Best Born And Raised Poems
"La Voz"
La Noche sin agua --- I spill my loving lips
Dancing, laughing, and celebrating life
I am his queen, aka' dulce Nina
A night he must not forget
Lunesta ... Suave ...
He savors every moment;
Then questions my capabilities
Suddenly I feel like a refugee in my own house!
History and bad company, repeating itself
He wants to ruin the beauty of leadership
America on top, Latinos on the bottom
"Legally," he says, he'll welcome me
Law-abiding, I pass the proper speech
Stereotyped every time I share my race
Casting my poor nationality under the Rio Grand,
A wall too tall, in which my people continue to build
After I give him my all
Children, love, support
The best tortillas in the house
He offends a lifetime of memories
I'm a skillful woman, I dance with no music
I love to work, I take the field
Picking cotton, like there's no tomorrow
I will continue to paint rainbows
And enjoy every color in my garden.
Today, I've forgotten what Mexico looks like
However, that does not cut him from
accusing my race of planting too many trees
Calculating, calling Latinos criminals,
Forgetting his sin, he wants to win
Insinuating we're robbing the American Dream
This is where I belong!!!
Go ahead and build more republicans
I'm already on the side I want to be
Born and raised in the USA
~*~
A true story, based on family oral tradition
from the oldest part of the city of Bern,
capitol of Switzerland, where my mother was
born and raised, in the Nydegghoff)
He lighted the candle with a quivering hand,
his overcoat seeming to weigh down the old man.
He paused in the aisle to genuflect,
and wondered if God knew his heart was a wreck.
He found a pew and got to his knees,
hands clasped together, he sent out his pleas.
He is old and he's tired, now he's alone,
his wife died last Spring, now his house wasn't home.
They'd been blessed with one son, he'd died in the war,
and now there was nothing for him to live for.
He prayed until his knee pain was great,
then sat back in the pew and tried not to shake.
The cathedral was beautiful; he loved the stained glass,
but, oh, they brought memories of Sundays past.
How could he make it through Christmas alone
in a house that was empty, no longer a home?
The kitchen was silent and cold as a tomb,
but her scent lingered on in their modest bedroom.
He said one last prayer, then rose to his feet,
genuflecting again, he went out on the street.
He walked home near blindly, not even aware
of the snow that was landing on his shoulders and hair.
He was cold inside, his heart like a stone,
and he felt completely and utterly alone.
He turned down his street, saw his porch light's glow,
and only then realized it had started to snow.
He opened his gate, thought of making some soup,
but froze in his tracks at the sight on the stoop.
On his porch sat a basket, the old wicker kind,
he thought for a moment, he was losing his mind.
Inside the basket that sat on his mat,
were three tiny kittens and one momma cat.
What a pitiful sight, so cold and so thin,
he scooped up the basket and hurried them in.
He found some canned tuna and warmed up some milk,
gently petting the babies, whose fur was like silk.
He never discovered who left those cats there,
but, as his love grew, he no longer cared.
His wife had loved cats and this comforted him,
as they slept on his head, or tucked under his chin.
The kittens grew quickly, as they're wont to do,
amused by their antics, his love grew and grew.
There was laughter and joy 'til the end of his days,
for God works, as you know, in mysterious ways.
Lost in a Land of Gold and Honey
What is white?
What do you call white?
White can be a mixture of races like shepherd pie.
A mixture of vegetables, meat, spices, then creating a seal of mashed potatoes.
All you see is the topping of white mashed potatoes.
So, what do you call white?
Let your colours bleed and blend whither brown, black, yellow, red, green, or white colour skin.
You peel back the bark of each family tree.
You’ll find we all share some sort of, religion, language, hopes, and dreams.
We are all under the same clouds,
rise in the same golden sunrise,
slumber in the same star filled night,
and stand on the same fertile soil.
We all thirst, we hunger,
we hate, we love,
we cry, we laugh,
we live, we die,
we all bleed red,
and mourn for our loved ones.
My parents, my parent’s parents, were born and raised in the United States, Spaniards in a city of segregation. Excluded from Whites, Mexicans, and African Americans even though we were white and Spaniard I was labeled.
So, what is white?
Because you’re not white, it makes you less special you become less innocent so the law looks at you as guilt.
1/14/2018
I was on one continent and she another.
Both of us were always writing letters to each other.
I felt that we were headed in a romantic direction,
so I booked a flight destined for her location.
She was so lovely and ever so charming,
and as we walked arm in arm, she never stopped smiling.
The evening was ending so she brought me to her home,
and that was the beginning of everything going wrong.
Severed human heads were on display everywhere,
Suddenly I was wishing that I wasn't there.
"Doesn't all these severed heads bother you?" I asked she.
"Damned straight," she said, "my sister has more than me.
Every head represents a slain sworn enemy.
Each head elevates our status in the community."
Is this woman crazy? Has she completely flown the coop?
Not at all, this is normal behavior for the culture she has been exposed to.
If your brain had better receptors than everybody,
and the tissue of your brain was of the highest quality
and if you happened to be born and raised in Nazi Germany,
all the more faster you would develop into a greater Nazi.
Blaming someone for their behavior is one of the worst things to do.
All behavior is reflective of an environment that imposed its values.
If you were raised in the Amazon rainforest, you'd be a headhunter too.
Born and raised in New Jersey,
A true hearted Jersey girl.
With a natural gift of wordplay,
Poems emerge as her pen swirls.
With a love for children, music,
Animals, words, and people.
She lives by the golden rule,
By making others feel equal.
Bearing a kind and caring heart,
She makes friends forevermore.
And spreads her love at home,
With her family and 3 Labradors.
She loves to joke around,
And making others laugh.
Here’s a tribute to our friend,
New Jersey’s own Robin Gass.
___________________________
Dedicated to Robin Gass
for her neverending support.
A very famous champion,
an inspiring enthusiastic man was he
Who has now departed , yet is quoted,
for many pearls of wisdom
Vociferous king ,
of the boxing ring
A sports star
And such a sport too.
A motivating peace star who shot up to deserved stardom
The earth be proud of such mortal "clay"
Who swayed and reigned hearts,
as well as the pugilist's kingdom
Notes: about the boxing Great:
These below are the selected facts about Muhammad Ali that I personally found very interesting:
First of all that he had the same birthday as my beloved bro Alihur i.e 17th Jan,
The info below is copied from Wikipedia:
Muhammed Ali Clay
Other names
The Greatest
The People's champion
The Louisville lip
Children9, including Laila Ali2]
Awards
5 time Ring magazine fighter of the year3-time lineal heavyweight championSports Illustrated 'Sportsman of the Century'BBC 'Sports Personality of the Century'CSHL Double Helix Medal Honoree (2006)Presidential Citizens MedalPresidential Medal of Freedom[4]International Boxing Hall of Fame[5]Hollywood Walk of Fame[6]
Cassius Clay was born and raised inLouisville, Kentucky, and began training as anamateur boxer when he was 12 years old. At 18, he won a gold medal in the light heavyweight division at the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome, and converted to Islam shortly afterwards. At 22, he won the WBAand WBC heavyweight titles from Sonny Liston in 1964. Clay then changed his legal name from Cassius Clay, which he called his "slave name", to Muhammad Ali, and gave a message of racial pride for African Americans and resistance to white domination during the 1960s Civil Rights Movement.[12][13]
He was known to for freestyled with rhyme schemes and spoken word poetry, boxing and as political poetry for his activism,
Texas girl born and raised,
Try our BBQ and ya'll will be amazed,
I'll tell ya somethin' about livin' in the south,
Ya'll will hear, " down yonder," comin' out my mouth,
Back to the BBQ 'cuz it's finger lickin' good,
Pull up dem trucks and prop up on the hoods,
" Hope you fellars brought dem beers witcha,"
"Or I'll swing this switch where the sun doesn't hit ya!"
Heard my daddy say, " I'm hairin' this cat,"
" Ya''ll better mind those manners and learn how to act!"
Them there 'squitters are big this year!
If I call you Darlin' just know it's sincere,
I'm from Texas and maybe our slang is funny,
No where I'd rather be and you can bet that, Honey!
Ya'll come visit, unless, you're scared!
Eat some BBQ and drink them cold beers.
Harmonic Spirits
In a time of past; so far away
just beyond where night meets the day
two little children were born and raised
in the deepest part of the forest, a mystery
their father never saw their innocent faces
Ancient spirits of woodland graves
they became royalty of trolls, and trees
the only two whom were human beings
they lived out life happily
some say they could even hear them
singing in perfect harmony
They ruled and were protected,
by nymphs, fairies, elves, and of creatures
of life and grave
the trees fulfilled all of their needs
The forest and it's wonder a family they became
Mother Nature in loving ways came with the birds and bees
She lifted them up hugging them, giving immortality
in a world with so much pain yet
they knew only harmony all of their days
the legend of the forest royalty they became
healing the creatures that go unseen
saying hello and goodbye for many years
the little boy and girl left beside an old oak tree one dark February
harmonic spirits they are now,
running wild and free...
About my children who are passed
Oh that I could speak with the Northern Lights,
And commune with the Spirits therein.
Or dance to the tunes of the Arctic wastes,
Return to a life - sanguine.
Oh that I might commune with Wolf and Bear,
And hear of the tales they could tell!
To share their life in the cold barren North
Which Southerners think of as Hell!
Oh to swim neath the ice of the Arctic seas,
And fish with the leopard seal:
To cavort with Orca the Killer Whale,
On a hunt for his daily meal!
Oh that I could bask in the Midnight Sun,
With a Walrus taking its ease:
Or soar with an Eagle through ice blue skies,
On a flight to wherever it please!
Oh that I could run with the Caribou,
Or watch the Musk Oxen grazing.
That stoically stand with backs to the storm,
And show patience most amazing!
Oh that I could play with Sea Otter pups,
Or feast on the flesh of a clam.
Or watch a litter of Arctic Fox cubs,
Play close by their vigilant dam.
Oh that I could see flocks of Geese and Ducks
That feed on the lush Arctic grass.
Or to quench my thirst from waters cold,
That flow from an icy crevasse!
Oh that I could return to that pristine land,
Which my anguished heart calls home
To the land where I was born and raised,
That calls to wherever I roam!
Oh ‘tis true, my travels of far and wide
Have shown me worldly delights,
But the Arctic is where I’d rather be,
Under the glow of the Northern Lights!
Rhymer.
You were born and raised as a dream,
That someone else liked to keep.
Run me like a river,
Currents can’t keep us from sleep.
You were raised like a flag.
So sorry so forgotten,
You were left at half mast.
A tomato in the sun not dried but rotten.
Candy made of cotton.
Dreams are meant to be forgotten.
And I’ll forget with help from smoke and ashes.
Alone here we lie between the sounds.
Don’t we all think our lives could be profound?
But my genius only comes in flashes.
Turn me like a table.
The only stories I ever heard were fables.
So now all I tell are tall tales.
Something about cats in cradles.
I wanted so much from life but I was afraid to reach.
Now hand in my pockets tangled up in sleeves.
My dreams have stayed just dreams.
Candy made of cotton.
Dreams are meant to be forgotten.
And I’ll forget with help from smoke and ashes.
Alone here we lie between the sounds.
Don’t we all think our lives could be profound?
But my genius only comes in flashes.
I've got to say this from the start
Hate me though, you may!
I'm from Philly, born and raised
To God and sports we pray!
When I was just a little girl
The Phillies beat them all
I wanted to marry Michael Schmidt
Sure we would have a ball!
I worked so very hard at school
To earn a bunch of A's
Because the Philly paper gave
Free tickets out as praise!
And as I grew my team has had
Its share of downs and ups
But win or lose, I like tight pants
And cold beer in my cups!
My mother was a Phillies fan
And I find it oh so fitting
That the last time they were World Champs
We at her wake were sitting.
The Man from Darwen
Came there a man from Darwen,
In the heart of the Lancashire Hills,
A Town of industrial landscape,
Coal Mines and large Cotton Mills.
These times of hardship and struggle,
Left its scars upon the folk,
Working class agents of Victoria,
Amidst black chimney stack smoke.
Luke dear Luke, please tell me,
Of your life and how you’ve been.
Speak to me beyond the Gravestone,
Narrator paint the scene.
Born and raised impoverished,
Education for you not required.
Straight down the Pit at fourteen,
There till your lungs expired.
If it wasn’t the work that got you,
Beware of Smallpox epidemic,
Thirty-two years was no life at all,
Short lives, Victorian age systemic.
Luke dear Luke, please tell me,
Of your life and how you’ve been.
Speak to me beyond the Gravestone,
Narrator paint the scene.
Processional Cobbled Street terrace,
Mill Lords housing their forces.
Fourteen people in a two-bed house,
Sparse luxury, but Workhouse far worse.
Lancashire was built on Cotton
and its Heritage stands the test of time.
My ancestors were gritty and grafter,
Working through hardship and grime.
Luke dear Luke, please tell me,
Of your life and how you’ve been.
Speak to me beyond the Gravestone,
Narrator paint the scene.
Don't label me when you know not who I am
You think you know it all, in just one glance
The first to say don't judge a book by it's cover
Yet first to assume simply based on color
You see the naps in my hair and you don't understand
My darker skin, no it is not a tan
I was born this way, and I know you're jealous
Your nose jobs, fake tans, make-up, trying to embellish
The natural beauty that I have, you may never posses
Yet you try and put us down as if we are something less.
News flash, update, let me tell you something
Stop calling me African American, trying to separate me from you
I've never been to Africa, I'm simply American, proud and true
Born and raised in these great United States
That all of our ancestors helped build, so stop with the hate.
Gone but never forgotten is the history of OUR country
From the revolution, the abolition, to attacks on our homeland security.
The history is mine just as much as it is yours,
Why do we separate it, under play it, when there is so much more
Wake up America, we are a melting pot
You can try with all your might, but the mixing is never going to stop.
Farmer Father's Words To Beloved Son
(LECTURE, WISDOM, PRAYER PASSED ON)
Hold your horse my son, lets pull in tandem
united is better than single and random
You feed the mules, I will sharpen the plow
later you may rest, while I start milking the cow
With that done, we feed the chickens and pigs
then you carry dirt away as my shovel digs
Next we rest and have our noonday dinner
morn was great, we shall make afternoon a winner
Supper will call, come and enjoy a meal
thus we can know true, how fantastic life can feel
Day done, with pride we can hold our heads high
before we sleep, pray our Lord our souls should we die
Dawn comes, rise to enjoy its great blessing
say another prayer before we start dressing
Back to work well before the first cock crows
this my son, is farmer's life everybody knows
Cherish time together for life will end
know my deep love and know I am your best friend
Hold that thought in true faith, the live long day
all we say and do, we must some future day pay
You are best fruit of our family tree
this family's love and our farm-work sets us free
You feed the mules, I will sharpen the plow
later you may rest, while I start milking the cow
Robert J. Lindley, 4-04-2017
LinRhyme, 10/12/10/12
Syllables Per Line:
0 10 12 10 12 0 10 12 10 12 0 10 12 10 12
0 10 12 10 12 0 10 12 10 12 0 10 12 10 12
Total # Syllables: 264
Total # Words: 216
Note: I was born and raised on a farm. I am keenly aware of its positives and its negatives..
Much can be said about both, but I know this, the hard work, long hours and
low pay(if any?), did not kill me and certainly taught me responsibility and to be a better man when making my own way in this dark and cruel world..
How lovely she stands on
Ellis Island in New York City
Raised is her torch to inspire
Freedom and liberty
Given to the U.S by France
Hoping for a chance
Because of the American Revolution
For friendship was the resolution
In recognition we all be one
Ever get a chance to take a trip
Go see this wonderful statue that represents
Freedom democracy and international friendship
was born and raised in NY left to a small town
will rewrite this to enter contest I LOVE AND MISS NY