154B

Colour Record No. 154, Side B:

154A

Colour Record No. 154, Side A:

153B

Colour Record No. 153, Side B:

153A

Colour Record No. 153, Side A:

152B

Colour Record No. 152, Side B:

152A

Colour Record No. 152, Side A:

151B

Colour Record No. 151, Side B:

151A

Colour Record No. 151, Side A:

150B

Colour Record No. 150, Side B:

150A

Colour Record No. 150, Side A:

149B

Colour Record No. 149, Side B:

149A

Colour Record No. 149, Side A:

148B

Colour Record No. 148, Side B:

148A

Colour Record No. 148, Side A:

147B

Colour Record No. 147, Side B:

147A

Colour Record No. 147, Side A:

146B

Colour Record No. 146, Side B:

146A

Colour Record No. 146, Side A:

145B

Colour Record No. 145, Side B:

145A

Colour Record No. 145, Side A:

Near Mansfield, Ohio/144B

Near Mansfield, Ohio

By James Wright

The enormous muscle-bound dobbins of autumn
Are gone now, to dark barns,
Where they can be lazy,
Where they can munch little apples, lazy,
In their sleep.

And many highways are bare.

You, too, are abandoned
Beside a street, now,
Near Mansfield, Ohio.
Once in that town, that looks
Like a sixty-year-old whore selling poppies
On Armistice Day, you died
Alone.
_____
Colour Record No. 144, Side B:

144A

Colour Record No. 144, Side A:

143B

Colour Record No. 143, Side B:

143A

Colour Record No. 143, Side A:

Nemerov/142B

It's a long time since I last posted any poetry, so:
_______________________________________________
The Old Soldiers' Home

By Howard Nemerov

Trumpet and drum, the old soldier said,
What has become of the regiment,
What of the company and squad?
Some must be living, though cracked or bent
But I can't get it out of my head
How trumpet and drum paraded before
The marching young men, how they led
Us, green and dumb, where the war
  Opened his mouth to be fed.

There was a hill, the old soldier said.
The military and manly thing
Was to take the hill, and we near did.
We got our fill and had our fling
And sowed our wild oats and our blood
All up and down the slope, before
We turned back, broken, and fled,
Bleeding and chill, where the war
  Opened his mouth to be fed.

God bless the State! the old soldier said,
Which lets me wait in a fine house
With a bronze gate and an iron bed,
Reciting the roll call, win or lose,
The order of battle, the old parade
Climbing the hill.  How long before
Trumpet and drum prate over my head?
I, chill and dumb, where the war
  Opens his mouth to be fed.
________________________________________
And here's Colour Record No. 142, Side B:

142A

Colour Record No. 142, Side A:

141B

Colour Record No. 141, Side B:

141A

Colour Record No. 141, Side A: