Governor: The Holy Brown Mountain Bears of Turbaio

WA Delegate: None.

Founder: The Holy Brown Mountain Bears of Turbaio

Last WA Update:

Maps Board Activity History Admin Rank

Most Armed: 1,312th Most Devout: 2,093rd Most Patriotic: 2,129th+2
Highest Disposable Incomes: 2,303rd Most Valuable International Artwork: 2,650th
World Factbook Entry

The Isle of Wight is a county and the largest and second-most populous island in England.
It is in the English Channel, about 2 miles off the coast of Hampshire, separated by the Solent.
The island has resorts that have been holiday destinations since Victorian times, and is known
for its mild climate, coastal scenery, and verdant landscape of fields, down-land and chines.

Originally Founded in 2004! Oldest Isle on Nationstates!


Embassies: Phuket, Bir Tawil, Capri, Gaul, Maxtopia, Wales, The Great Universe, Red Liberty Alliance, Gypsy Lands, and The Monarchy alliance.

Tags: Anti-Communist, Anti-General Assembly, Anti-Security Council, Anti-World Assembly, Eco-Friendly, Featured, Mercenary, and Minuscule.

Isle of Wight contains 3 nations.

Today's World Census Report

The Most Stationary in Isle of Wight

Long-term World Census surveillance revealed which nations have been resident in their current region for the longest time.

As a region, Isle of Wight is ranked 10,907th in the world for Most Stationary.

NationWA CategoryMotto
1.The Holy Brown Mountain Bears of TurbaioMoralistic Democracy“No one is free, even the birds are chained to the sky.”
2.The Red Prussian Field Marshall of Von ClausewitzPsychotic Dictatorship“The backbone of surprise is fusing speed with secrecy.”
3.The Republic of U S AFree-Market Paradise“No More; Where Ignorance is Bliss, Tis Folly to be Wise”

Regional Happenings

More...

Isle of Wight Regional Message Board

Yeah I am all set with that snowflake garbage. Special comes with foam helmets. Normal makes it all work.

Federalist papers and Psycho therapist

In appreciation for opening our embassy, breakfast is on us:

**Sets up a table of muffins, butter, jam, pancakes, bacon, ham, scrambled eggs, strawberries, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, and Hershey's kisses**

Federalist papers, Tribal influence, Un limited, and Psycho therapist

O Holy Night!
The stars are brightly shining
It is the night of the dear Savior's birth!
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till he appear'd and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary soul rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine
Oh night when Christ was born
Oh night divine
Oh night divine

Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming
Here come the wise men from Orient land
The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger
In all our trials born to be our friend

Truly He taught us to love one another
His law is love and His gospel is peace
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His name all oppression shall cease
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name

Flowing robes, Praetor maximus, and Psycho therapist

The Garden of Proserpine
BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

Here, where the world is quiet;
Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds' and spent waves' riot
In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing,
For harvest-time and mowing,
A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter,
And men that laugh and weep;
Of what may come hereafter
For men that sow to reap:
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers,
Desires and dreams and powers
And everything but sleep.

Here life has death for neighbour,
And far from eye or ear
Wan waves and wet winds labour,
Weak ships and spirits steer;
They drive adrift, and whither
They wot not who make thither;
But no such winds blow hither,
And no such things grow here.

No growth of moor or coppice,
No heather-flower or vine,
But bloomless buds of poppies,
Green grapes of Proserpine,
Pale beds of blowing rushes
Where no leaf blooms or blushes
Save this whereout she crushes
For dead men deadly wine.

Pale, without name or number,
In fruitless fields of corn,
They bow themselves and slumber
All night till light is born;
And like a soul belated,
In hell and heaven unmated,
By cloud and mist abated
Comes out of darkness morn.

Though one were strong as seven,
He too with death shall dwell,
Nor wake with wings in heaven,
Nor weep for pains in hell;
Though one were fair as roses,
His beauty clouds and closes;
And well though love reposes,
In the end it is not well.

Pale, beyond porch and portal,
Crowned with calm leaves, she stands
Who gathers all things mortal
With cold immortal hands;
Her languid lips are sweeter
Than love's who fears to greet her
To men that mix and meet her
From many times and lands.

She waits for each and other,
She waits for all men born;
Forgets the earth her mother,
The life of fruits and corn;
And spring and seed and swallow
Take wing for her and follow
Where summer song rings hollow
And flowers are put to scorn.

There go the loves that wither,
The old loves with wearier wings;
And all dead years draw thither,
And all disastrous things;
Dead dreams of days forsaken,
Blind buds that snows have shaken,
Wild leaves that winds have taken,
Red strays of ruined springs.

We are not sure of sorrow,
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
Time stoops to no man's lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then star nor sun shall waken,
Nor any change of light:
Nor sound of waters shaken,
Nor any sound or sight:
Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.

Turbaio, Von Clausewitz, Chief, and Praetor maximus

A challenging surrealistic poem, enjoy

Like priestly imprisoned poets,
the poplars of blood have fallen asleep.
On the hills, the flocks of Bethlehem
chew arias of grass at sunset.

The ancient shepherd, who shivers
at the last martyrdoms of light,
in his Easter eyes has caught
a purebred flock of stars.

Formed in orphanhood, he goes down
with rumors of burial to the praying field,
and the sheep bells are seasoned with shadow.

It survives, the blue warped
in iron, and on it, pupils shrouded,
a dog etches its pastoral howl.

Turbaio, Von Clausewitz, Love of the trinity, Praetor maximus, and 2 othersReprobate, and Hamburgler

Man's Short Life and Foolish Ambition
BY DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE MARGARET CAVENDISH
In gardens sweet each flower mark did I,
How they did spring, bud, blow, wither and die.

With that, contemplating of man's short stay,
Saw man like to those flowers pass away.

Yet built he houses, thick and strong and high,
As if he'd live to all Eternity.

Hoards up a mass of wealth, yet cannot fill
His empty mind, but covet will he still.

To gain or keep, such falsehood will he use!
Wrong, right or truth—no base ways will refuse.

I would not blame him could he death out keep,
Or ease his pains or be secure of sleep:

Or buy Heaven's mansions—like the gods become,
And with his gold rule stars and moon and sun:

Command the winds to blow, seas to obey,
Level their waves and make their breezes stay.

But he no power hath unless to die,
And care in life is only misery.

This care is but a word, an empty sound,
Wherein there is no soul nor substance found;

Yet as his heir he makes it to inherit,
And all he has he leaves unto this spirit.

To get this Child of Fame and this bare word,
He fears no dangers, neither fire nor sword:

All horrid pains and death he will endure,
Or any thing can he but fame procure.

O man, O man, what high ambition grows
Within his brain, and yet how low he goes!

To be contented only with a sound,
Wherein is neither peace nor life nor body found.

Duke, Phobic, and Prelate

What-ho fellow islanders. Out of curiosity are any of you living on the Isle of Wight?

Praetor maximus

The Anti Bridge Society wrote:What-ho fellow islanders. Out of curiosity are any of you living on the Isle of Wight?

I did briefly. This stone gathered no moss in his early years ;)

Duke, Prelate, and U S A

I have found the many biomes of the US to keep me in the same country to experiment with which I love most whilst also granting me liberty to have freedom to express myself.

Duke, Praetor maximus, and Prelate

All of European governments are boot luck g the Middle East and continue to accept immigrants wholesale allowing extremism to flourish in their own backyard! Why???

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