.

And a flag to hold,

In the following years.



Last one.

Is for the hero shinning bright,

But scarred and alone

Be it day or night.

The decisions they make,

Always seem right.

And neither life nor death,

Will stay them from their path.

Stars they are forever more.





The flag to you is what it seems,

To me it’s hope and everyone’s dreams.

Waving briskly in the wind,

What it stands for now, it stood for then.

Unchanged, but not unchallenged,

It catches the eye.

Hopes and dreams flying in the sky.







CHUCK SULLIVAN
 

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If I had my life to live over


I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.
I'd relax, I would limber up.
I would be sillier than I have been this trip.
I would take fewer things seriously.
I would take more chances.

I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers.
I would eat more ice cream and less beans.
I would perhaps have more actual troubles,
but I'd have fewer imaginary ones.

You see, I'm one of those people who live
sensibly and sanely hour after hour,
day after day.

Oh, I've had my moments,
And if I had it to do over again,
I'd have more of them.
In fact, I'd try to have nothing else.
Just moments, one after another,
instead of living so many years ahead of each day.

I've been one of those people who never goes anywhere
without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat
and a parachute.
If I had to do it again, I would travel lighter than I have.

If I had my life to live over,
I would start barefoot earlier in the spring
and stay that way later in the fall.
I would go to more dances.
I would ride more merry-go-rounds.
I would pick more daisies.

Nadine Stair,
85 years old.
 

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Only as high as I reach can I grow,


Only as far as I seek can I go,


Only as deep as I look can I see,


Only as much as I dream can I be.


--Karen Ravn--

 

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The Green Fields of France



Oh how do you do, young Willy McBride
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside
And rest for a while in the warm summer sun
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done
And I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the great fallen in 1916
Well I hope you died quick
And I hope you died clean
Or Willy McBride, was is it slow and obscene

Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined
And though you died back in 1916
To that loyal heart you're forever nineteen
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Forever enshrined behind some old glass pane
In an old photograph torn, tattered, and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame

Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest

The sun shining down on these green fields of France
The warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance
The trenches have vanished long under the plow
No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now
But here in this graveyard that's still no mans land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
And a whole generation were butchered and damned

Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest

And I can't help but wonder oh Willy McBride
Do all those who lie here know why they died
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause
Did you really believe that this war would end wars
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing and dying it was all done in vain
Oh Willy McBride it all happened again
And again, and again, and again, and again

Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down
Did the band play the last post and chorus
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest



by Eric Bogle
 

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[align=center]He was getting old and paunchy[/align] [align=center]And his hair was falling fast,[/align]​
[align=center] [/align][align=center]And he sat around the Legion
[/align][align=center]Telling stories of the past.[/align][align=center]
[/align][align=center]
[/align][align=center]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 whereof he spoke.

But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For old 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.

He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
[/align][align=center]'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
[/align][align=center] Goes unnoticed, and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Someone 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
And perhaps a pension, small.

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, his kin,
Just a common 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:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."
[/align]
 

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Captainbrian47 wrote:
wexy wrote:
There is a poetry thread at the top of this forum .........





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CIARAN (pronounced Keeron):)
Welcome to the poetry thread :waving:                                                    :ROFL:
I just wrote this but didn't get it in before the lock.
Since I don't write poems often, I wasn't going to let this one go to waste.
so here it is.....

He hold his Ax
with a firm hand.
waiting to swing it
here in internet land.

Since there's already a thread
for this topic on top.
I'm thinking that he wants
this rhyming to stop.


:cheesygrin:
 

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WEXY woke up with his shorts in a bunch,

and you heard a sound of his axe as a crunch,

I don't care cause I'm goin' to lunch,

We can get rowdy when together as a bunch.
 

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ROSES ARE RED
VIOLETS ARE BLUE
YOU BLOW YOUR NOSE
LIKE A B52 :)




Sleep tight tonight - your Airforce is awake:july4thflag:
 

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God’s Garden


God looked around his garden
And found an empty place,

He then looked down upon the earth
And saw your tired face.

He put his arms around you
And lifted you to rest.

God’s garden must be beautiful
He always takes the best.

He knew that you were suffering
He knew you were in pain.

He knew that you would never
Get well on earth again.

He saw the road was getting rough
And the hills were hard to climb.

So he closed your weary eyelids
And whispered, ‘Peace bethine’.

It broke our hearts to lose you
But you didn’t go alone,

For part of us went with you
The day God called you home.
 
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