Something about soldiers

There’s something about soldiers
The authentic ones
Their brutality
Their neglect of death

Such animalistic instinct
Hardly human
Utterly human
Call it mortal
Call it immortal

There’s something about soldiers

The Soldier
Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

three dishes and one

(another adaptation plus "translation")

I have eaten
the two yolks
that were on
chives
And the egg whites
that were on
cabbages
And the grounded
egg whites with chives

and which
you were probably
saving
for lunch

Forgive me but
they were delicious
so salty
and so fresh

I did leave you
(however)
the two egg shells
that were on water

两个黄鹂鸣翠柳，（韭菜上俩鸡蛋黄）
一行白鹭上青天。（一片菜叶上铺一行切成片的蛋白）
窗含西岭千秋雪，（四根韭菜围一框，里面洒点碎蛋白）
门泊东吴万里船。（清汤上浮两蛋壳 - by Searain)

This is just to say

by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird by Wallace Stevens

to which I added a little tail (the 14th); this wondrous picture was taken by Dean and artistically enhanced by Olddog:

XIV

I do not know to awe
or to hate
his majestic jacket
of black
of gold
And the dying furs below

it turned out that i mistook "cattail" crumbs for a bunny, therefore:

XIX

Balck! balck!

It’s the blackbird, and
his veggie bunny,
which defines
this wintry spring.

Now enjoy the "real thing"---

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
Wallace Stevens

I

Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II

I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV

A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI

Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII

O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII

I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX

When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X

At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI

He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII

The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII

It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.

The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs