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Political Husband Poems | Husband Poems About Political

These Political Husband poems are examples of Husband poems about Political. These are the best examples of Political Husband poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Quatrain |

Average Age 19

Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for

Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain

Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin

I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail

Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled

Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss

How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run

I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance





James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "



Details | I do not know? |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Details | I do not know? |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | Rhyme |

What Does Marriage Mean to YOU

What Does Marriage Mean to YOU?

What all hear various definitions
 of what marriage means.
Not realizing the consequences
 this often brings!

There’s often a lack of commitment and faithfulness.
Many still looking for a true source of happiness!

This institution, that God set up as a husband and wife.
Needs to have his spirit,
 to guide our life!

It’s no wonder why, there’s many falling apart!
It’s causing heartache and many broken hearts!

No court in the land can wash away sin’s dark stain.
When adultery happens, things aren’t the same!

May we all seek to ask God
 to strengthen our home!
He’s there to help us!
 When we feel all alone!

We need the blood of Jesus to daily cleanse us!
He wants to do this!  Because he loves us!

Jesus remains committed, faithful and strong!
His word will teach us what’s right and wrong!

May we seek HIS guidance and council!
You’ll find, that he is always most helpful!

Please Jesus… Heal the broken families
 across this nation!
For only you can provide
 a much needed foundation!

By Jim Pemberton  


Details | I do not know? |

Sugar Daddy

He came in all flashy
He sat down in room with Papa
He pointed at me
I want her
cash was exchanged
I cried
Know one listened
He drove me to a Hotel
I was so scared
In the room...he took me
Took my innocence..
I wasn't alone he had more girls
Time flew by...
Daddy lent us out...to strangers
the strangers raped us
I started to feel sick
was taken to the doctor
doctor asked if I used protection
he washed his hands
He said you have AIDS
Where did you catch it from? 
Daddy?
Whats your daddy's name?
Sugar Daddy
 
 WRITTEN BY TG GREEN


Details | Rhyme |

There's A Web of Temptation And Sin

There’s a Web of Temptation and Sin!

There’s a web of temptation and a lot of sin…
That brings slavery and a strong bondage within!

Throughout this land, there’s an evil surge!
While many lives, seem to be getting “submerged!”

Being submerged, into a life, that many believe in.
They become perverted, but want all to receive them!

The “love and acceptance,”
 that many desire.
Puts them on a tightrope!  A very thin wire!

As the web of temptation and sin begin to grow.
It brings a bondage that damages the soul!

They may want to have “love and acceptance.”
But in their hearts, needs to be a godly repentance!

May the holiness of a righteous God be stirred!
That all will come back, to the truth of his word!

His son Jesus, came to the cross! He bled and died!
That through him, our lives can be totally sanctified!

Only the power of God, can bring a needed restoration!
He gives to one and all… 
 A heavenly invitation!

Whosoever will… Come now!  And accept him!
Won’t you take the time, to really know him?

Don’t allow the web of life to destroy 
and overcome you!
Come to Jesus now!  He really does
 LOVE YOU!

By Jim Pemberton


Details | Rhyme |

America Is Being DESTROYED From Within

 

As sin and perversion often become integrated… So many lives and families are being “disintegrated.” Many are being driven by sin’s temptation force… It’s no wonder much of this country is way “off course.” The morality and values that once made a great nation. Are evaporating…. Leading to a “spiritual separation.” Love, honor, and respect of God… Is often a “thing of the past.” Anything of God seems to be disappearing FAST! God is our only hope! And him alone! Only he can bring healing to our broken homes! He’s the answer to this wounded nation, that bleeds! It’s only God that can meet all of our needs! He’s our provider… The great: “I am!” Won’t you reach out to him? And give him your hand? Why not give him a chance? And allow him in? A brand new life for you… Is waiting to begin! May we allow God’s holiness and love to reach down into our hearts… Asking; “Lord please forgive our sins!” Is a good place to start! By Jim Pemberton


Details | I do not know? |

For Men Everywhere One Billion Rising

1 Billion Rising.

For Men Everywhere.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

Stop!

Stop the abuse!

Of grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Listen!

Listen to the voices!

Of grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Think!

Think of how you treat,

grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Act!

Act now to change yourself!

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

stops when you stop,

the violence,
the abuse,
the rape.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

is perpetrated by,

grand-fathers,
colleagues,
boyfriends,
husbands,
nephews,
brothers,
partners,
fathers,
uncles,

men,

all men.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

stops when us men stop,

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

today, now.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!


Details | Blank verse |

Biting my Tongue Again

My tongue
has no more blood; 
no tissue to slide through my teeth.

I have bitten my tongue
so long
my message deflates beneath.


©  2011  ~JSLambert Esquire


Details | Free verse |

Nakusa

She stands there, 
silently, 
as the khols
and taals
begin
to play.
If money had afforded, 
they would have found the
wrong chromosome.
Pat silk
Sitipati
Bangles
ornate
heads
fingers
feet
and she
begins
to sway.
Maatsya, 
the fish, 
life begins.
famished cries
unheeded, 
A crumpled woman, 
abandoned child.
Now she is the tortois
lifting herself
from the milky sap
of oleander, 
castor oil.
Bending, 
fingers spread, 
She gazes, 
smiling, 
sorrowful.
fearful.
Varaha- 
the boar.
She pulls
herself up
fingers dancing, 
feet stamping.
Narasimha
She overcomes.
She stands.
She spins.
Dowry.
Her worth measured
and found
insufficient.
Threats.
Shame.
A marriage worth
a decade of work.
She squats, 
Steps.
Vaman, 
The dwarf.
Her eyebrows lower.
Her lips pout.
Gazing off into
some far distance, 
she runs, 
stops.
Turns.
Returns.
She lifts her axe.
Parashuram
She sweeps her arms.
She holds her head high.
Her eyes twinkle
and she is free.
Shaking her finger, 
she sits
and takes up
her baby in her arms.
Rama.
She strikes the floor
right to left
bending
stretching
Head.
Neck.upraised foot.
A boy.
Joy.
Honor.
Pride.
She joins
her hands
and slides them
down
before
her eyes.
Before
her heart.
Lifting her finger
she philosophies, 
teaches, 
trains.
She lifts
her child.
He walks.
He runs.
She stirs.
She waits.
Her eyes
shift
from left to right.
Looking up, 
she lifts
her arms
open
inviting
above her head.
She rolls
her neck
and cradles
her womb.
A needle stick.
A girl.
Nakusa.
She falls to the ground
and she
cries.


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