July 4, 1776 – July 4, 2026
250 Years – Long May She Wave
This month’s challenge was: Write a poem, story or article inspired by the 250th Anniversary of the day a bunch of rebels decided that the people of this land would no longer be enthralled to the whims of a country over 3,600 miles away.
The entries could be serious, funny, or reflective. Up to 800 words.
Authors Style Title
Rosa B. Armijo-Pemble Poem I Pledge Allegiance to 250 Years
Jack Yerby Prose Fourth of July in London
Mark Fleisher Poem I Don’t Do Fireworks Well
Shawna Woods Poem O’l Glory
Sam Mooreman Poem Independence Ways
I Pledge Allegiance to 250 Years
A Golden Shovel
After the Pledge of Allegiance, written by Francis Bellamy (1892)
By Rosa B. Armijo-Pemble
Semiquincentennial simply states 250 years. I
reflect upon time marked and a pledge
to a country still young. The youth who died for their allegiance
serving its red, white and blue. To
safeguard the United State’s freedom and the
significance of hand over heart in love of our waving flag.
For those who stood before we are reminded of
this great nation they fought to liberate. The
commitment towards values and ideals in favor of a more United
people. A land now comprised of 50 states
founded on the pursuit of a brighter tomorrow. Semiquincentennial is part of
our unalienable rights to celebrate these United States of America.
Fourth of July in London
by Jack Yerby
“Okay, gang,” I said as we sat around a table in the dining room of our hotel. “We’ve spent the last three days sightseeing here in London with Amy, our tour guide. And today we have the day off. So, if you want to go back and revisit a favorite spot, Amy says she’s willing to take you wherever you want to go. Buckingham Palace for the changing of the guard. Shopping at Harrods. Or more time at the Tower of London. She’ll be in the lobby at 9:00, so eat your breakfast and grab your walking gear. Be in the lobby by 9:00. Amy’s very punctual.
As my students started in on the breakfasts, I got their attention one more time. “And you guys, remember not to tell anyone you’re an American.”
“Why not, Mr. Yerby,” asked Jim. “They like Americans over here.”
“Not today they don’t,” I answered.
A blank look on Jim’s face. “What’s today, Jim?” I prompted.
“July fourth,” he responded.
“And what happened on the Fourth of July, two hundred years ago?”
“The Declaration of Independence,” said Michelle.
“Right,” I said. “And that was independence from whom?”
Michelle’s open-jawed expression was matched by the other seven kids from Farmington High on a tour with me, their teacher, to London and Paris.
“So, I’m gonna whisper this to you guys so I don’t offend any of the staff here in the hotel.”
“Happy Fourth of July,” I stage-whispered.
I spent the rest of the day, kid-free, exploring the local neighborhood around our hotel. I found a quaint pub, but it was closed until later that afternoon. But I was able to browse away the day in an old, dusty, used bookstore. I agonized over a first printing of The Hobbit or Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.
“Well, Jack,” I told myself, “it’s 5:00 and time for a spot of tea, as the Brit’s say.
I went back to our hotel and entered the dining room and caught the waitress’ eye. “Tea?” she mouthed silently? I nodded my head and sat down at an empty table.
It was immediately surrounded by eight, angry students from Farmington High School.
“You lied to us,” shouted Michelle rather loudly.
“Huh?” I grunted.
“They don’t hate Americans here.”
I tossed my head back and roared with laughter. “So, you told them you were Americans. On the Fourth of July?”
“Yeah, as if they couldn’t figure that out as soon as we opened our mouths and said something,” added Jim.
“And that pub around the corner is even gonna have a Fourth of July party,” said Michelle. “And we’re invited.”
“Yeah, it’s an American superhero costume party,” said Jim. “And the first pint is on the house for Americans.”
“Yeah, they’ll be dressed as all kinds of American superheroes ’n actors,” added Michelle. “Sylvester Stallone, John Wayne, Superman, Batman.”
I kept laughing all through my typical English Afternoon Tea. Farmington kids are just too easy.
I Don’t Do Fireworks Well
by Mark Fleisher
I don’t do fireworks well,
kind of a delicate situation…
the woman I love celebrates
her birthday July Fourth,
the loudest day of the year,
plus she’s from Baltimore
where the bombs burst in air,
the rockets glared red
So I winced a bit when
Wilson our waiter, cheerfully
extols the power, the glory,
the noise of fireworks
Twenty-inch mortars,
bottle rockets exploding
just above your head,
I’ve seen the real thing,
Wilson doesn’t get it…
in war, man, in war,
thank you for being there
where’s there?
he doesn’t ask, I don’t say,
I don’t do fireworks well,
popping balloons, either
O’l Glory
by Shawna Woods
The year was 1776 and O’l Glory was to be her name.
She was brought forth to life under no promise of fortune or fame.
She was to be a symbol to unite a brave group,
For they were ready for a life of freedom and justice they set out to recoup.
Freedom and justice from a kingdom in a faraway land,
For these brave and mighty few decided it was time to take a bold stand.
Upon her birth, a place for her was immediately found,
She was to be born as royalty and should never touch the ground.
Not for the few, but for the masses she would stand,
Because the promises she carried would be a gift so magnificent and grand.
Since her beginning she has remained loyal and steady and true,
Oh the things that O’l girl has seen us all through.
From the very beginning she has been there through it all,
But thus far on her 250 years of watch never has there been a fall.
So with her reach spanning coast to coast,
She continues to remain the one that unites us all.
That O’l girl, she is definitely a national treasure,
One that even two and half centuries cannot fully measure.
For such a simple gal she sure holds a lot together,
Even if her ends from time to time become a little weathered.
So what does her future hold in store
Or better yet this great nation she has so long stood watch for?
Only time knows the secrets and stories yet untold,
But our girl O’l Glory, yes her watch will continue to hold
For a land that is still home to the brave and bold.
Independence Ways
by Sam Moorman
Memories pop to mind
like fireflies bottled in my skull
wink on, wink off
One July Fourth I canoed the Russian River
with my brother and we pitched
camp beside a tent whose two women
I tried to charm until
one said, We’re lesbians!
Yet they kindly offered to show us
their party haunts in Guerneville
long as we pretended, my brother and I
to be gay.
So in dance halls fumed by amyl nitrate
we stood apart and grinned like fools
shaking to rock sounds then
watched each other’s back in bathroom visits
That night’s winding path
led through wood cabins where mighty men
advanced on cowering naked bodies
Then fireworks by the lake
where an organizer confided,
We bought all the pink rockets they had
Years later I gaze across
a weedy mile of croaking frogs
to spotlit stone walls called
the San Bruno Hilton
really this county’s jail
where inmates free themselves
nightly with fireworks
in their grim, gray cells