My heart is racked with so much pain
For one who garnered admiration and disdain
A man whose love for country did outpour
A man who loved his Savior more
His values went against the grain
He stood for all that’s moral and sane
His calling? To proclaim the truth
To ignorant and misguided youth
He taught God’s love and never hate
But his political incorrectness sealed his fate
A fiend of hate from the party of love
Was ready to kill when push came to shove
He was far too evil to agree to disagree
So he shot Kirk dead before his family.
From the party of love came nothing but cheers
Validation, threats, mockery, and jeers
Because tolerant is a wonderful thing to be
Lest it is a truth for which you disagree
But what can you expect these days in the West
Where only degenerates truly know best?
Where the only approved speech is shibboleth
And penalty for speaking the truth is death
Farbeit that Kirk will die for naught
There is still a holy war to be fought
No matter the cost, I will be brave
For the only place for the righteous is the grave.
I don’t know about you,
But I have reached a turning point.
Yes, it’s not the first time for sure,
But each time it becomes more clear
Sharper and deeper,
And this time it shakes me to my very core.
I know I am not alone,
Although it may not include you at this moment,
I know it will eventually,
Because the turning point
Is one of human destiny,
What defines a human
What defines the next step we each take
On the ladder of our own personal ascent.
Mount Analogue comes to mind
A place imaginary, a book unfinished
A symbol of something sublime in all our hearts.
Let me repeat that, in all our hearts.
This is the turning point we all face
Sooner of later
All of us, together at last.
Hell yeah! And
Amen.
(9/11/25)
The sun rose that September morn, brightly dim.
The moon waned with tears in the shadow of Muhammad.
Stars scarred by footprints, heavy,
as Allah made the descent,
wings seared from the heat of hate,
hitching rides on freedom flights,
Almighty power clothed butchery of innocents.
What idol worship can move the soul to cogitate
that crumbling skyscrapers thrust so deep
would anesthetize a slumbering giant?
Awaken, arise like the billowing dust permeating blue sky,
ascending to heaven with supplication men dare pray
in places children dare not.
Dawn’s chaste early light reconciles blue-crimson white
with the Ancient of Days’ incarnate flow,
cleansing all unrighteousness,
providing hope of our salvation.
Revenge is Mine.
Justice is ours.
Godspeed.
Let’s roll.
Copyright © 2001 by Mickey Grubb
The taxi speeds down the highway
zig zagging to miss the potholes.
It slows as a horse and cart crosses,
followed by the owner's dog.
On the other carriageway people wait
hoping someone will give them a lift.
An old Cadillac smokes its way down the road.
In the town, buildings are like well-worn pairs of shoes –
they fit, still function but have seen better days.
But the people are well nourished, clothed and clean.
Smiles of genuine happiness are all around.
This is a country which lives to a different pulse -
Ché its heartbeat,
Fidel its lifeblood.
People are living the revolution where others have failed –
common wellbeing before personal gain,
society’s hallmark is equality and colour-blindness.
Educated and cultured, enjoyment is beyond the material.
Musical rhythms set the daily pace.
There is a determination to live and succeed despite hardship.
But is it only hardship when seen through Western eyes?
The freedom of spirit is to be admired.
But what does the future hold?
The greatest challenge is yet to come –
influx of other peoples from not so far away.
¡Cubana!
Who doesn’t want to see
a little more love? See,
clear! Who doesn’t want
to hear a little more love?
Hear, hear! Who doesn’t
want to receive a little more
love? I can’t imagine...who,
who, outside of Socialist
Democrats~ boo, boo!
India ascent to mount everest
India known to be finest economy
But dead economy echoes nation-wide
India known to be military might
But india is outweaponised by enemy's hypersonic jets
India known to be emerging hindu nation
But no reincarnation,no salvation
does India suffers from activities deficit phobia,sovereignty deficit, phobia,height phobia?
india's highest peak expedition without getting eaten alive
Into the thin air,out of thin air
India ascent to mount everest
AS THE FLAG UNFURLS*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the flag unfurls,
its colors bold against the waking sky—
each star, each stripe a testament
to pride, honor, and patriotism.
pride, not a shield, is a bridge,
linking the stories of brave soldiers,
those who once fought in battlefields,
their shadows etched in the soil,
their courage a whisper in the rustling leaves.
honor is a compass, etched in the hearts of the brave,
guiding us through the tempests of division,
reminding us that beneath our skin,
we share the same pulse, the same yearning
for respect, freedom and belonging,
patriotism is a flame, flickering not in blind allegiance,
but in the radiant glow of courage
stoking the embers of hope,
lifting up each other,
an unwavering belief that together we are stronger.
pride, honor, and patriotism intertwine,
not as chains that bind us,
but as roots that anchor us deep,
in the fertile earth of understanding,
where we rise together like the dawn.
*Note: Poem originally published at Writer Monk, August 1, 2025. This is my original poem.
A couple of days ago
I had an encounter
It was very educational
Many lives in illusion
They're very delusional
If you're not aware
You'll fall in their well
Then You start living in a warfare.
They believe in illusion
Which is void
Thinking it's reality
No wonder
Christ was crucified
The truth is really bitter
They all like sugar coated lies.
The work they put in
Is different from what they want
Show them love
They'll still snub
Because they're domb
Just to feed their norms
Always following societal programming.
(Voice of a Broken Lineage)
Before your first cry kissed Florida’s air,
Two weary souls crossed oceans of despair—
Your parents, Cuban hearts in exile,
Arrived in 1956, not with riches,
But with hope wrapped in trembling hands.
They fled the storm, not to breed silence—
But to gift you a voice sharp as justice.
And yet, what song do you sing now,
Marco of the marbled throne?
Where is your mother’s ache?
Where is your father’s fire?
Buried beneath lobby gold and foreign war drums?
You wear America like armor,
But it shields you from your roots.
You sip from cups filled with blood and denial,
While Gaza cries and Cuba weeps.
Did you forget the sweat of your lineage,
Chasing shadows of power with blind eyes?
You are not a prince—you are a pawn,
Dancing for the architects of ruin.
You hated your own kin for survival.
But survival at the price of memory
Is not wisdom—it is moral slavery.
Money speaks louder than heritage now.
But what will you say to your soul
When it demands an answer?
Power deceives.
But time uncovers.
And one day,
You will be judged by the child you once were—
And the ancestors who never left your blood.
I'd choose the USPS "Liberty Bell" stamp for an ekphrasis poem. Here's the poem:
In copper curves, the Liberty Bell's tale,
A symbol etched in history's hallowed gale,
On this small stamp, its lines tell a story grand,
Of freedom's voice, in a nation's promised land.
The crack that speaks of time and trials past,
Echoes whispers of liberty that will forever last,
In Philadelphia's square, it once did ring,
Proclaiming rights, where brave hearts took their sing.
Now postage-born, in miniature it resides,
A nation's dream on tiny paper tides,
With every stamp, its spirit's sent afar,
Carrying hopes, like letters breathed into air.
In mailboxes deep or journeys cross-country wide,
This Liberty Bell stamp glides, a quiet pride,
A symbol small, of ideals vast and old,
On letters sent, where dreams and stories unfold.
Little Miss Tough
Sat on her duff
whining ‘bout ‘The Amerikan Way’
Along came a missile
She heard it whistle
She's now Little Miss 'P'
~ for Patriot
Communism on the Hudson
7/4/2025
Some Americans do not appeciate our land, until it
Is far, far too late,
Till our freedoms are gone and replaced by jealous
Communists at our gate!
You, who are aware, know exactly to whom who I mean.
Who will magically turn you into into a Communist king or queen?
True Americans are not Socialists, nor anything in between.
“ We get our powers from the consent of the governed”.
We are a people of many religions and colors.”
So in your honorable hands today, I encourage wave our colors of
Red, white and blue.
Or, plant one at a veterans grav, an unknown soldier,
Who gave his of her her life for you!
Stop, pleae stop, being afraid to write a beautiful
Political poem, where you take a stand! for this land.
Take arms against the corrupt press, out to paint good foreign neighbors, with leftist, lying stands!
Looking through my window
Children playing around with slops
Dogs cats cows... singing in their own right
Trees mingling with the wind songs of praise
Some off to the bush for food,
Who the LION is none of their business
Africa Seems free.
On the streets shouting carrying screaming
Jesus Muhammad...
Working for heaven eden
Back home they cant spare a bean for their Neighbor!
but they speak in tongues....
Africa Seems free.
In class speaking French English Chinese....
speaking in your own right is a crime,
Poles day Pastor Sheik Bishop "vote your own"
Women in different skins long hair
Men in ear rings...
Africa Seems free.
Africa Seems free
while speaking French English Chinese...
while deep in religion of the Occidental and Oriental
while you eating screaming shouting... voting your own!
Are we free?
Are you free?
Are they free?
through my long-stemmed glass
red & white stripes, blue with stars
merlot reflection
muted-purple silhouette
prolonged sips, flag pole on porch
In Texas we have our heroes,
And of them we’re mighty proud—
There’s the Alamo in San Antone,
Where our cannons spoke out loud.
We’re proud to be called Texans,
We’re proud to be called free;
We’re the best state in the Union—
On that we all agree.
Texas is the Lone Star State,
Together we shall stand,
For it’s the folks of Texas
That make this state so grand.
Now we don’t go lookin’ for trouble,
Or talk a lot of jive—
Just living large in Texas,
Free and so alive.
Not claimin’ to be perfect—
Well… maybe just a bit.
Sure, we’ve made mistakes,
But we’re fixin’ all that .
And Texas still has manners,
We hold our morals high.
We love a good tall tale—
But won’t abide a lie.
So come on down to Texas,
Sit and stay a spell.
But cross us or betray us?
We’ll send you straight to hell.
Specific Types of Patriotic Poems
Definition | What is Patriotic in Poetry?
Poems Related to Patriotic
flag, soldier, veterans day, loyal, dedicated, dutiful, faithful, fervid, zealous, nationalistic, chauvinistic, statesmanlike,