Lana Moon Reads
@lanamoon.space
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
January 23, 2026 at 2:12 PM
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
January 23, 2026 at 2:12 PM
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
January 23, 2026 at 2:12 PM
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
January 23, 2026 at 2:12 PM
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
January 23, 2026 at 2:12 PM
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
January 23, 2026 at 2:12 PM
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
January 23, 2026 at 2:12 PM
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Read the poem at poets.org/2020-on-lear...
2020 Academy of American Poets Prize
On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs by Renée Nicole Macklin
poets.org
January 16, 2026 at 2:33 PM
Read the poem at poets.org/2020-on-lear...
Go to standwithminnesota.com to learn how you can help.
Stand With Minnesota
A directory of places to give to as Minnesota defends itself from ICE occupation
standwithminnesota.com
January 16, 2026 at 2:33 PM
Go to standwithminnesota.com to learn how you can help.
Written March 2001, it includes this poem by Dennis Dutton
Not even
under mortar fire
do they flinch.
The Buddhas of Bamiyan
Take refuge in the dust.
Not even
under mortar fire
do they flinch.
The Buddhas of Bamiyan
Take refuge in the dust.
January 9, 2026 at 2:14 PM
Written March 2001, it includes this poem by Dennis Dutton
Not even
under mortar fire
do they flinch.
The Buddhas of Bamiyan
Take refuge in the dust.
Not even
under mortar fire
do they flinch.
The Buddhas of Bamiyan
Take refuge in the dust.
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
January 2, 2026 at 2:23 PM
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
January 2, 2026 at 2:23 PM
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
Read it at mbird.com/poetry/the-r...
"The Risk of Birth, Christmas, 1973" by Madeleine L’Engle - Mockingbird
A Poem
mbird.com
December 23, 2025 at 6:16 PM
Read it at mbird.com/poetry/the-r...
家爲逆旅舍，
Jiā wèi nì lǚshě,
My house is a rest stop,
我如當去客。
wǒ rú dāng qù kè.
And I am but an overstaying traveler.
去去欲何之？
Qù qù yù hé zhī?
To where, oh where, shall I depart?
南山有舊宅。
Nánshān yǒu jiù zhái.
The Southern Mountains hold my ancestral home.
Jiā wèi nì lǚshě,
My house is a rest stop,
我如當去客。
wǒ rú dāng qù kè.
And I am but an overstaying traveler.
去去欲何之？
Qù qù yù hé zhī?
To where, oh where, shall I depart?
南山有舊宅。
Nánshān yǒu jiù zhái.
The Southern Mountains hold my ancestral home.
December 12, 2025 at 2:04 PM
家爲逆旅舍，
Jiā wèi nì lǚshě,
My house is a rest stop,
我如當去客。
wǒ rú dāng qù kè.
And I am but an overstaying traveler.
去去欲何之？
Qù qù yù hé zhī?
To where, oh where, shall I depart?
南山有舊宅。
Nánshān yǒu jiù zhái.
The Southern Mountains hold my ancestral home.
Jiā wèi nì lǚshě,
My house is a rest stop,
我如當去客。
wǒ rú dāng qù kè.
And I am but an overstaying traveler.
去去欲何之？
Qù qù yù hé zhī?
To where, oh where, shall I depart?
南山有舊宅。
Nánshān yǒu jiù zhái.
The Southern Mountains hold my ancestral home.
弱質與運頹，
Ruò zhì yǔ yùn tuí,
My frail nature and declining fortune
玄鬢早已白。
xuán bìn zǎoyǐ bái.
Have turned my once dark hair white.
素標插人頭，
Sù biāo chā rén tóu,
A greying signpost on the temples
前途漸就窄。
qiántú jiàn jiù zhǎi.
Cautions ‘passage narrows ahead’.
Ruò zhì yǔ yùn tuí,
My frail nature and declining fortune
玄鬢早已白。
xuán bìn zǎoyǐ bái.
Have turned my once dark hair white.
素標插人頭，
Sù biāo chā rén tóu,
A greying signpost on the temples
前途漸就窄。
qiántú jiàn jiù zhǎi.
Cautions ‘passage narrows ahead’.
December 12, 2025 at 2:04 PM
弱質與運頹，
Ruò zhì yǔ yùn tuí,
My frail nature and declining fortune
玄鬢早已白。
xuán bìn zǎoyǐ bái.
Have turned my once dark hair white.
素標插人頭，
Sù biāo chā rén tóu,
A greying signpost on the temples
前途漸就窄。
qiántú jiàn jiù zhǎi.
Cautions ‘passage narrows ahead’.
Ruò zhì yǔ yùn tuí,
My frail nature and declining fortune
玄鬢早已白。
xuán bìn zǎoyǐ bái.
Have turned my once dark hair white.
素標插人頭，
Sù biāo chā rén tóu,
A greying signpost on the temples
前途漸就窄。
qiántú jiàn jiù zhǎi.
Cautions ‘passage narrows ahead’.
Original translation
日月不肯遲，
Rì yuè bù kěn chí,
The sun and moon do not stop or slow.
四時相催迫。
sì shí xiāng cuīpò.
The four seasons press ever onward.
寒風拂枯條，
Hánfēng fú kū tiáo,
A cold wind stirs the bare branches,
落葉掩長陌。
luòyè yǎn zhǎng mò.
And fallen leaves cover the long road.
日月不肯遲，
Rì yuè bù kěn chí,
The sun and moon do not stop or slow.
四時相催迫。
sì shí xiāng cuīpò.
The four seasons press ever onward.
寒風拂枯條，
Hánfēng fú kū tiáo,
A cold wind stirs the bare branches,
落葉掩長陌。
luòyè yǎn zhǎng mò.
And fallen leaves cover the long road.
December 12, 2025 at 2:04 PM
Original translation
日月不肯遲，
Rì yuè bù kěn chí,
The sun and moon do not stop or slow.
四時相催迫。
sì shí xiāng cuīpò.
The four seasons press ever onward.
寒風拂枯條，
Hánfēng fú kū tiáo,
A cold wind stirs the bare branches,
落葉掩長陌。
luòyè yǎn zhǎng mò.
And fallen leaves cover the long road.
日月不肯遲，
Rì yuè bù kěn chí,
The sun and moon do not stop or slow.
四時相催迫。
sì shí xiāng cuīpò.
The four seasons press ever onward.
寒風拂枯條，
Hánfēng fú kū tiáo,
A cold wind stirs the bare branches,
落葉掩長陌。
luòyè yǎn zhǎng mò.
And fallen leaves cover the long road.
Note, lots of places (including Jacobin!) seem to have an abridged version of the speech, but The Debs Decision is a scanned book from 1919 and therefore the most likely to be an accurate source.
December 5, 2025 at 2:03 PM
Note, lots of places (including Jacobin!) seem to have an abridged version of the speech, but The Debs Decision is a scanned book from 1919 and therefore the most likely to be an accurate source.
Read the full transcript at en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Deb...
The Debs Decision - Wikisource, the free online library
en.wikisource.org
December 5, 2025 at 2:03 PM
Read the full transcript at en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Deb...