Young America Sings Democracy’s Song

young america sing democracy_s song

From the ash of disaster rise the strong
Sown resolve forged in Colonial foundries
A new warrior floods the commonwealth
Young America sings Democracy’s song.

Beneath the blades of grass lies unrest
Wolves in shepherd’s robes forsake safety
Innocents taken paid the Devil In full
Classroom killing fields filthy with death.

A child soldier wields the Sword of Light
Striking the glutinous beast bowel deep
The creature’s squeal deafens the swamp
Traitors and thieves beg for their lives.

From the ash of disaster rise the strong.
Young America sings Democracy’s song.

by, Hugh A Tague
inspired by; Walt Whitman’s
I Hear America Singing

Omayra’s Smile

Omyra's smile

by, Hugh A Tague

Pressure below the ground began to build
Smoke and ash billowed into the night’s sky
The earth’s crust shook and became fire tilled
Over the next few days many will die.
In this place where happy children once played
Omayra is locked in sunken debris
Her precious new life is no longer safe
Scared and lonely she struggles just to breathe.
Hearing her cries many gathered around
She faced death with the smile she put on
But no one could pull the girl from the ground
After three days  Omayra’s life was gone.
The earth was angry and took her away.
Omayra’s sweet smile lives on today.

Abandoned

abandoned-equipment

(Free Rhyme Quatrain)
by, Hugh A Tague

Crops and  flowers no longer flourish here
windows boarded up no one to look out
sounds of children playing heard never more
no neighbors to stop and knock at the door.

Once rich and fertile land now lies barren
no life dwells as far as the eye can see
no animals nor ox to pull a plow
four walls and a roof are all that’s left now.

Standing alone surrounded by nothing
for all that once was is now abandoned
sky dark as night though it’s only midday
no color to be seen just shades of gray.

Wind blows dust across the desolate fields
ominous grey clouds take over the sky
life giving rains are too little too late
forsaken forever is this land’s fate.

For all that once was is now abandoned
sounds of children playing heard never more
windows boarded up no one to look out
four walls and a roof are all that’s left now

Copyright © 03/11/13 Hugh Tague

 

My Pledge of Allegiance

Art Work by Marc Arroyo

 Art work by Marc Arroyo

A worm blindly spins the thread;
A fragile, meaningless thread.
Wove in unity with others,
Its true wealth not inherent.

A mast tethered swatch of silk
Dancing upon the gentle breeze.
Colored with bravery and sacrifice,
It becomes the standard of many.

Waiving an overture to the day
Exalted, the ensign flies on high.
Mankind’s clannish nature insure
Its dominion forever stands abstract.

For each combat-hardened gonfalon
Victorious upon the field of battle;
Blended with blood, another’s colors
Envelope the soil where it succumbs.

An oriflamme that burns for some
Deny the inclusion of a whole.
O’ to have a banner unite a species,
I pledge My allegiance to Humanity.

~Hugh A Tague

Org. Published in Sixteen Magazine

A Nation Divided Our Children Cry

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by Hugh A Tague

In a small Florida town a shot rang out
A hooded young boy just on his way home
Attacked by a man who brandished a gun
This battle this night he could not have won.

A perforated young heart beats no more
His blood flowed into the now hallowed ground
Yelling and screaming he put up a fight
He took his last breath that dark rainy night.

Senselessly and needlessly a life lost
So many questions the answers unclear
Leaving most of us just wondering why
A nation divided our children cry.

No one around to help him stand his ground
Who speaks for him now can his voice be heard
His bright young light was turned off much too soon
Now that light twinkles with the stars and moon.

A hooded young boy just on his way home
His blood flowed into the now hallowed ground
Attacked by a man who brandished a gun
This battle this night he could not have won.

Hugh Tague 7/17/13

The Crude Colossus

 

the new crude colsass

Not unlike a brazen giant of freak fame,
With transplant faux hair and a bad spray-tan;
Here at his brain-washed, iron-clad gates shall stand
A mighty moron with a torch, whose flame
Is the persona of gaslighting, and his name
Betrayer of Exiles. From his beacon-hand
Glows world-wide “No-Trespass” sign; his eyes scan
The bridgeless harbor that his sinful cities frame.

“Return to your ancient lands, you matter not!” cries he
With puckered lips. “I don’t want your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses scheming to steal from me
Such wretched refuse shan’t set foot upon my shore.
Send these, the homeless, back across the sea,
The light’s off and I locked the door!”
 by Hugh A Tague