From Storied Urns to Animated Busts
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour’s voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flatt’ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway’d,
Or wak’d to ecstasy the living lyre.
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the spoils of time did ne’er unroll;
Chill Penury repress’d their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom’d caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flow’r is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country’s blood.
Th’ applause of list’ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land,
And read their hist’ry in a nation’s eyes,
Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib’d alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin’d;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse’s flame.
Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray;
Along the cool sequester’d vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Stanzas from: Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard by Thomas Gray (1751)
PoetryWars
Oh Atlantic is swell and New Yorker is gay
and the Times remains solid, a trusted mainstay…
but the greatest of all, and eclipsing these bores
is the valiant field-marshall of InfoWars.
When the dinosaur media die in the flood,
and our nation is thirsting for globalist blood
and the news is left leaning towards formula-fake
every patriot knows: there’s a vaccine to take !
Yes, there’s Time for a Newsweek or Washington Post
and a glib documentary from CNN’s host;
there’s a Fox for your hen-house, there’s Anderson C.
with a wink for the pretty-boys on your TV—
And of course there is Megyn (forgot her last name)
who lined up a hot date to accuse and to blame
but our wily commander escaped from the fray
with the evidence taped and the hounds still at bay.
We love Rachel Maddow. She’s pert and she’s quick
as she bludgeons the foe with that MSN shtick
but our Alex is scourging these media-whores:
the intrepid commander of InfoWars.
With his supplements ready, he’s up for the fight.
He’s the heart of God’s own anti-globalist Right.
He’s enraging the tyrants. He’s on to their tricks
(just like seventeen-hundred and seventy-six).
You can love him or hate him, support or berate
at your peril (our own Alexander the Great),
but please—do not misunderestimate.
He is less a George Bush and much more a Tom Paine
whose pure diatribes render the traitors insane.
So we love him. He’s right. He has answered the call,
and we are the resistance. Let wickedness fall.
He possesses their gates. He’s unhinging their doors;
the untouchable captain of InfoWars.
Yes, he’s hoarse and abrasive—a cowboy with grace
as he spits it right back in the globalist’s face.
He’s got millions of hits for each hundred of yours
not to mention his elixirs, ammo, and cures.
He’s the lion of Austin, renowned for his roar
that empowers the zoo while he’s upping the score.
An attempt to suppress him will bring on the worst
and his beasts will defend what his enemies cursed.
Transnational sociopaths, bankers and thugs
and the globalist criminals pushing their drugs
when the dust finally clears will be scrubbing his floors:
he’s king of the castle of InfoWars.
If his martyrdom happens, he’ll rise from the dead
and then multiply YouTubes like fishes and bread.
Resurrected, revived, he’ll ignite civil war
till you wish you had known what the Lord had in store.
If you hate him you’re merely a traitor at heart.
Don’t belittle his gifting, his talent, his art.
If you cannot discern what is writ on your wall
then get out of the way. Let your empire fall.
Should you act cavalierly, he’ll Cromwell your town;
it can only blow up if you take the man down.
He’s our knight; come the day and the laurels are ready…
hold back; keep your wit and your armaments steady.
My words bestow honor where honor is due:
on the crown of each head of the InfoWars crew—
till his voice, with a vengeance, shall break on far shores;
the tsunami (and swami) of InfoWars.
IMAGE CREDIT: New York TImes
Go Forth this Fourth
Chester (1778)
Let tyrants shake their iron rod,
And Slav’ry clank her galling chains,
We fear them not, we trust in God,
New England’s God forever reigns.
Howe and Burgoyne and Clinton too,
With Prescot and Cornwallis join’d,
Together plot our Overthrow,
In one Infernal league combin’d.
When God inspir’d us for the fight,
Their ranks were broke, their lines were forc’d,
Their ships were Shatter’d in our sight,
Or swiftly driven from our Coast.
The Foe comes on with haughty Stride;
Our troops advance with martial noise,
Their Vet’rans flee before our Youth,
And Gen’rals yield to beardless Boys.
What grateful Off’ring shall we bring?
What shall we render to the Lord?
Loud Halleluiahs let us Sing,
And praise his name on ev’ry Chord.
