land we love

170212 — seventeen twitter update
trans) (17’s) thank you very much for making precious memories and happy times during these 3 days in seventeen in carat land. we will return the love we received with the cool performance to everyone. our carats, we love you♡
#seventeen #carat #thanks #loveyou


star wars legends » roan lands

“The Emperor doesn’t believe in following regulations,” Roan said. “He lets the Senate pass them and then ignores them. It’s a convenient version of democracy.”


Song of the Irish Brigade, performed by David Kincaide

A song popular among Irish Confederates during the American Civil War.

Oh, not now for songs of a nation’s wrongs,
not the groans of starving labor;
Let the rifle ring and the bullet sing
to the clash of the flashing sabre!
There are Irish ranks on the tented banks
of Columbia’s guarded ocean;
And an iron clank from flank to flank
tells of armed men in motion.

And frank souls there clear true and bare
To all, as the steel beside them,
Can love or hate withe the strength of Fate,
Till the grave of the valiant hide them.
Each seems to be mailed Ard Righ,
whose sword’s avenging glory
Must light the fight and smite for Right,
Like Brian’s in olden story!

With pale affright and panic flight
Shall dastard Yankees base and hollow,
Hear a Celtic race, from their battle place,
Charge to the shout of “Faugh-a-ballaugh!”
By the sould above, by the land we love
Her tears bleeding patience
The sledge is wrought that shall smash to naught
The brazen liar of nations.

The Irish green shall again be seen
as our Irish fathers bore it,
A burning wind from the South behind,
and the Yankee rout before it!
O’Neil’s red hand shall purge the land-
Rain a fire on men and cattle,
Till the Lincoln snakes in their own cold lakes
Plunge from the blaze of battle.

The knaves that rest on Columbia’s breast,
and the voice of true men stifle;
we’ll exorcise from the rescued prize-
Our talisman, the rifle;
For a tyrant’s life a bowie knife!-
Of Union knot dissolvers,
The best we ken are stalwart men,
Columbiads and revolvers!

Whoe’er shall march by triumphal arch
Whoe’er may swell the slaughter,
Our drums shall roll from the Capitol
O’er Potomac’s fateful water!
Rise, bleeding ghosts, to the Lord of Hosts
For judgement final and solemn;
Your fanatic horde to the edge of the sword
Is doomed line, square, and column!


The Land by Tyler Bliss
Via Flickr:
Let’s listen to the land we all love Nature’s plan will shine above Listen to the land Listen to the land EVERYBODY! Let’s listen the land we all love…

Battle Cry of Freedom

So we’re springing to the call from the East and from the West,

Shouting the battle cry of Freedom;

And we’ll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love best,

Shouting the battle cry of Freedom!

The Union forever! Hurrah, boys, hurrah!

Down with the traitors, up with the stars;

While we rally round the flag, boys, we rally once again,

Shouting the battle cry of freedom!

One day, one rhyme- Day 391 'Australia Day'

Here in Australia there is one special day
When we lay back, chill out, and proudly display
Our love of an island so big, brown and free,
A country that’s home to both you and to me.
With wide sweeping beaches and tall mountain peaks;
Where bushland meets rivers that flow into creeks;
Where you’ll hear thunder, see lightning, drought and flood
Where an ‘Aussie-ness’ seems to run in our blood.
So whether you’re native, or whether you’re not
It’s almost certain to be sunny and hot
So chuck on your sunnies and try to keep cool
And if you can find one, then jump in a pool.
Celebrate with pavlova and Vegemite
(Though not both together, that’d be a fright!)
Be glad of this great land surrounded by foam
The land that we love and the one we call home.

A love poem in Three parts

breaks things.
it’s a curse, the earthquake
rumbling the earth
was it dissatisfied
with my quaint happiness? i waited
for him to get off the bus every morning and then
it all became waiting
but not the good kind, the kind
that leaves you rotting,
musty mold manifesting cobwebs
in the corners of your eyes,
you are waiting
for something broken to be repaired love
is the bus that i will always be waiting for to come
and it is startling
how suddenly love is the chess player
whose every bend of the finger radiates confidence and you
are a tiny dark king cornered, cowering in the single diamond shape
as you brace yourself to hear the words slide from love’s velvet lips and hang in the air;

buries things.
it produces tiny snowflakes, never to be noticed,
until suddenly there are great drifts of love
covering pieces of you you thought you needed
suddenly your escape rope is gone what is the trade off then
because somehow love has hidden what you’re missing.
and you decide that nothing is wrong and so
love takes you to the park you used to frequent when you were a child
and you throw out that blue plastic sled- love will carry you!- and fling yourself down the hill
and into the rocks, though you knew they were there, but they were covered in white snow
and now red is spilling onto white and all you can think of is how the red is ruining the white
how the red should have poured itself somewhere else
how the white will feel angry and betrayed
and even as your eyes close, you worry that your leaving might be inconvenient for love
maybe it will get in the way of love’s morning coffee. 

builds things.
it lays the foundation layer by light layer, paper maché,
a sticky note, the last soft roll, your favorite chocolate sitting on the counter
poised and ready for you to come back expecting nothing
only to find a sliver of love wrapped in cellophane waiting for you.
love is closing your eyes 
in a world where everything is made to be broken
where sticks and stones can be kites and towers or cuts and bruises 
and knowing that there is a home for you 
and it is in the arms of someone who makes your heart dance
who lies down next to you on the floor and points out the stars on the ceiling
who cries when you read to them
who laughs when you kiss them
who comes into your life like a whisper
and never truly leaves.