A Southern Poetry Sampler

The Soiling of Old Glory by Stanley Forman

When I See That Flag Flying by John Parker

When I see that flag flying
I see my people dying
Defending their land
From its invasion.

When I see that flag waving
I feel my people’s craving
For the short-lived
Independence which
That flag took away.

When I see that flag blowing
I see a monster growing
Using force to exert
Its will on those whose
Total resistance is feeble.

When I see that flag spreading
I see a woman heading
Down a road begging
To be relieved of
Paying homage to it
Saying, “If I loved that
Flag, I would not make
Those live under it
Who do not want to.”

When I see that flag outstretched
I can see the wretched
Life it forced
Upon my country;
Bad in war,
Worse in peace.

When I see that flag ascending
I see four young lives ending
Because it felt the world
Was its exclusive domain
And that peace must come
Only as it says.

Most of all when that flag is flying
I can see a little boy crying
Because it is winter
And his only coat has been taken
By one who waved that flag
Because the coat had
Confederate buttons.

Atlanta 2019 by Mike C. Tuggle

Grizzard! You should be writing these days.
The Southland needs you: she is a mess.
Our colleges, most businesses, the press,
Disown our old-time Southern ways;

Our monuments to heroes they would raze
Or hide in museums. True history they suppress.
Oh, come back to us, Lewis, relieve our distress
And remind carpetbaggers Delta’s ready always.

Your typewriter sang like a well-tuned viola,
Praising simple pleasures, like bourbon co-cola,
Or teasing rude transplants for their lack of couth,
And making us smile as you spoke the nekkid truth.
Your wit was keen, and you scorned all facade.
A proud son of the South, by the sure grace of God.

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