A Nation Divided Our Children Cry

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A Nation Divided Our Children Cry
by Hugh A Tague III

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

Walk With Me

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Walk With Me

by Hugh A Tague

Hear the cock’s golden horn call from afar
as a solar torch touches the edge of the world
Igniting the night’s sky, turning dark clouds to white.

Your dawn’s horizon afire with another’s sunset
a pathway paved in ashes of fallen rainbows
a bridge seared onto the surface of the sea.

Follow me to where days have no end
and the night needs not hide in darkness
where the worrier, has no worry
and the warrior, no war.

Walk With Me…
Walk With Me.

 

The Crude Colossus

The Crude Colossus

The Crude Colossus
by Hugh A Tague

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 shall not set foot upon my shore.
Send these, the homeless, back across the sea,
The light’s off and I locked the door!”

Martin Luther King of Men

Martin Luther King, Jr. King of Men
Martin Luther King, Jr.
King of Men

 

Martin Luther King of Men
by Hugh A Tague

Changing our world and all who live there
marching against ignorance and hate
his only weapons were peace and prayer
that was what made this King great.
Equality for everyone was his only plan
a kind soul who dared to dream for us all
given by God, taken away by man
on that dark April day when we saw him fall.
Every human need embrace his just plight
the lessons he taught, we must forever sing
men, women and children, black or white
a nation and the world mourn the brave King
Our father of hope, with the angels he flies.
Now it’s up to us to keep his dream alive.

© Hugh A Tague
original 1-6-13  edited 1-17-16

 

Autumn’s Sun

 

Photo by Hugh A Tague
Photo by Hugh A Tague

 

Autumn’s Sun
by Hugh A Tague

Autumn’s sun shines bright by day
warming the ground where fallen leaves lay.
As if Mother Nature had to sneeze
a strong wind blew the color from the trees.

Nighttime arrived with a clear star filled sky
sound asleep under a warm blanket we lie.
Jack Frost’s breath fell gently upon the ground
kissing the once green fields turning them brown.

Continue reading “Autumn’s Sun”

Fall of The Sumac Phoenix

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Fall of The Sumac Phoenix
by Hugh A Tague

Helios’ sun no longer reigns supreme
as Autumn’s sky begins to cool and gray
Hephaestus loads his brush in nature’s forge
painting each of the bird’s feathers with fire
wings stretched, the sumac looks skyward
milkweed burst in puffs of white smoke
and the phoenix is consumed by winter
until Boreas’ takes his last frosty breath
with Spring’s gentle touch, comes resurrection.

Just Turn Around

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Just Turn Around

 

by Hugh A Tague

Their form beckons to a past time and place
In the bright light time stops for not a soul
sunshine transformed into yesterday’s sight
memories and dreams cast in black and white.

Its all but lost now this style and grace
a seen played out witnessed to not one eye
her pleated dress his top hat so passé
silhouettes dance in shades of black and gray.

Shadows know not time nor respect of bounds
sashaying upon the wall with great mirth
her dress fluttered as if caught by the breeze
he took her hand her heart she gave to thee.

love faded into the storm’s dark abyss
as clouds slipped in front of the sun’s spot light
for no longer can they frolic and play
unwilling to see they just walk away.

Their form beckons to a past time and place
its all but lost now this style and grace
sunshine transformed into yesterday’s sight
memories and dreams cast in black and white.

they walk away
love and hope behind them
just turn around

(Free Rhyme Quatrain)
closed with a Codas in; (English Senyu 4-6-4)

“Burst of Joy”

Burst of Joy
Colonel John F. O’Grady POW/MIA  Photo by Salva Veder.

 “Burst of Joy”

( Storyline; first person) 
by Hugh A Tague

Carried on the wings of my Thunderchief
High above the Earth’s surface
Below my feet a land divided
On the Asian Island chain
Communism creeps

The bombs on my belly
Loaded with freedom from afar
Fire of oppression finds me
Returned to the Earth alive
Received into the hands of the Devil

Continue reading ““Burst of Joy””

Masterpiece: Day’s End

Masterpiece: Day's End
Masterpiece: Day’s End

Masterpiece: Day’s End
by Hugh A Tague

A magenta glow stained horizon
announced the end of a beautiful day
evenings cool air fell upon the shore
as summer’s sun dove deep into the bay.

Continue reading “Masterpiece: Day’s End”

I wonder

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Graphic Design by Diane Wilson

I Wonder

by Hugh A Tague

Pillowing clouds fill the night sky
back lit by the glow of the harvest moon
their edges bright as if on fire.

Like scales on a celestial serpent
the great sky dragon slowly drifts away
disappearing into the darkness.

Continue reading “I wonder”

Five of Cups

Photograph by Matthew Rambo
Photograph by Matthew Rambo

Five of Cups
By Hugh A Tague

Today’s potential consumed by the past
greener pastures through these eyes yet unseen
raw emotion cuts the land wide open
without resolve in place I am frozen.

Obsession’s tight grip keeps me in darkness
my kingdom awash in future’s bright light
water of forgiveness flows in-between
crossing it means then my mind can be free.

Continue reading “Five of Cups”

Way Of The Warrior

Photo by Matthew Woltunski
Photo by Matthew Woltunski

This poem was inspired by
(Robert Frost’s “A Soldier”)

Way Of The Warrior
By Hugh Tague

The warrior’s body thrown to the ground
his soul released from its earthly bounds.
Freed to a place not known by men
Humanity struggles to understand.

The effect of his actions on the planet
taunt the universe we take for granted.
The weapons used to fall the man
rip, tear and destroy the land.

Sight set on victory at any cost
the warrior once stood tall, now is lost.

http://trrpoetry.blogspot.com/2013/05/poem-way-of-warrior_26.html

Decoration Day

Decoration Day by Hugh A Tague
Decoration Day by Hugh A Tague

Decoration Day

By Hugh A Tague

Stones of white sprawl as far as eyes can see
fields of green survivors’ tears now nourish
the sun shone upon the flowers of May
decorating the hallowed place they lay.

The cold days of winter now left behind
spring ends so that summer may come to be
born through the compassion in Shiloh town
widows gray, for the blue laid flowers down.

Canon balls, bullets and bones of the dead
long buried beneath a blanket of earth
beckoning to a time brothers stood brave
some decked in blue yet their kin stood in gray.

From the ashes of conflict felt within
consecrated through the fire of war
a nation of people once divided
proudly under one flag stand united.

Stones of white sprawl as far as eyes can see
spring ends so that summer may come to be
the sun shone upon the flowers of May
decorating the hallowed place they lay

Their Cries of Protest

In this Pulitzer Prize-winning photo by John FIlo, bystander Mary Ann Vechio screams next to the body of Kent State student Jeffrey Miller, who was killed by Ohio National Guard gunfire on May 4, 1970.Images by; John Filo and Jeff Widener

Their Cries of Protest

By Hugh A Tague

May 4, 1970
Sixty Seven rounds of lead
perforate Blanket Hill.
Nine students wounded;
Allison, Sandra,
William and Jeffrey, are dead.
Triggers were not pulled accidentally;
unnecessary, unwarranted and inexcusable
that’s what was said.

Their Cries of Protest
gave birth to a nation
making Boston Harbor run red.
And fighting against hate
on the hill with Martin Luther King
A nation’s ignorance was shed.

Their Cries of Protest
faced oppression
standing alongside
Mohandas Gandhi.
And for humans everywhere
they were with the Tank Man
in Tiananmen Square.

Their Cries of Protest
in Egypt were more than a million strong
making a dictator step down.
Again they were heard
in the smoke over Baltimore
as it burnt to the ground.

Their Cries of Protest
transcend time and race,
exclusively human
they echo in our soul.
Sixty-seven rounds of lead
perforate Blanket Hill
nine students wounded,
four were dead,
Their Cries of Protest,
we hear still.

Sunset of the Olympians

Photograph by Jason Schack Photography©
Photograph by Jason Schack Photography©

Sunset of the Olympians

by Hugh A Tague

Poseidon’s waves lap the beach
Helios’s Sun prepares to sleep
Zeus gathers clouds for the sky
Hephaestus colors it with his fire
Aura adds a gentle breeze
Artemis put the animals to sleep
Apollo raises the moon for us
The day’s light turns to dusk.

Day turns to night then back into day
Never again is it exactly the same.

Jack Frost’s Storm

Jack Frost's Storm

Jack Frost’s Storm
by Hugh A Tague

A white birch bows to Jack’s command
laden with ice upon each limb and branch
all of Summer’s color, his magic blanched
silent, it’s burden held within a frozen trance

Nearby an old willow stands up straight
once flowing branches completely encased
Her limbs pulled to the ground from the weight
Summer sleeps under a canopy of crystal drapes.

The landscape has become unknown
locked in place with tools of ice and snow
a tranquil wonderland only he could sow
Jack Frost’s Storm, a spectacle to behold.