Best Columbus Day Poems | Poetry

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After the Storm, Columbus Day, 1962 by Rhodes, Deb
Columbus Day by bauer, ilene
Today Is Native American Day(Not Columbus Day!) by Benkhen, Michael

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The Best Columbus Day Poems

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Chucko is Dead

Chucko Is Dead

It was on Columbus Day, 1962
When Chucko the Birthday Clown
Sang in tones most glorious and free.
“I’m Chucko, I’m Chucko
I’m Chucko the Birthday Clown!”
I was  comfortably ensconced on the couch.
A feigning 10 year old with a pseudo fever,
Sister Mary Daniel was probably making the sign of the cross, 
Up the street at St. Mary’s,
When Chucko the Birthday Clown
Stared into the camera and saw me,
Insignificant me,
Just a freckled punk kid;
Hater of sadistic nuns and boring dry lessons
Of crowded sweaty stinky catholic classrooms
With crucifixes of a dead bloody Jesus.
And the sweet salvation of the universe was not yet apparent.
But Chucko knew all about that.	
He knew the future and the past.
He knew about Kennedy and Kent State
He knew what was coming so imminently,
He looked into that camera at Channel 7
And saw the children of the 50’s
Coming home in body bags from
The jungles of hell,
From the other side of the world,
From the bloody backside 
Where all things are vile and evil.
He saw fear, and an ocean of tears.
He saw ten thousand sunsets
And 50 thousand funerals of the crazy brave.
Even in 1962 
When the country was still a damn good country,
He rode the highways and byways with a pockmarked grin.
But he knew he could never tell of what was coming,
Of the madness and corruption and the greed,
“I’m Chucko, I’m Chucko,
I’m Chucko the birthday clown!”
Mother! Please! Take my hand.
I’m afraid!
Chucko the Birthday Clown is dead.

Copyright © stark hunter | Year Posted 2013

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Columbus, ignoring advice,
Went out searching for Indian spice.
     His signals got crossed
     And soon he was lost
Which for us, turned out better than nice.

So this holiday everyone hails
One who, at his intended goal, fails;
     But because of his goof
     We're indebted - as proof,
All the stores have Columbus Day sales!

Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2014

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Wut Up Miss Queen

How have you been, it's ok to tella
Explorer of the sea, like me can't you see
That Brooks and Paris need some money
Please support our trip to the far east
On the search for gold, spices, and peace
Make an alliance, no more will be deceased
And then with all your glory, power will be released
Now of course you know, I'm a man of navigation
We'll be chasin a new Spaniard nation
No hesitation just regulation
Make a fresh start on a new foundation
No more waitin, this is your chance
Travel be sea and not by land
I promise you we will do the best that we can
And once we succeed I hope you understand
That you will be the most famous queen of all time
Please Miss Isabella, I do not have a dime
Instead of a letter, I'm sending you a rhyme
It sounds a bit better, and rappin's not a crime

But enough about that, let me tell you this
If my directions are right then we will sure not miss
If no corrections are made then I can surely list
A whole scroll full of demands cause we'll be so rich
And I'm not just sayin that trying to be modest
I'm telling you the truth, I'm being totally honest
Nobody else can navigate even as well as I can aim
And once we reach and claim
We'll put your name to fame
Our route is better planned and leadership's a must
In my eyes, we're the only two that you can trust

Let me explain in detail exactly what we need
A whole bunch of sea men and a couple ships indeed
We need a lot of food, and of course some vitamin C
Just to make sure the men don't get scurvy
We need some beer and wine, some utensils to dine
A whole lot of rifles for men on the front line
Acceptable weapons win the battle every time
And I need a lot girls, bout 39 would be just fine

Now my time is almost up, you just need to know my route
We're gonna sail round Africa and take the passage south
And then we'll sail around and finally reach the Asians
That is when we'll start the new Spaniard nation

Copyright © Wade Greenlee | Year Posted 2016

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Restricted access keeps us locked up inside where we cannot ever escape

Everywhere we go, white picket fences turn into iron bars and barbed wire

Safe places do not exist anymore

Even the place that we call home has become a barren jail cell of its own

Rising sun now symbolizes another day of pain and sorrow and regret

Vacant fields with no crops are only the first sign of a dying culture

A lie has been built upon the idea of a perfect and happy society

They push us all away, expecting us to live in sanctuary and hold onto our customs

"In God We Trust" they say....

Only where is God in all of this suffering?


Copyright © Tatianna Leachet | Year Posted 2016

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Today Is Native American Day(Not Columbus Day!)

I will not celebrate a murderer,
a celebration of deceit,
a celebration of slave mongering,
dancing with graves beneath his feet.

I will not celebrate his birth,
I will not celebrate his life,
I may celebrate his death-
but it holds no luxuries in my heart-
let us move on with our lives.

This land has always been.
This land of green and beauty,
None can claim it as their own,
It's wraith is loud and mighty.

Strike the calendar and scratch the date,
take the murderer's name away.
This date is not for him,
it's for those he killed.

Let us celebrate the Indian,
the native Americans and only true,
the people who always kept this land,
tilled it, cared and walked it's sand.
Let us celebrate their history,
their lives and all their hearts.

Let us bridge the gaps between us,
let us join our hands beneath the sun.

Happy Native American Day!!!

Copyright © Michael Benkhen | Year Posted 2010

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            Columbus Day Dream
Christopher Colombo was the very one.
          Born in Italy 1451.
Day dreamed of sailing while weaving wool.
    A captain at sea was in his soul.

His quest compelled him westward bound.
God let him know the world was round.
In fourteen hundred and ninety two.
Three ships set sail on the ocean blue.
The Nina, the Pinta, the Santa Maria.
He captained all three and discovered 


Copyright © MAF Longfellow | Year Posted 2008

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Half a Holiday

Streets in New York City seem
Unusually quiet.
Business isn’t typical – 
You really can’t deny it.

Traffic’s very light;
Though stores are open, schools are not.
Half a holiday is what
It seems that we have got.

Though the market’s selling stocks,
You can’t buy any stamps.
Check your bank before you go - 
They’ve split into two camps.

Workers either celebrate
A day to stay in bed
Or for the other half,
An average day of work instead.

New Years and Thanksgiving
And some others, we’ve agreed
Are days for all to celebrate,
And that’s been guaranteed.

Columbus Day is not the same,
For many folks on staff
Are stuck without a holiday
Or rather, just a half.

Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2012

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Columbus Day

In 1492, we’re told,
Columbus sailed the seas.
He thought he’d get to India,
But had no guarantees.

We learned in school about his ships
And how from Spain he sailed.
He made it to our shores and so,
He only partly failed.

We’ve honored him for many years.
There’s no sign we’ll be stopping;
And so, to celebrate the day,
We’ll spend our free time shopping!

Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2011

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The Wet Drive Home

I exit the dragon's mouth,
still puffing smoke
after all these 
purifying years;
round the corners
square as possible,
narrowly avoiding edges
where the earth
falls abruptly away
and the sea plummets
to terminal depth-
Sure, Columbus made it!
But in this new world
of terror, politically defined,
One must pause
(rethink the wet drive home)
wisely avoiding 
the siren call
of neon signs-
slippery, paste voices
of abundance
and firm footing.

Copyright © Joe DiMino | Year Posted 2016

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No No No


Shut up, and grow up if you're a racist
I'll kick you with my Aasics
Then leave you inside the matrix
Because I'm so tired of seeing it on a daily basis
Especially after what happened to so many innocent natives
That were just trying to live and be creative
In a place that was more than spacious
Far too many were ungracious
Because they only cared about being famous

Within this vast space
The Earth spins at such a fast pace
But have faith
Even if you always wind up in last place
Being able to adapt makes
Better paths to take, or so the facts state
Even though some just care about their cash safe
And staying half baked
That's great
Because it makes them look even more like fat snakes
Like so many others from past dates
As the rest moving across the grass race
Over and beyond every one of the brass gates

Because of Columbus
I look at most of these holidays with reluctance
Since he murdered hundreds of thousands without justice
I will never celebrate the actions of someone cold blooded
He can eat a bullet from this musket
Before I make him really kick the bucket
I'd throw him from the top of the highest summit
And laugh while he was beginning to plummet

Copyright © Dalton Ogletree | Year Posted 2017

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Good Friday Gratitude To Settlers: Especially British and Dutch

Good Friday Gratitude to Settlers
Columbus gave it lip service He loved the Virgin Mary Almost knew Jesus Christ Could not have had the Holy Spirit Fire Today, or any hour of night and day, Brian Houston’s Ministry covers the Globe With youth singing out heart and soul To Christ, though disguised in flesh, Creator Himself, always meant to bring us closer As I sing daily with Brooke Ligertwood, “What a Beautiful Name It Is, The Name of Jesus.” Now, Rodney, that brother Knows the Holy Spirit (Rodney Howard-Browne) Missionary to America in 1984 Started holy fires in Brownsville, Toronto Airport, the Garden Who would have known it in 1492 and 1652? God is still on the throne Knew it when he prepared Africa for Howard-Browne It is always right to give thanks (If only to see how God sees) More: gratitude reshapes history; Saved me tons in therapy We love forgiveness, and from Jesus, But we justify NOT forgiving "our favorite enemy!" That's the big picture ... now the small picture: My mother bleeds; your sisters & families bleed And our grand-daddies slaved away on ships and plantations And some were called the worst names … (And what do you think our sins did to Jesus?) God is always urging we sing with Brian, Brooke, Rodney, and Hillsong What a beautiful Name It Is The name of Jesus Christ My King Nothing can stand against This powerful Name is your shield and buckler (It has been my Healer, more than any teacher or doctor) Never leave home (or your marriage) without Jesus Our Loving Abba-Father Who turns every bad day into Good Friday He who spoke beauties into life Dies daily to save His creatures, even this selfish man, For the Fire of Spirit inside each man and woman Must be unleashed for a New Heaven-New Earth ... Jesus was willing to count on me. And you?

Copyright © Anil Deo | Year Posted 2017

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Columbian UnCivil Allegiances

It was a nasty war.

To call it an UnCivil War
is to avoid an obvious oxymoron
as embarrassing as Military Vitriolic Intelligence
through lack of Anger and Fear Management,
violently over-industrious absence of mutual civility.

We were too optimistic
about democracy's therapeutic capacity
to heal still bleeding racist
and sexist
and anthro-supremacist wounds.

First Nation truth-tellers
predicted we newer natives must harvest xenophobic fascism
as we supplanted lock-step European royalists
to merely replant their WinLose colonizing intent
without creolization's more slow-grown WinWin grace
to begin and end each day with resilient gratitude
for polycultured unity.

To avoid mid-way
one right-way rallies
for ever more uniform allegiance
to a patriotism defining
who is healthy favored inside
and who best remains pathologically inferior outside,
bought and therefore sold through God's most obvious neglect,
bred and bled at ego monoculturing will
by those more sacredly sustaining 
inside this most perfect Union's
not truly mutually enfranchising multicultural folds.

Donald Trump is U.S. President,
the hopefully last exhaust of UnCivil Wars,
because he is not alone in unresolved conflicts
about economic and political lines
drawn between north and south,
now blue against red,
like diastatic and diastolic competitions,
where cooperative co-delineations are 
essential to healthy organic circulation,
Tranquility of Preambling Promise.

Blue would restore uniting ecojustice
as both sacred personal
and secular public 
ecological vocation.

Overly commodifying utilitarian Reds
would return retributional revenge
against those threatening sacred restorative lines
of matriarchal equal with patriarchal rights
of eco-stewardship

To give up competing against hosts of alien nations
to invest more nutritionally
in cooperating with and as SkyWoman's Original Native
long before Eastern sightings
of Nina,
and SantaMaria.

This larger unresolved Civil War
began renewed with ballistic forces
when Columbus Day colonizers
assumed European superiority.
Yet was,
at best,
midway unfolded as North America's Great UnCivil War,
then after-shocks of contested cooperative enfranchisements,
advocacy and advertisements for mutually marching markets
toward consummating eisegetical pledges
of new-found allegiance to FatherLand
while laying waste to anciently permacultural nutritions,
kneaded and rewoven through Thanksgiving Resilience
MotherEarth Exegesis.

we close each warring violent chapter
with renewed opportunities to now,
become of one united natural-spiritual mind;
not mere monoculturally competing allegiances toward uniformity,
but preferring instead
both Blue with Red polyculturing cooperative unity,
civilly NonViolent,
more perfect,

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017

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The Truth About Chris

In 1492 a beast named Columbus sailed the seas,
Arrived in America to spread Christianity and deadly disease.
Skilled sailor and a monstrous crusader,
Talented navigator but a heartless invader.
When he sailed the ocean blue with his crew he didn’t have a clue,
Claimed earth was pear shaped, yes that fact is true.
What about his bloody reign of terror, a legacy so unspeakably cruel,
They need to teach that to all the children in school.
History heavily edited, kids fed false information,
The truth is that gold was Chris’s motivation.
Learn real history about how slaves were taken back to Spain,
Hispanics are not Spanish, do I really need to explain?
His crimes are chilling, how can anybody admire this villain?
And celebrating Columbus Day mystifies me, it just glorifies killing.
Honouring the father of the transatlantic slave trade and his barbaric crusade,
Costing the tax payers millions of dollars each year for a silly parade.
The first American terrorist, a criminal racist, what more can I say?
Stop glorifying this monster, abolish Columbus Day.

Copyright © Wes Martin | Year Posted 2017

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Political History

History is a record
Of past events
It is not a propaganda 
Tool for political

Copyright © edward johnson | Year Posted 2017

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I met you today, the lights we installed we chatted about us and all that entailed.  I caught my breath when I saw you and a tear dropped out. I wanted to hold you but I had doubts.
I looked in your eyes, but it wasn't you. I see what I've done and the hurt is so true. You are my love and
In my heart you will stay, the words that I heard were 'just go away'...!
I wanted to talk and that you allowed, I wished I'd stayed longer and my heart wasn't proud, of the things that I've said and the lies that I told I beg you my love please let us grow old.... together in time I know what you need and another will love you where I should have been.

Copyright © Andy Izzard | Year Posted 2017

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our ocean

Mare Nostrum
On the coast of Augusta, in Cecilia this wonderful sea,
the bluest of turquoise, transparent and I saw fish play.
Blood and bloated corpses have made the sea less pretty
and fish nibbles on cadavers of those who tried to cross
the sea to escape the lunacy we created in Libya.

A president short of stature but with inflated ego plus
philosopher idiot, two men were responsible this disaster
of a war just to get rid of a dictator one of them had lent
money of the other who should not be left out of his confine
of academia, he should have in hidden in a university writing
books only historians take a passing interest in.

As it is the impossible vain man get feted, all because he is
an intellectual and wears a velvet jacket and clean collars.
My old Mafia friend Thomas the knife, has invited me to
Augusta, I will go there but not swim the hazy sea, but we
will eat langouste, drink child wine and talk about the days
when philosophers and presidents left us alone to kill only
when needed and never the innocent.

Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2017

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I'm Tired of All the BS

I'm Tired of All the BS
By Franklin Price

I'm tired of all the BS
That's going on today
The getting rid of all tradition
That got us to this day

The holidays and history
That made us who we are
I'm not a drunk by any means
But this may send me to the bar

Columbus Day which is today
Some are trying now to change
Indiginous Day they're striving for
Another day to rearrange

Christmas is now Xmas
And it's a Happy Holiday
No longer Merry Christmas
Not a thing that you should say

Can  no longer say a prayer in school
Or pledge allegiance to the flag
The squeaky wheel gets so much grease
Sometimes it makes me gag

Everything must be okayed
Down to the smallest  group
What happened to majority?
Where are we in the loop?

I don't believe in predjudice
That's a thing for only fools
Minorities should have  respect
Majority sets the rules

I could go on forever
Or at least for quite awhile
But it only makes me grimace
 I would rather have a smile

If the majority is silent,
Does not participate in fate,
Don't complain when freedom's gone
By then, it's way too late

Copyright © Franklin Price | Year Posted 2017

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Speculations and Amusements

Speculations and Amusements

We speculate and are amused
by the questions we raise..
All questions..however..
reduce to one question:  What am I..?
We discover all speculations and amusements
seem temporary..entering and exiting..
but we sense there is something that 
does not enter and exit..and whatever that is
seems to be what I really am..
All of the speculations and amusements
then are experienced within this 
newly discovered something which I now know.. 
Speculations and amusements are
found to be real..and joyfully made of
the something I am... 

Copyright © Charles Coon | Year Posted 2017

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The magical night

What a magical night. 
I drowned in your caress. 
I'll always remember how cute you looked. 
In your silk mini dress. 

Pretty long legs. 
All lovely and tan. 
Looking so good. 
You could light up a baseball stand. 

When you walked. 
All the guys' heads did turn. 
For a moment with you. 
They would walk through fire. 
And get burned.

Copyright © Sophie Wilson | Year Posted 2018

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bad apple can be useful

basket of green and red apples 
fullscreen fruitful seeds planted 
rotten apples in my eyes
have no demise
I find useful rotten fruit laying
in the middle of the group
for the abused and bruised make apple juice
I fuse, fry and make a pie
the beaten and battered were never shattered or tasteless
will always find a place for the thought to be wasted
why misplace a whole basket for just a 2 bad apples
must not be organic
maybe Monsanto GMO
now no apples in my reach
responsibilities hanging from the orchard waiting to ripe
red or green no matter
never make the same mistake twice.
genetically modifying Johnny Appleseed to tell a lie
I guess that's what happens when artificial changes natural
roll the dice pay the price when you mess with the seed of life 
ALL GONE no more seeds, WE DIE

Copyright © Michael Ruiz | Year Posted 2018

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Picking my own kind of slapstick

Every treaty they make 
makes to cheat me
dislocate me 
from my

and on the plains
it is so plain to see
that a treaty's not
diddly squat.

Copyright © John Smallshaw | Year Posted 2018

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I was Indiana, riding with rifle pointing ahead,
then Cassanova, lost count of how many in my bed,
as Sitting Bull, I looked down directing my braves,
I passed under an arch, giving one of Cleopatra's waves.

Tried to change history - it wasn't Custer's last stand,
as Columbus, I called America India, got mixed up with the land,
we couldn't have Captain Cook murdered by a bunch of savages,
Moses didn't take any tablets - just lots of stone pages.

We knew that Nelson was gay when he said: 'Kiss me Hardy,'
and Napoleon was shunted off to St. Helena reluctantly,
I prevented 'The Maid of Orle'ans' from being burnt at the stake,
Fagin asked me to pick pockets - it was more than I could take.

Then back to the beginning - maybe Tutenkamen would do,
which exotic personage could you emulate if it was you?

Copyright © Terry Reeves | Year Posted 2018

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is it the Ebson salt

Is it Epson Salt?

All those nice villas along the coast are empty save for stray cats and those too poor to live inland because the sea stinks like bouillabaisse gone off. Marine life and sea plants have died out too much acidity caused by industry, and now it is too late to clean up the mess. 
Fish in tanks are guarded and so expensive only the very rich can afford it, 
say, bacalao; we have to eat fishcakes consisting of ninety-eight percent mashed potatoes, the rest is cod skin. Cod liver oil is the cure-all medicine, 
it’s too expensive, and only the well-off can afford to buy it, 
and they, the rich, live years longer than the poor. 
This has raised concern and social unrest, politicians on the left, 
insist the poor to has the right to be given a teaspoon
 of the healthy oil every morning; 
Mind there is synthetic cod liver oil, but it tastes awful. 
Seagulls and terns have adopted well have earth-hued feathers, 
sit in carob trees, sharp-eyed keep an eye for scraps of food and scare tiny tots with their inane pirate shrieks. 
From safe distant, when the wind is calm, and on moonlit nights, 
the sea looks as beautiful as written in fairy tale book, by 
a marine biologist.

Copyright © jan hansen | Year Posted 2017

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parallel lives

 Parallel Lives  

Is there such thing as living two separate lives?
I lived in a vale called the “Valley of the cobblers” were everyone
wore wooden clogs, a dead giveaway if you have been out late,
I have many friends there know me by my first name.
Have a homestead rising  donkeys of the sturdy, strong type,
also sold miniature donkeys,  children especially liked them
I had a man who looked after the animals when I had to return to
city life, but as time passed I came to believe my real life was
in the valley, because I feel like an intruder when I walk amongst
modern man – it could be the clogs- people stare at me 
think of me as an abstraction a painting once seen on the wall of a café.
Went on a bus to get back where my friends were, the bus drove and drove
and when it stopped I hadn`t reached my destination.
Have to try again I miss my real life and want to come home.

Copyright © jan hansen | Year Posted 2018