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Patriotic Sonnet Poems | Sonnet Poems About Patriotic

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

Details | Sonnet |

Soldier of Ages

Dedicated to  Lt. Gen. George S. Patton, Jr. (November 11, 1885 – December 21, 1945) 


I'd fought a hundred battles 
       through the ages past and new 
I'd been a lowly foot soldier 
       But at times commanded too. 
  
I was a witness of Arab mothers 
       Fleeing cities under-siege ; 
A new age liberator, 
       The commander of the third. 
  
I had served with Ceasar's legion; 
       The Carthaginians; and the Greeks. 
When Arthur was in his Kingship, 
I was a captain of the knights 
  
A horseman tough and skillful 
       Of medieval cavalier; 
But ages had transformed me 
       to dash with iron wheels 
  
The only time I meet MacArthur 
       Was in the salient of St. Mehiel 
We both stood erect, calm, and unmindful 
       To the guns and bursting shell. 
           
Oh well take a look at Monty 
       Too slow for his advance 
He didn't expect me to take Palermo 
       or Mesina to my plan 
  
 I was reproved of my harshness, 
       They knew not that I was somber too 
I cared not of my language 
       As long as my point would get through 
  
I'd mixed my words with profanities 
       That my orders surely stick 
My men would always remember every word 
       While they're in the battle field 
  
Oh my, I hate those yellow bastards 
       They have no place on this earth 
I sent them to the frontlines 
       That no more they would breed 
  
 Those swivel chair commanders 
       Discounted my two days time 
But brave soldier deserved to be rescued 
       Before his dog tag stops to chime. 
  
So my men made it to Dunkirk 
       To the delight of McAuliffe 
"Surrender!" yelled the Nazis 
       but "nutz" was all he said. 
  
I was cut off of supplies and fuel 
       For Market Garden's sake 
But after pissing the flowing River 
       I held the Fuhrer's nest 
  
So soon another war was ended 
       Mine enemies had lost 
The iron carver claimed the glory 
       And relieved me from my post.   


Details | Sonnet |

America is not a free Buffet

America is not a Free Buffet
Loch David Crane, M. Ed.
Border Patrol Auxiliary
22 September 2008

America is not a free buffet
for benefit of those from far away.
We have our borders, customs, laws, and rules
securing our posterity from fools,
criminals, diseased people, and those
who mean us harm and carry bombs.
Malaria and leprosy are brought
by the undocumented who aren't caught.
The dumb, the desperate, or the diseased,
those lacking skills and schooling from "back home,"
all feel entitled through our fence to roam.
They break in here, and that's why we're displeased.
	But those who choose to come here legally
	have done it right,   deserving to be free.


Details | Sonnet |

We Will Not Comply

We Will Not Comply

I never thought I’d live to see the day
When children would be taught that God is dead,
The flag we love, someone would take away,
Or leaders in corruption share a bed.

It matters not to me who ridicules;
I am American, I will rebel.
I’ll keep my God, my guns, my right to use
Free speech the truth to tell.

We never thought to live in tyranny—
Just to stand for truth could mean your life;
We need to recognize we are not free—
We will not save our country without strife.

Will we rise and claim our liberty
Or take the lies and bow to slavery?


Details | Sonnet |

My Heart beats faster when I touch my Gun

My Heart beats faster when I touch my Gun
Loch David Crane, 
Border Patrol Auxiliary
26 January  2010

We track illegal aliens in the snow.
It's easy to see where their booties go.
But "huddled masses yearning to breathe free"
should wait in line and come here legally.
Your thievery dishonors those who came
here legally, but have Latino names.
If you, like others, waited patiently
we'd welcome you "from sea to shining sea."
"Observe, report, direct" and document:
these lawful practices are our intent.
On nights like this, lit brightly by the Moon,
I monitor the freqs from our comms room.
	My heart beats faster when I touch my gun:
	it's in the holster empty, safety on.

(freqs are frequencies on the radio in the Communications center.)


Details | Sonnet |

today

i'm going outside today
out where the blood and riots lay
out to the streets of chant and stand
out where the people make demands

young men, young women, elders too
take a stand against taboo
and tell these leaders of corruption
we're gonna make a resurrection

and demand change and better ways
i'm gonna go outside today
and see if living can take a turn
as young teach old what can be learned

i'm going outside today
coming home or going home, i cannot say

© Goode Guy 2014-02-21


Details | Sonnet |

Legend of the Unknown

Tender smile fumes, the vanished touch of yore
Against midnight scream, passion in folklore
Tether thy gaily words. Not a tear loss
Arise ye heads, looked thence before at toss.
	
Silence posit as means for foe deceit.
Norm thath mandate knees ‘till poseur forfeit;
Smash across bloody, unknown one gallant
Niggle on trust which n’vr malevolent.

Flee and austere, meek wolves escape shameless,
Fight outside pride, hope tributes when helpless.
Oh! Might destroy peace nurtured humble eye;
Obscure fate hung after teary goodbye.

Untold misery haunts. Short lived supper
Unfold all plots. We died unseen pauper.


Details | Sonnet |

My Friesland

I've come at last, my Friesland;
I'll never leave again,
But watch the budding trees stand
Above the grassy plain.

From the smallest little flow'rs that grow,
To the tallest steeple's rise,
You're the fairest country that I know
Beneath the bluest skies.

Everywhere I walk, I see,
My memories are true;
The people smiling back at me,
Their eyes are sparkling too.

From Bolsward down toward Heerenveen,
The dearest land I've seen;
What shame I nearly left for good,
When I was but fifteen.

I've come at last, my Friesland;
My wand'ring I resign:
Oh, sprawling, comely sealand,
What joy to call you mine!


{Form begins as a sonnet and continues as quatrain.}


Details | Sonnet |

TRESPASSERS SHOULD BE SHOT

TRESPASSERS SHOULD BE SHOT
Your own computer, where they should not go,
'tis your own place, your Heaven or your Hell
All sacred are the words they should not know,
Nor spy upon, some things you'd never tell.

The scum of life know secrets to the lock,
They play among your bits, yes ev'ry byte.
And troubled nights, not sleeping like a rock
You'll laugh it off, as just imagined plight.

But know you well, conspiracies they thrive,
from cyberspace, they bring you false alarm,
Intimidation keeps their cause alive
Their snooping's meant to bring you naught but harm.

If you've uneasy feeling someone's there
Then know you well, they're with us ev'rywhere.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet


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Sonnet 12 - A prayer for my people

Above these trees towering
Above these deep blue seas
Above these clouds soaring
Above these mortal fears

Beyond these steep mountains
Beyond these battered slopes
Beyond these wasted plains
Beyond these shattered hopes

Through these shifting shadows
Through these darkening days
Through these shuttered windows
Through these dim lit doorways

Triune God, hear me pray
Let my people find their way.


Details | Sonnet |

TARTANS, A SONNET FOR FRANCINE



There be Scots as farrrrrr as the eye can see.
Brawn calves and bright kilts delight lasses 
while pipers swagger out of the pub, tipsy.
Your smile broadens as a caber is tossed

end over end. Then, across the glen, highland                      
dancers in ghillies beckon with hearty flings.
Auch, it’s hot yet heather dare no’ wilt. Clans
gather, roguishly rib each other, as wool spins

in wheels. Aye, the romance can fair overwhelm
e’en the sensible. Worse for we, the fanciful. 
Come, here’s the tea tent. Let soft fiddles calm
as we nibble oatcakes. Tartans and tunes pull

heartstrings. We sit raptly, lost in Brigadoon,
put pen to napkin and let wee thistles bloom. 







*For my dear friend and fellow canuck, Francine Roberts who adores the whimsical, 
the lyrical and the magical. Her poetry always charms with the romance found in the 
everyday, in the extraordinary and in all the charms of nature.

Thank you, Francine, for all you bring to soup! 

I brought Francine to the Fergus Highland Festival, the largest of its kind in all of Canada. 
Fergus is less than an hour from Kitchener. We have attended many of these festivals.
Like many Canadians, I am a VERY mixed breed, lol, but am most proud of my 
Scot heritage. Nothing stirs the blood more than 30 or so massed bands 
playing down the sun with Amazing Grace. 

Francine, I took you to a former festival. The new festivals no longer 
have the tea tent! Grrrrrrrrr…The VON (Victorian Order of Nurses)  
ran the tea tent and it was almost surreal to see in it: spotless white
linens, real bone china pots and cups, small vases of roses and thistles on 
tartaned-up tables… scones and jam…. and a small stage featuring 
Celtic performers. It was very restorative for those who’d spent hours 
walking the festival, and had become weary, sunburned and parched. 
It really did feel like a Brigadoon in the middle of a scene from
Braveheart --- they actually had weapon demonstrations not far from
this tent…  lol... the Pipers Pub was like something out of a film.
Talk about struts! LOL!!!

If I know you at all, I think you’d be smitten by the atmosphere
 of a bygone time… and… ahem… men in kilts! 

Oh, yes, leaves a gal weak in the knees! Sigh!