Here I was, sitting on the lawn and staring up, my neck craned in a painful, near paralyzed position. The fireworks seemed to effortlessly swim across the night sky, unaware of the stars or the smog which reflected their warm, striking glow.
the back of her head while she thinks about I certainly hope god knows what. That being, the idea of conscious presence, what I’m really, really wishing for, at a constant. Because when there’s just the one of me, everything is funny, and deep and light and odd as fiddlesticks. Ahhhhhh. So relaxing to watch her think of everything but me. Like if I were built into the walls, or one single stone embedded in the mountain of her singular vivid memory. Maybe she will dream of me, and what will be the great appearance? My puzzle, disguise, ruse or code? But to dream of her is what I really hope. What my mind needs to decompose next. While these eyes are blasting wide in the reoccuring dream of webs. The dream that has a constant. Constant. Constant. Salute!
Salute those who deserve it. Salute in a military fashion or as a friend on a run. Greet neighbors with a neighborly kind of salute, of friendship and soccer games and afternoon barbeques. Salute the world with a wine glass.
military, swords, cadets, bombs. all together, jumbled into a world of youth who don’t know what they want. dictated that they should feel compassion for a country who won’t save them. gone away, lost, forgotten.
Salute to whom? The “man”? The leader? I refuse. I shall salute to myself and only myself. I shall never give in, become brainwashed or manipulated, and I will stand my ground until I become one with the fields of flowers, and the wind that blows the trees in my backyard.
We are all soldiers fighting for something and saluting to someone or some power. If we all are followers, then who are the leaders? Can anyone lead really? Do we all salute to something? Is there something bigger? There must be.
I salute those people who keep smiling even if they are in adverse condition. these people have heart of steel and they don’t blame anyone else for the condition they are in. They strive to make the most out of it. I salute them
salute.
i want to write about how i officially have a girlfriend!
i can’t believe this.
this is the most amazing feeling in the world.
i am happy.
i love you baby..
He salutes once more to the sergeant and turns from the plane to see his wife, running toward him as if they were in a stark field. Suddenly, all disappears but themselves and the painted images of a beautiful grassy field. She jumps into his arms and with all intentions of making her faint just to assure her he would be there to catch her, kissed her passionately, square on the mouth.
i’ve written about this word the past 3 times. i refuse to salute, i refuse to write about “salute” any more times. 3 is more than enough, 3 more times than enough. i refuse!
the army general salutes his officers and he says to them good bye and good luck for i will no longer be around to see you graduate from this tyrannical institution it is almost as if i couldnt wait for this day any longer.
Rank and file, each day the same. His feet shifted, coming to attention with a sharp salute. He would make nice with his superiors today, shaking hands, respectful words — but very soon, the winds would change
Salute to the soldiers,
bloody and battered in war,
minds ripping apart
like string cheese,
white and pale
like their own flesh and blood
they have destroyed
over and over again,
to help the sick,
the poor and the dying.
It seems they must kill
to be morally right.
How ironic it is.
It’s not because she doesn’t respect him, or that, worse, she isn’t fond of him. She is.
She shows her respect in whispered affection, in hushed tones when no one else sees them, on a cot somewhere on a ruined continent when flushed skin touches and sticks together, soaked with sweat and the air of the humid, wild lands they explore together.
Salute. I walk around soldiers and they suddenly make a salute.
I wonder why. I’m no important person.
I salute back.
They start to march.
And then disappear.
a flag flaps in the breeze as we look up and the tired old song plays on the tired loudspeakers. our hands cover our hearts.
does it mean fuckall anymore? i hope so, but probably not.
oh well. land of the free and all, what can you do?
Soldiers, Iraq, I miss you. Fuck war. Fuck the economy. Salute to the flag that has brought so much pain to it’s citizens. Where is the happiness in this? Where is the love?
Salute the flag for it’s the day we observe independence. We observe it by saluting the flag that stands for whatever it stands for in our own minds. To some it’s mom and apple pie. To others it’s the right to lug a gun and call people names who disagree with them.
as my right hand leaves my forehead, i am quickly reminded of the importance of this gesture. this simple gesture that signifies a thousand words and an eternity of respect for the heroes before me. from their past to my present to our future, i salute those who have created history. as i soon hope to make my own. so i stand in salutation in respect to those who’ve paved my way and gave me this freedom.
I saluted politely to the king. “Who’s this?” He asked. The man who stood next to me responded with “The spoiled princess from the next kingdom.” What a jerk!
Ken saluted his sister when he got on the plane. He knew that he would never see her again, but wanted to keep up the illusion for as long as he could that serving in the army was an honor, and not a death sentence.
The colonel saluted me sharply. I had never seen this happen before. I was a lowly messenger boy. What was this all about. I saluted him back, perhaps a little sloppily. He smiled at me gently. “Thank you for bringing me this message my boy.”
It was the proper thing to do. But I couldn’t. They went against everything I had recently started believing in. I looked over at him. It’s like he could read my mind. He looked straight ahead and kept his hands in his pockets.
his shoulders were back, his body straight and rigid, as though a tight line was strung vertically through it. he threw his hand towards his face, serious and obedient.
“sir. yes, sir.”
There have been inumerable attacks of terror, of various proportions on Mumbai, trying to deface, bruise and daunt its “never-say-die” spirit. But everytime adversity struck, Mumbai rose like a phoenix, undetered and more alive than ever. I salute the resilience of this great city and am proud to have been a part of it once.
I salute you for all of your hard work, for your honesty, integrity, and dedication. I deeply admire your efforts and the way you went out fighting; you’re a champion. You’re my hero. I love you Dad!
“salute” the referee said.
they did, only for the formality
inside they where already fighting each other viciously
in a matter of seconds they where out of breath
the foils abandonend and the hands dirtied by the each other blood
A salute. Two different connotations. Scary, if it’s someone doing it because they have to–to superiors in the army or something. Really nice and touching, like a salute to someone special.
what an appropriate word for the holiday at hand… independence day, when six gun salutes rule the nation. it is the time to remember our war participants. which we do, even if we rage against the war machine….
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Here I was, sitting on the lawn and staring up, my neck craned in a painful, near paralyzed position. The fireworks seemed to effortlessly swim across the night sky, unaware of the stars or the smog which reflected their warm, striking glow.
the back of her head while she thinks about I certainly hope god knows what. That being, the idea of conscious presence, what I’m really, really wishing for, at a constant. Because when there’s just the one of me, everything is funny, and deep and light and odd as fiddlesticks. Ahhhhhh. So relaxing to watch her think of everything but me. Like if I were built into the walls, or one single stone embedded in the mountain of her singular vivid memory. Maybe she will dream of me, and what will be the great appearance? My puzzle, disguise, ruse or code? But to dream of her is what I really hope. What my mind needs to decompose next. While these eyes are blasting wide in the reoccuring dream of webs. The dream that has a constant. Constant. Constant. Salute!
Salute those who deserve it. Salute in a military fashion or as a friend on a run. Greet neighbors with a neighborly kind of salute, of friendship and soccer games and afternoon barbeques. Salute the world with a wine glass.
a simplistic gesture of respect..associated most easily with its militaristic use…implies that the person this is given to is honorable
military, swords, cadets, bombs. all together, jumbled into a world of youth who don’t know what they want. dictated that they should feel compassion for a country who won’t save them. gone away, lost, forgotten.
Salute to whom? The “man”? The leader? I refuse. I shall salute to myself and only myself. I shall never give in, become brainwashed or manipulated, and I will stand my ground until I become one with the fields of flowers, and the wind that blows the trees in my backyard.
We are all soldiers fighting for something and saluting to someone or some power. If we all are followers, then who are the leaders? Can anyone lead really? Do we all salute to something? Is there something bigger? There must be.
armydudez.
I salute those people who keep smiling even if they are in adverse condition. these people have heart of steel and they don’t blame anyone else for the condition they are in. They strive to make the most out of it. I salute them
As Adolf Hitler marched down the aisle created by two rows of people, they saluted him, like he was a very honorable man. Little did they know…
this is some pretentious art bullshit
nobody has anything profound to say about “salute”
ugh
i guarantee ten out of ten writings on this site would grate me to no end
i’m unhappy
The flag. Important people. People who we’re supposed to show respect for? No, Pamela Anderson we Salute you.
salute.
i want to write about how i officially have a girlfriend!
i can’t believe this.
this is the most amazing feeling in the world.
i am happy.
i love you baby..
He salutes once more to the sergeant and turns from the plane to see his wife, running toward him as if they were in a stark field. Suddenly, all disappears but themselves and the painted images of a beautiful grassy field. She jumps into his arms and with all intentions of making her faint just to assure her he would be there to catch her, kissed her passionately, square on the mouth.
i’ve written about this word the past 3 times. i refuse to salute, i refuse to write about “salute” any more times. 3 is more than enough, 3 more times than enough. i refuse!
the army general salutes his officers and he says to them good bye and good luck for i will no longer be around to see you graduate from this tyrannical institution it is almost as if i couldnt wait for this day any longer.
I don’t even.
Your actions go unnoticed, while you spend cold nights, and I warm sunny days, I salute you soldier.
No I won’t fucking salute you. To salute would be to show allegiance to you and to acknowledge you as my superior, and I answer to no one but myself.
Rank and file, each day the same. His feet shifted, coming to attention with a sharp salute. He would make nice with his superiors today, shaking hands, respectful words — but very soon, the winds would change
Salute to the soldiers,
bloody and battered in war,
minds ripping apart
like string cheese,
white and pale
like their own flesh and blood
they have destroyed
over and over again,
to help the sick,
the poor and the dying.
It seems they must kill
to be morally right.
How ironic it is.
She doesn’t salute anymore.
It’s not because she doesn’t respect him, or that, worse, she isn’t fond of him. She is.
She shows her respect in whispered affection, in hushed tones when no one else sees them, on a cot somewhere on a ruined continent when flushed skin touches and sticks together, soaked with sweat and the air of the humid, wild lands they explore together.
Salute. I walk around soldiers and they suddenly make a salute.
I wonder why. I’m no important person.
I salute back.
They start to march.
And then disappear.
a flag flaps in the breeze as we look up and the tired old song plays on the tired loudspeakers. our hands cover our hearts.
does it mean fuckall anymore? i hope so, but probably not.
oh well. land of the free and all, what can you do?
Soldiers, Iraq, I miss you. Fuck war. Fuck the economy. Salute to the flag that has brought so much pain to it’s citizens. Where is the happiness in this? Where is the love?
Salute the flag for it’s the day we observe independence. We observe it by saluting the flag that stands for whatever it stands for in our own minds. To some it’s mom and apple pie. To others it’s the right to lug a gun and call people names who disagree with them.
as my right hand leaves my forehead, i am quickly reminded of the importance of this gesture. this simple gesture that signifies a thousand words and an eternity of respect for the heroes before me. from their past to my present to our future, i salute those who have created history. as i soon hope to make my own. so i stand in salutation in respect to those who’ve paved my way and gave me this freedom.
I saluted politely to the king. “Who’s this?” He asked. The man who stood next to me responded with “The spoiled princess from the next kingdom.” What a jerk!
Ken saluted his sister when he got on the plane. He knew that he would never see her again, but wanted to keep up the illusion for as long as he could that serving in the army was an honor, and not a death sentence.
I salute you my captain, though you die cowardly at my hand, I’m not as qualified as I should be… I’ve failed myself.
The colonel saluted me sharply. I had never seen this happen before. I was a lowly messenger boy. What was this all about. I saluted him back, perhaps a little sloppily. He smiled at me gently. “Thank you for bringing me this message my boy.”
It was the proper thing to do. But I couldn’t. They went against everything I had recently started believing in. I looked over at him. It’s like he could read my mind. He looked straight ahead and kept his hands in his pockets.
his shoulders were back, his body straight and rigid, as though a tight line was strung vertically through it. he threw his hand towards his face, serious and obedient.
“sir. yes, sir.”
There have been inumerable attacks of terror, of various proportions on Mumbai, trying to deface, bruise and daunt its “never-say-die” spirit. But everytime adversity struck, Mumbai rose like a phoenix, undetered and more alive than ever. I salute the resilience of this great city and am proud to have been a part of it once.
Memories froth and tumble, in remembrance of the saluting men in midst of gunshots and blood.
A salute to the sky, to borders, to death.
I salute you for all of your hard work, for your honesty, integrity, and dedication. I deeply admire your efforts and the way you went out fighting; you’re a champion. You’re my hero. I love you Dad!
salute the army.
salute the troops.
salute the gods.
salute you.
salute our love.
and wave goodbye.
i loved you thoroughly,
now i should die.
“salute” the referee said.
they did, only for the formality
inside they where already fighting each other viciously
in a matter of seconds they where out of breath
the foils abandonend and the hands dirtied by the each other blood
A salute. Two different connotations. Scary, if it’s someone doing it because they have to–to superiors in the army or something. Really nice and touching, like a salute to someone special.
what an appropriate word for the holiday at hand… independence day, when six gun salutes rule the nation. it is the time to remember our war participants. which we do, even if we rage against the war machine….