Long poem by
Faith Dye | Details |
My brother is and will always be my Memorial Day
Of course I will always respect every warrior that fought let's say
My brother joined the Marines to get away from our mother at seventeen
she was mean, mentally ill, bossy, and out of her mind in between
so serving his country during the Vietnam War felt better to him
leaving all of us behind, going over there with the body count wasn't a whim
we all cried as he went out the door
mom cried the most and I was just floored
because she yelled and screamed at him all of the time
but today looked like she loved him so much and wanted him to stay behind
if he knew this and didn't have to think that she didn't care for him
his journey may have been so much better with more care and begin
to think of her differently like a loving mom
then when he was detecting land mines and hearing bombs
he may have been more comforted by love
looking at the stars up above
wearing peanut butter on his feet
in the monsoon season
as not give the rats a reason
to bite his flesh and hurt
they could drive you berserk
and the tunnels pray tell
they were a living hell
they would come out anytime
no reason no rhyme
hand grenades in hand
blow you up on their land
It was always a dangerous situation
you never knew when injury was a completion
you'd blacken your face up and find a tree
and sit real still and listen to everything carefully
because one wrong move could mean your life so
you had to be super aware to all the facts before you could go
to sleep for a matter of minutes perhaps a little longer if your lucky
things sure aren't the same since that plane ride all the way from Kentucky
so they put their helmets on their rifles in case they were shot at
they'd think that was their head and they would miss them flat
out right was the goal only some of them knew
and some of them snuck around to the front of you
to blow off your real head and shatter you
and if anyone say "medic" they'll shatter them too
it's just too destructive being there
you're a trained killer and it just isn't fair
You don't believe in Memorial Day, you say?
Don't stay in the states, we should run you away
too many men gave their lives for you to keep you free
we should throw you in prison lock the door and get rid of the key
this celebrates men like my brother, my cousins, good men that didn't come back
the audacity of you to talk bad about this day, disrespect them, the deck was stacked
not in their favor, believe me, we should've sent guys like you, their bodies hacked
to scare them, I wish I could scare you
no your not even worth it to do
anything to drop down to your kind
just remember when you look behind
you, proud men gave you freedom believe it or not
you ignorant bastard you must have forgot
your daddy, your grandpa, somebody you know
fought a war for you and us and you show
to the rest
Happy Memorial Day!
Thanks to all you Women and Men whom keep and kept us safe
Copyright © Faith Dye | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Shanity Rain | Details |
To be in a young America ~
visions of a ship upcoming statue of Liberty
the young lad holding tightly to his Mothers leg
in all excitement of a new Land to call their own
celebrations of apple pie and fireworks on the 4th of July
thoughts of the old Hollywood on screen
films without 3-D costing less then a dollar
Greta , Monroe , Betty Davis eyes tantalizing blue glare
The Wizard of Oz or books written by Steinbach, Capote, Mark Twain
exciting new visions of creating new concepts
before Capitalism bought all little ones to bigger
songs came from the hills of Virginia to the black Mountains
surfacing in Tennessee for all to hear and wish to see
The day when one travelled by car on the road travelled
every town a story told , learning history we once shed blood
American Indian tears to the British man whom choose freedom of taxes
Boston held a tea party , now wishing they threw out marmite instead
The day when we knew our neighbors and bought homes with a paystub
Everyone had a chance to make their own with pride , even through wars
When Martin Luther King stood proudly as did President Lincoln for Freedom
How many streets have been named after the man whom had a dream ?
When milk was delivered on doorsteps in Glass bottles
Babies wanting the very first of the top being cream
leaving doors open , watching news with your family at 6pm
cartoons were shut down and it was now grown up time
Cereal being a cheap snack for after school
school supplies costing twenty dollars
Grandma school clothes shopping for fifty
before the internet , cell phones , and text for hello ~
2 week Vacations not afraid to put up Camp
Christmas sold in December with the sentiment of Love not money
a day when if one were sick , you could actually get penicillin without question
The Doctor treated everything calling it General Practice no fear of Malpractice
Never forgetting our Motor city
Old Ford Trucks Chevrolets and Dodge
The city that brought Ottis Reding and Marvin Gaye
What happened to us ? Where did America Go ?
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Beryl Dov | Details |
This ain't my first rodeo, so knowing the score more than four
I declare in this manure-flinging system of elected despotism
we ain't got no permanent friends, just permanent interests.
America's a dazzling chupacabra of a conceit
conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition
that shades of equality increase the gross market share.
We supplant the visible etchings of the colonial lash
with the invisible ones of debt by procuring more *****we don't need.
Breathless canaries in a cultural coal-mine,
fascicled to Breaking Bad, Mad Men and the Simpsons,
shackled to Amazon 's 'Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought'
we're driven out toward the oceans beneath Europa's baker's sugar crust
where freedom exists on a mono-cellular level
but knowing we 're not alone doesn't amount to manure
cuz they ain't Christian microbes so they ain't gonna be no use to us.
Like wind before the thunder the supple susurrus of my heart
sends frissons of pleasure jolting though my *****
bloated to such Brobdingnagian dimensions
as to feel at home in the hallowed aisles of Costco or Sam's Club.
Our finger wagging Uncle has overstayed his welcome,
So **** your tired, your poor -
you're taking away jobs from real Americans.
**** your huddled masses yearning to breathe free -
your emergency room doctor visits are costing taxpayers $2286 a pop.
**** the wretched refuse of your teeming shore -
we already have enough garbage to fill our landfills
Just gimme my VIZIO 80” Razor LED™ 3D Smart TV for my eye candy
Gimme my Google Nexus 8 cell phone cuz Steve Jobs can suck my dick
Gimme my Fidelio X1 headphones so I don't miss the subtle nuances in Willie Nelson's
Gimme my Nestlé Crunch Girl Scout candy bars for my sweet tooth and latent pedophilia
Gimme my Dial Triple Moisture Body cuz my balls got a stank like 3 day old crawdads
Gimme my Quilted Northern Ultra Plush toilet tissue cuz my ass needs TLC and backdoor action
Gimme my Fruit Smoothie Shakers so I don't have to get gouged by some turban mofo at Jamba Juice
Gimme my Gillette Fusion ProGlide Power Razor so I don't look like Jesus-F-Christ or a sandnigger
Gimme my Lash Factor Eyelash Conditioner cuz flirtatious love winks should be unconditional
America's soul is shrinking and vanishing like glaciers.
Grackles ebonize the sky where once proud eagles soared.
With God's help, America will rise again like the body of Christ after a good whooping!
Come on y'all - don't let my patriotic rant spoil a perfectly good Klan rally.
Copyright © Beryl Dov | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Verlena S. Walker | Details |
POETRY DIVA’S RHYME SCHEMA
Pupa stupor you could hear the bazookas.
From Bermuda to Aruba
A super family reunion
They were sophisticated, as they contemplated which cabins were theirs.
When all came together, they became intoxicated, which caused syncopation in
Fun was on.
Would they procrastinate in doing all once more?
This was their party.
Why agonize about it?
They must leave satisfied from their voyage.
Once scrutinized, his or her alibi would be pure enjoyment.
Why would one dis a blitz of wits?
Each had their glitz of show business.
Hence, no pits of hell they would enter.
The music was amplified.
All analyzed their guest on the deck.
The sky was clear of any obstruction.
Social grouping would not awry.
Each defies the heights of existence.
A superbly bliss of women and men balling and dancing with such pride,
would any decry from this symphony?
Educated people from long-ago dissipated to integrate their souls,
titillated via spiritual regime, which vindicates history.
Preposterous, others exclaim.
Clairvoyant to their domain, their voices was boisterous in the crowd.
What choices, they asked, do we have now?
Their children are alive.
Boyfriend is the thriving that plays the game out.
To eliminate the destruction of us, we rejoice and we are poignant.
Shape Abe agape,
broccoli rabe taken from its scape.
We are humans no apes.
Denizens, citizens of this state are residential specimens in deputation.
Poetry Diva’s Rhyme schema unearths arrestingly.
Veterans of the stratosphere are contradictions by what has manifested.
38. Broccoli Rabe
~Penned on JUNE 10, 2014!~
A New Form by the Author - Verlena S. Walker....
Rhyme Schema (Any Form)
Please follow the rules given by the author on Contest: by Member Page of
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
gregory boyer | Details |
A FOREIGNER ASKED THIS QUESTION OF ME
“WHERE CAN I IN U.S. FIND SOLDIER TO SEE?”
HIS ENGLISH WAS BROKEN, BUT CLEARLY RECEIVED
YET, HOW COULD I BEST EXPLAIN WHAT I BELIEVED
THE ANSWER I GAVE TO THIS QUESTIONABLE TASK
SURPRISED HIM ACCORDING TO WHAT HE HAD ASKED
I SAID, “AN AMERICAN SOLDIER WAS MORE….
THAN SOMEONE ENLISTED OR SENT OFF TO SHORE”
“AN AMERICAN SOLDIER HAS MORE TO BE SEEN….
THAN A MAN OR A WOMAN IN CAMOUFLAGE GREEN”
HIS QUESTION HAD MADE ME LOOK DEEPER WITHIN
BECOMING AWARE OF HOW BLESSED I HAD BEEN
I POINTED MY FINGER AROUND SO HE’D SEE
THAT ALL THOSE AROUND US WE’RE SOLDIERS TO ME
INCLUDING THAT SMALL CHILD NEXT DOOR PLAYING BALL
THAT PERSON SALUTING THE FLAG STANDING TALL
THAT FATHER AND SON OUTSIDE PLAYING TOGETHER
THAT MOTHER AND DAUGHTER EMBRACING EACH OTHER
THAT DOCTOR OR NURSE SHOWING CARE TO THE ILL
THAT ELDERLY VETERAN-QUIET AND STILL
THAT CASE WORKER HELPING THOSE WITH SPECIAL NEEDS
THAT MINISTER PRAYING FOR ALL TO BELIEVE
THAT BANKER AND POSTMAN WHO WORKS ALL DAY LONG
THAT ARTIST AND SINGER WHO PAINTS US A SONG
THAT SINGLE MOM DOING THE BEST THAT SHE COULD
THAT TEEN WHO CONTINUES TO LIVE LIKE HE SHOULD
THAT AMERICAN IMMIGRANT LEGALLY HERE
THAT MAN IN HIS WHEELCHAIR YEAR AFTER YEAR
THAT PROTESTER MARCHING AND SHOUTING HIS VIEWS
THAT SPOKESPERSON GIVING THE SIX O’CLOCK NEWS
THAT CHRISTIAN WHO’S KNEELING AND PRAYING ALONE
THAT MOTHER OR WIFE WORKING DAILY AT HOME
THAT WOMAN WITH CANCER IS ALSO A FIGHTER
THAT WIDOW WHO CLINGS TO HER MEMORIES TIGHTER
THAT MERCHANT THAT SELLS US OUR FOOD AND OUR OIL
THAT CHILD BEING BORN ON AMERICAN SOIL
THEY ALL ARE AMERICANS DOING THEIR PART
AND IN SOME SMALL WAY THEY ARE SOLDIERS AT HEART
I ENDED MY TALK BECAUSE HOW HE WAS STARING
AS IF WITH CONFUSION AT WHAT I WAS SHARING
HE THEN, IN HIS CUSTOM, STOOD STRAIGHT WHILE HE NODDED
LOOKED AT ME AND QUIETLY-SOFTLY APPLAUDED
I THEN SHED A TEAR WHEN HE SPOKE THIS TO ME
“AN AMERICAN SOLDIER IN YOU I CAN SEE”
HE WALKED AWAY AND APPEARED TO HAVE FOUND CLOSURE
WHILE I STOOD THERE PRAISING GOD FOR THE REAL SOLDIER
THAT REAL ONES NOW SERVING RIGHT HERE AND ABROAD
I STAND AND SALUTE YOU AND LOUDLY APPLAUD
TO THOSE WHO ARE SERVING AND THOSE WHO HAVE DIED
FOR THOSE WHO ONCE SERVED AND REMEMBER WITH PRIDE
THE STRUGGLES OF WAR TO KEEP FREEDOM WON’T CEASE
FOR FREEDOM EXIST WHILE YOU FIGHT TO BRING PEACE
BECAUSE OF YOUR SACRIFICE GIVEN EACH DAY
I’M ABLE TO LIVE IN THIS GREAT U.S.A
THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE IS WHAT SHINES IN YOUR EYES
Copyright © gregory boyer | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Destin Challenger | Details |
it seems like today people shy away from what is true
so worried about the things people may say or do
but the way i am i could really care less
think I'm lying okay lets put it to the test
we live in the most corrupt country on earth
the evidence in plain sight you don't even have to search
maybe like on 9/11 when America killed thousands of its own
scared the hell out of you then took every civil right that you owned
or maybe when slaves were brought over and put through awful conditions
gave them a bible and beat them if they didn't listen
so don't be surprised if people still kill while claiming they are christians
they told my people if they don't obey they'd go to hell
sounds like a made up fairy tale so we wouldn't rebel
America is a country truly built off of lies
i won't even elaborate on the white guy from Africa with blonde hair and blue eyes
I'd rather talk about this green paper that just fell from the sky
the very thing my people chase after and for it they will die
never finding true happiness for it is a never ending maze
its hard to save some who when they don't think they are even a slave
despite what society depicts i'm proud of my people because its not what it appears
i'd have to say we are doing pretty good to have been slaves for over 400 years
all we see on tv is the worst representation so we can see ourselves as bad
but were angels compared to America just take a look into their past
so don't listen to that stuff that they put all over the news
the good outweighs the bad but that won't get any views
the thug isn't the black kid thats holding his pants as they sag
its the guy on wall street thats never portrayed to be bad
knowledge is power, you could never convince me that my people are thugs
when America has been killing forever while its just pushed under the rug
so no i won't worship your white jesus or salute to your flag
or fight for your country from love that i never had
i won't sell your drugs so i can quickly acquire your riches
i won't disrespect my black queens by calling them hoes and b****
i won't kill another brother that looks just like me
i won't walk around ignorant like you want me to be
i won't read your bible and i don't believe in your hell
no amount of money will make me change as my heart's not for sale
i don't believe my people are bad if you do that is a crying shame
so here are your strings back because I'm done playing your game.
Copyright © Destin Challenger | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Su Ben | Details |
When the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., said “I have a dream,” we all nodded and shouted sharing our feelings because his dream was the same as all those who lived under oppression. When he appealed to our nation, “We cannot walk alone,” many other people came along and merged with the black marching protestors. When he rang a bell of freedom from Washington D.C., on the step of the Lincoln Memorial, though in front of a limited number of protestors, it echoed throughout the country. Therefore, all of the world’s good conscience minds heard and responded to the report of the bell.
Before this inspiring speech was delivered to some 250,000 people in Washington Square on one hot summer day. He underwent a great many trying ordeals. He was compelled to accept unbearable mockeries. He walked on the path of humility, he had to learn what was meant by indignity.
In the mid-fifties: after Mrs. Rosa Parks’ refusal to yield her seat to the demanding whites as a protest against Montgomery’s unjust Segregation Policy. Dr. King’s participation in the Bus Boycott Rally proved the oneness of African-Americans, and showed the feelings of the oppressed ones. When he was elected leader of the Montgomery Improvement Association, was threatened and his home was terrorized by ruthless mobs, he advised angry protestors with words of love. He said, “We must learn to meet hate with love,” and sent them home without enacting violence.
In the early sixties: in Birmingham, Dr. King was attacked by a vicious police dog, but he did not stop his protest. He was mercilessly beaten with a baton, but he did not bend his will. He was grassed with teargas shells, but he did not withdraw his belief. He was thrown in jail, but he did not surrender. He consistently protested with passive resistance against violent oppression.
April 4, 1968, though, he was assassinated, he saw the Promised Land from the top of a mountain, and therefore, he proclaimed “I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man.”
He was a man really worth of admiration, one of the twentieth century’s greatest figures. He is the man who stands both legs spread wide on the banks of the river named the current of blacks today. One foot on the distasteful past and another foot on the promised future gazing a yonder horizon with a dream no one can destroy, as Colossus once stood astride the harbor mouth of Rhodes.
Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Allié-Marie Smith | Details |
I’m from liberty and justice; kindness and sadness.
I’m from freedom and victory; presidential elections and offices.
I’m from celebration of freedom and fireworks; and a wonderful melting pot.
I’m from an eagle and an anthem, which happily plays on.
I’m from life and death, and of people of different descent.
I’m from the Show-Me State, upholding the motto “Salus populi suprema lex esto:”
The welfare of the people shall be supreme law.
I am of the Missouri Waltz, and of an Algonquian Indian word.
I am of farming and mining; aircraft equipment and cars.
I’m from an annexed Jasper County and Newton County; from Methodist congregation and zinc mining.
(A place I can hardly even remember, as it has been changed)
From Route 66, and historical background knowledge.
I am from devastation and destruction; death and injuries.
I’m from damage and regrowth; repopulation and help.
I’m from family and friends; businesses both small and large.
I am of silence and tears, and of federal disaster.
I’m from strength and dignity; perseverance and trust.
I am of murals and proud historic background.
Artifacts and messages, love and hope.
I’m from comedy and drama; friendship and bonds.
I’m from love and loss; football and cheer.
I’m from an academic and athletic strength; and from the A+ Program.
I am from Junge field, and brick structuring.
I am of theatre and JET-14; show choir, orchestra, and band.
I am of FTC and AP courses.
I am of loss and damage; devastation and irreparability.
I am from a temporary and split campus, and renovation.
I am from commencement, and uncommon maturity.
I am from a battered and bruised community, and a slowly growing voice.
I’m from experience and pain, hardworking and strong people.
I am of economic setback, and of pain and heartache.
I am of faith and trust, influence and beliefs.
I am of love and pain, sarcastic and snide remarks.
I am from life and death; adoption and birth.
I am from old and young; wrong and right.
I am from values and morals; beliefs and brief moments of laughter.
I am from tinkling of bells and the sound of dropped frying pans.
I’m from happiness and sadness; from the moon and stars.
I’m from Christianity; particularly of Pentecostal belief.
I am from the tinkle of a baby’s laugh and tears; of nieces and nephews.
I'm of friendship and hope..
This is where I'm from.
Copyright © Allié-Marie Smith | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Shanity Rain | Details |
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Pete Yuhas | Details |
Never have put all my faith, in someone I've not met
but when it comes to Presidents, I had to hedge my bet
I listened, just to what was said, from the horses mouth
teleprompter easy read, what's from his heart went south
Everyone just turns away, because of who has spoken
the little "adlibs" at the end, are called a "trademark token"
It took awhile to readjust, not comfortable at first
waiting for the "Hope and Change", instead things just got worse
I don't put words in peoples mouths, news briefly passes by
hesitations, pauses too, just watch and you'll know why
His demeanor says it all, can't look you in the eye
like a child's hand in a cookie jar, caught in another lie
I voted Independent, just like I always do
"08" I said I'll take a chance, and vote for something new
Took a chance and voted once, against what's in my heart
hoping this would be the one, to give us a fresh start
Listened to the arguments, on both the Left and Right
checked my dwindling bank account, it's almost out of sight
Some people think I'm selfish now, look at the flag I've flown
it's odd I've no Entitlements, and pay for my own Phone
How do you let him off the hook, divided we now stand
his bitterness shows near and far, beyond the Rio Grand
If you don't agree with him, they say you're spewing hate
they won't sit down and talk it out, no common sense of late
People think they understand, compassion in their hearts
you have "yours", let them have "theirs", forget that "theirs is ours"
Try to remain civilized, and show them you do care
he seems to think we "owe the world", his way to make it fair
Redistribution of our wealth, the "Robin Hood" effect
give it to the "have-nots, their life is such a wreck
If you never worked for "it", believe me you're not owed
reason for the "Bridge Card"? We won't know we've been snowed
He's not alone you understand, "bad apple in the bunch"
I really think he tops the list, of course that's just a hunch
We can go back a lot of years, "W M D s" and more
his sights are set, it's "Tunnel Vision", to give away the "Store"
Bring them in, from down below, he'll smile and look away
knowing well, that all of them, are surely here to stay
A scary thought (you know it's true) he's letting ISIS in
his hope and change "America", he tries, but will not win.....
Copyright © Pete Yuhas | Year Posted 2015