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Ballad Patriotic Poems | Ballad Poems About Patriotic

These Ballad Patriotic poems are examples of Ballad poems about Patriotic. These are the best examples of Ballad Patriotic poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Ballad | |

The Bell Of Freedom

Philadelphia's the home of freedom.
Liberty stands at the sound of a bell.
Freedom for the world.That's my religion.
Freedom in the states.That's the way it should be.

Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Here the bell of freedom.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Let's also ring this bell for the world.

There's a statue of a lady.In New York City.
Her torch burning bright, for the world to see.
Her meaning's just the same.She looks so pretty.
But nothing like the bell that rings so free.

Philadelphia's the home of freedom.
Liberty stands at the sound of a bell.
Freedom for the world.That's my religion.
Freedom in the states.That's the way it should be.

Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Hear the bell of freedom.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Let's also ring this bell for the world.

There's a flag that flies.It holds the same meaning.
Those stars and stripes, just wave in the air.
This flag's got a name.It's called Old Glory.
This flag flies along.While we're ringing the bell.

Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Hear the bell of freedom.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Let's also ring this bell for the world.

Philadelphia's the home of freedom.
Liberty stands at the sound of a bell.
Freedom for the world.That's my religion.
Freedom in the states.That's the way it should be.

Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Hear the bell of freedom.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling.Let's also ring this bell for the world...

Patriotic-Song-Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2002,2015..ALL rights reserved..

Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad | |

CONQUERING DIVISIONS

I am not made a full blown beauty..
Nor I live a life of purity; charity & piety..
All I like to do is to live with identity..
Not of being a witty but a life of humility..

I tried to be a more social person..
Cracking out the shell I have put up..
Breaking from my own weakness..
Doing best in my found strengths..

I have craved to reach out to people..
Widening my horizon, increasing my knowledge and awareness..
Learning to acknowledge fellow human beings..
Regardless of who they are and where they from..

They said: "I must not do this as it is dangerous.."
but I stand to what I know: "Inside all human beings is the reflection of God.."
I give due and equal chance..
As my God have freely given me opportunities too..

We people are living in same earth..
Different are we because of status, faith or race..
Let not this be the reason for us to be divided..
Rather we must come in unison conquering divisions..

By: olive_eloi
22/10/2013
1:16am

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad | |

Dark Light


A patriot
 In a hot spot
 Of deceit and filthy Rot.
 up every day
 On my Knees I pray
 A helpless prey
 safe not my stay.


Times are hard 
 Faces are sad
 No brother on guard.
 No one to share
 No one to care?
 Never fair
 How they leave a poor man’s back bare.

Wake and make
 It’s theirs to take
 Keep permanent silence
 Remain forever voiceless
 Hunger and anger
 blood and bones
 fire and smoke.

Living lies
 Coated in good
 The rule of darkness so bold
 conspiracies remain untold.
 My money my voice
 An empty hand has no choice
 Give to Caesar
 Be the looser.

Copyright © Griffins Ndhine | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad | |

Independence Day

Independence Day,
Is the day to give thanks,
For all of your freedoms,
That all those wo have died,
Have given their life to give us,
What we have each and everyday,
We have the rights,
To choose where to live,
What to eat,
What to wear,
What to watch on tv,
Who to put in office,
And many more freedoms,
That other countries do not have,
This should make us be,
Thankful for all those,
Who give up their lives,
To protect and serve,
What freedoms we have,
Each and everyday,
That give us our rights,
To use our minds,
So please tell everyone that you meet,
That protect and serve this great country of ours,
You appreciate what they do,
For they don't get enough thanks,
For everything they do,
Day in and day out,
By putting their lives on the line,
In fact, They barely get any thanks,
All  the time,
When they should get thanks all the time,
For their lives are on the line,
For us everyday,
So we may have our freedoms,
So, Please try and be kind,
To those who deserve it,
The living and the dead,
To all who deserve it,
And never forget them,
Or their lives they have sacrificed,
For us so we can all have our freedom times.

Copyright © John Hembree | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad | |

Robert the hood Knight of the wood part 2

We enter in the sheriff’s court unnoticed at first                                                            But never close enough to quench my thirst                                                          Discovered by the twelve knights                                                                                  We retreat to the forest to fight                                                                                 Robert the hood Knight of the wood                                                                              As they draw their sword and chase in accord                                                                  The herring is on the line the foxes they cannot find                                                      We circle back to reclaim for what we came                                                                With kings men beating the brush. The castle we rush                                                Robert the hood Knight of the wood                                                                               If it were an acorn upon my child’s head                                                                          I could not have had truer aim, arrows fled                                                                    Hit it’s mark the eyes of the sheriff  twain                                                                      With his death war does ensue by my hand                                                                 Robert the hood Knight of the wood                                                                              Be brave hearts outcasts of both lands

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ballad | |

Welcome home

Welcome Home

She stood by his grave in a long black veil
They found small remains in his jungle hell.
The honor guard, they all stand tall,
As they hand her a flag for her special wall.

She thought how young when he went away,
He was so proud to be leaving that day.
Now its many years since he's been gone
So she kneeled down and said:
Welcome Home,

OH Welcome Home, Welcome Home
You've marched off to deaths drum.
Some came back, but found darkness there
And it will always be their cross to bear.
So walk with me and carry on.
And know this.....

Welcome Home, Welcome Home
You've been away too damn long.
You've done your time, you've paid your price.
You've felt the pain, you've sacrificed.
I know you’re tired and feel alone
So I say to you,
Welcome Home.


                                              He was awakened by the call one night
A brother’s body was on a midnight flight.
So many times like the times before
He's followed a warrior to a loved one’s door.

So he rode his Harley to the service gate
Where there was a flag draped on a wooden crate.
And down inside laid his gallant bones,
As they passed he said.... 
 Welcome Home,

OH Welcome Home, Welcome Home
You've marched off to deaths drum.
Some came back, but found the darkness there
And it will always be their cross to bear.
So walk with me brother and carry on.
And know this..... 

Welcome Home, Welcome Home
You've been away just too damn long.
You've done your time, you've paid your price.
You've felt the pain, you've sacrificed.
I know you’re tired and feel alone
So I say to you,
Welcome Home.

SFC (ret) Alva Brown

Copyright © alva brown | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad | |

Bangladesh

Bangladesh my Homeland,
Bangladesh my Dreamland,
Bangladesh I love you,
Bangladesh, I live for you.

The green flag out of the red ball,
Plays the flute on golden grains tall.
The motion of charming water lily,
Reminds all Tigers to snatch back lost glory.

Oh my Homeland, Oh my Mother!
Hence you’re rewarded with plenty of river,
The Hilsha and its silvery shine
Makes the magpie lovely dance at rain.
Our fishermen and their vessels,
Make the motherland ample
 And secure thy royal castle.

Each tissue of thy Jack-fruit,
Can meet up hunger and play flute
We love you, we love our Bangla
Pretty Mom, you’re softy-sweetie Bangla!

Copyright © Tasmina Hayat Khan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad | |

The Globetrotting Renegade

He breathed his monotonous homely air
And felt it was not his time to be there,
And departed for world-famed distant shores
Where he believed happiness brimless flows. 

And true the sundry scenes promised change:
On the bitumened streets were gals of every range
And though the languages were new, all looked fair
And his heart throbbed with the puff of foreign air.

He liked the taste of the liquor folks imbibed there
As well as their willing capacity to dream and dare,
And so he began to think: “My heart’s merry at last”,
And cursed his country and washed himself of the past.

He taught himself the rules associated with foreign codes
And marveled at his capability to adopt unfamiliar modes,
He forsook the old and with feigned piety learned politer faiths
Convinced that his father’s religion was a careful set of myths.

But when all was forgotten and the new seemed ever right
The silent old started to haunt his every other sleepless night,
So he couldn’t take it anymore, and returned after years had passed,
And when he puffed again the native air, he sighed: “I’m home at last!”

Copyright © Hannington Mumo | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad | |

Blooming From Roots 2 of 3 -true story poem

Blooming From Roots #2 of 3

I run as fast as I can run.  I'm frightened as can be.
A lady grabs and picks me up - her arms protecting me.

I'm wailing as she runs to hide among 'da bush' and trees.
I hear the chaos all around now bent low on my knees.

I soon think it is safe enough for me to run away -
but I will be forever scarred.  I won't forget this day.

For years I live with others, my makeshift families -
but oh, the torture I go through is more than man believes.

Such sin conceives atrocious things, but that does not compare
to all the things they make me do.  It's way too much to bear...

I lost my friends and family.  It simply makes no sense!
I cannot find a peaceful place.  I lose my innocence.

I bounce between the villages to find a life of peace -
but trial after failed trial, the sadness doesn't cease.

Then once again, it happens!  And this I can't endure!
The rebels come in shooting!  No village is secure!

I pray that they will go away.  My heart is beating hard.
I hide again inside 'da bush' - emotionally scarred.

I try to hide the best I can with rebels coming near -
I hear the bushes moving and an angry voice I hear:

"We know you're hiding!  Come on out, or we shoot again!"
 And with those words they fire some more - a terrorizing sin.

A bullet hits my ankle.  I quickly take my top -.
and tie it 'round my ankle - for it is all I've got.

And then I try to flee again.  There's no way I can stay.
My left hand holds my ankle as I try to run away.

I hear something familiar.  I look up to the skies.
A helicopter nears the road!  A sight for weary eyes!

The emblem proves it's friendly.  The bright 'red, white and blue'.
I run as fast as I can go.  That is what I must do.

I hold my bleeding ankle and I also try to run.
My former top is soaked with blood.  My last dash has begun.

I cannot stay and that's for sure - to left and right, I glance.
I look out through the clearing.  This is my only chance!

(continued on "Blooming From Roots #3 of 3 -true story poem finale)

©2012 louis gander / www.ganderpoems.org

Copyright © louis gander | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad | |

Blooming From Roots 1 of 3 -true story poem

It starts with a little 6 year old girl named "Jellee" (pronounced "jelly")
from Liberia, Africa (on the western coast) -
and ends when she is about 18 and having changed her name to Veronica.

I personally interviewed Veronica and helped begin writing her biography
which she is planning to entitle "Blooming From Roots".
I name this poem the same.

I kept this poem fully factual
(and should be appropriate for the younger readers as well).
I have written it in 'first person' in present tense with permission.

I wish to thank Veronica (Jellee) Gabor for giving me permission
to publish this poem for my readers.
I hope you enjoy "Blooming From Roots".
---

Blooming From Roots #1 of 3

The night is very peaceful.  Stars twinkle in the sky.
While God creates the beauty, man destroys - but why?

A-boom! Boom! Boom!   A-bang, bang, bang!  A-pop, pop, pop!  Rat-a-tat-tat...
Our village undefended!  The horror starts like that.

What is going on?  I'm only six years old.  Gunshots echo through the air!
Yelling, screaming - orders barked.  Bullets everywhere!

As fireworks, but louder - those AK-forty-sevens -
A-bang, bang, bang!  A-pop, pop, pop!  The booming shakes the heavens!

The rebels swarm like bumble bees!  The terror snatches breath.
They frighten all the villagers.  They sting us with their death!

They scare me so.  I try to run.  One catches me off-guard.
He slaps me and I start to bleed.  He hits and kicks me hard.

They seize my father, torture him.  They frighten me a lot!
They grab his arms, behead him there - and kill him on the spot.

The rebels move so swiftly!  I'm just a little child!
My mom is screaming.  I am too.  These murderers are wild!

Two more hold my mother down - they kill as if a game!
"Shut up!" the rebel yells at me, "...or you will get the same!"

Oh, how I squirm and wiggle!  He's holding me so tight.
He hurts my arms.  I cry and scream!  I am too young to fight.

He hits me hard with his big gun.  It slams me to the ground.
He swears that I will get the same if I make one more sound.

Shocked, I am.  I'm terrified.  My friends still unaware -
of what is really happening.  Is this a bad nightmare?

I scramble up and start to run - past one hut, then another.
Oh, will he kill me as he did my father and my mother?

(continued on "Blooming From Roots #2 of 3 -true story poem)

©2012 louis gander / www.ganderpoems.org

Copyright © louis gander | Year Posted 2016