IF YOU ARE ABLE

If you are able, save for them a place inside of you and save one backward glance when you are leaving for the places they can no longer go.

Be not ashamed to say you loved them, though you may or may not have always. Take what they have taught you with their dying and keep it with your own.

And in that time when men decide and feel safe to call the war insane, take one moment to embrace those gentle heroes you left behind.

Major Michael Davis O'Donnell
1 January 1970
Dak To, Vietnam
Listed as KIA February 7, 1978

GUNGA DIN

Gunga Din

Rudyard Kipling

By Simran Khurana, About.com

Filed In:

You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery "hitherao"!
Water, get it! "Panee lao"! [Bring water swiftly.]
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!" [Mr. Atkins's equivalent for "O brother."]
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some "juldee" in it [Be quick.]
Or I'll "marrow" you this minute [Hit you.]
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is "mussick" on 'is back, [Water-skin.]
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire",
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I shan't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground,
An' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone --
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

THE HOLLOW MEN

    The Hollow Men 

              A penny for the Old Guy

                               I

         We are the hollow men
         We are the stuffed men
         Leaning together
         Headpiece filled with straw.  Alas!
         Our dried voices, when
         We whisper together
         Are quiet and meaningless
         As wind in dry grass
         Or rats' feet over broken glass
         In our dry cellar

            Shape without form, shade without colour,
         Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

            Those who have crossed
         With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
         Remember us--if at all--not as lost
         Violent souls, but only
         As the hollow men
         The stuffed men.


                          II

         Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
         In death's dream kingdom
         These do not appear:
         There, the eyes are
         Sunlight on a broken column
         There, is a tree swinging
         And voices are
         In the wind's singing
         More distant and more solemn
         Than a fading star.

            Let me be no nearer
         In death's dream kingdom
         Let me also wear
         Such deliberate disguises
         Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
         In a field
         Behaving as the wind behaves
         No nearer--

            Not that final meeting
         In the twilight kingdom


                          III

         This is the dead land
         This is cactus land
         Here the stone images
         Are raised, here they receive
         The supplication of a dead man's hand
         Under the twinkle of a fading star.
            Is it like this
         In death's other kingdom
         Waking alone
         At the hour when we are
         Trembling with tenderness
         Lips that would kiss
         Form prayers to broken stone.


                          IV

         The eyes are not here
         There are no eyes here
         In this valley of dying stars
         In this hollow valley
         This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

            In this last of meeting places
         We grope together
         And avoid speech
         Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

            Sightless, unless
         The eyes reappear
         As the perpetual star
         Multifoliate rose
         Of death's twilight kingdom
         The hope only
         Of empty men.


                          V

         Here we go round the prickly pear
         Prickly pear prickly pear
         Here we go round the prickly pear
         At five o'clock in the morning.

            Between the idea
         And the reality
         Between the motion
         And the act
         Falls the Shadow
	                                  For Thine is the Kingdom

            Between the conception
         And the creation
         Between the emotion
         And the response
         Falls the Shadow
                                                Life is very long

            Between the desire
         And the spasm
         Between the potency
         And the existence
         Between the essence
         And the descent
         Falls the Shadow
                                          For Thine is the Kingdom

            For Thine is
         Life is
         For Thine is the

            This is the way the world ends
         This is the way the world ends
         This is the way the world ends
         Not with a bang but a whimper.

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Article 4 Section 1

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I believe in the United States of America as a government of the people, by the people, for the people; whose just powers are derived from the consent of the governed; a democracy in a republic; a sovereign nation of many sovereign states; a perfect union, one and inseparable; established upon those principles of freedom, equality, and humanity for which American patriots sacrificed their lives and fortunes.

I, therefore, believe it is my duty to my country to love it, to support its constitution, to obey its laws, to respect its flag, and to defend it against all enemies.

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"It is the soldier, not the reporter

"It is the soldier, not the reporter, Who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet, Who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the organizer, Who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, Who salutes the flag, Who serves beneath the flag,
And whose coffin is draped by the flag, Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

- Father Dennis Edward O'Brian, USMC (often incorrectly attributed to Charles M. Province)"

Author: - Father Dennis Edward O'Brian, USMC

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Monday, April 28, 2014

Gene Krupa & His Orchestra: The Brush Drum Solo - 1939

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Rudyard Kipling

Filed In:

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Monday, April 28, 2014

Gene Krupa & His Orchestra: The Brush Drum Solo - 1939

No comments:

WORTH 1000 WORDS

9-11 TRIBUTE

SUPPORT THE TROOPS

THE-WALL

IF YOU ARE ABLE

GUNGA DIN

Gunga Din

Rudyard Kipling

Filed In:

Sponsored Links

THE HOLLOW MEN

HERITAGE FOUNDATION

CHRISTIAN BLOGGER

A LINK TO MORE LINKS

GUNNY SPEAKS

Blog Posts

Recent Articles

SELF EXPLAINED

FAVES

Read More Red Hot Articles »

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KATHY AND I

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