Best Emigration Poems


Patriotic People

Patriots we are
Ashen through war
To a more promising today.
Ruminant mammals as warlords
Insinuates the future of glory to come.
Open to emigration from across waters
Today is our day
Significant to determine a stronger unity.

People of the United States of America
Educate your minds innately.
Our focus is for greatness in a better way.
Plausibility is our qualifying state.
Love, peace, and harmony are what we search for nowadays.
Equanimity is our religious situation.

P eople of unity 
A ssemble as one
T o form a greater purpose.
R ebels for a cause
I s not a threat to others
O nly a stronger walk.
T his is our country.
I deals are now.
C ome patriotisms unto the clouds to celebrate.

P arade so grandiose 
E njoyed by all
O stentatious vainglorious
P raise triumphant
L ong live the USA.
E nvision events that fulfills our people and our states.
________________________|
PENNED ON JUNE 30, 2014!
Form: Acrostic

Premium Member Zebras

Blue sky forms the fortress of their world

I can picture them- the ebony and white
velvet stripes, the arch of necks, the
flint-edged hooves
Beneath the weather-regimented trees
 they gather in the heat- to rest

Heat waves and the dreaded grunt of beasts of prey
then the  hegira, enmasse
following
the calling of the rain
a vital splash of life-
they heed the voices
 of the seasons change- along the hidden
 pathways of
 the sun browned plains

Suzanne Delaney

he•gi•ra also he•ji•ra (hi-ji'r?, hej'?r-?)  
n. 
1.	A flight to escape danger. 
2.	also Hegira The flight of Muhammad from Mecca to Medina in 622 A.D., marking the beginning of the Muslim era.
[Medieval Latin, from Arabic hijra, emigration, flight, from hajara, to depart.]

Emigration

Exiled from my homeland,
Excited and scared, I
Entered a new country.
Expressing myself in
English, I struggle with
Emotions and poems,
Ever yearning for home.

September 16, 2016
For contest Pleiades E
Sponsored by Kim Merryman
Shared 1st place
Form: Verse


Anti-Ode To Rain

The big 'R', do you actually know what you're doing
To our week nation,
Absolute panic stations, feckin banter deflation, endless duration
Eternal damnation the foundation, our country's creation.
No shortage of hydration in any location, 
Sure isn't Patsy livid, the crops are bad, explicit gyrations.
Sure no wonder there's emigration by the dozen every week,
Has given or society an ugly mutation, 
Gets lubrication each day thanks to you.
There's a sad wet dog in the station 
Contemplating rotation.
You rain on our frustration, wash our sins for we have 
Offended out of hatred and vexation,
All we're looking for is some compensation.
Rosary beads in homes nationwide and Bridie is saying the rosary
For a chance of salvation, god love her she's my relation.
The forecast gives us the temptation to believe,
Subtle touch of authority has us buying flip-flops, frustration.
We have brain cells you know, we give into temptation,
Because in this situation we can find our own destination.
Just sayin aviation is our saving grace from drowning captivation, 
And there's as much chance getting compensation 
from you as we are from a cheap flight cancellation.
Rain we've had enough, because we're ready to make a revelation
And through your bitter tears you'll hear our declaration.
We're out for palpitation then leave you to your desperation, 
Because as a population, it's our dedication, inspiration and vegetation
That are emanating through your drops of dislocation.
Form: Limerick

Emigration Comes Full Circle

I left Ireland in the 80's with my husband and two babies for Holland. In 2003, we 
returned so that our children could have an Irish University education. Dublin was 
buzzing with life at the time, it was very expensive but we were home. Now in 2011, 
my daughter is emigrating, back down the old ancestral path, she is going to Madrid 
to teach English there. Our country has collapsed so badly, there is no employment 
here so we are exporting our young, educated children by the day. A sad day for me 
as my daughter leaves tomorrow. I wrote her this poem.


To Sarah
On the wave of emigration
I want you to know
That I see you, a fellow female
An equal on every level
Not just my daughter
My little pink princess
I see you as a woman
A power within this world
With oceans to offer
A lifetime still to learn
Go to your new life
A teacher in Madrid
Be free and fearless
Spread your wings and fly
Take the opportunities
Shape them to your dreams
You have all the tools
You can use them now.

Your analytic mind
Will help you make good decision
Fair and just rewards will ensue.
Your radiating heart
Will gift you new friendships
Maybe even a new love
All in good time
You will never be alone
Because you have a deep sense of self
This will be fortified
With this new tide
Your feet firmly planted
Will always serve you well
Balancing the ups and downs of Libra
Always true to yourself
Life will be true to you too.

We live in a new age today
This global world is small
As we email and skype
Fly back and forth to visit
We will continue to love
As mother and daughter
Our journeys through life
Shared
Forever together
My love
I will hold you safe
In my heart.
© Eiken Laan  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member The Portrait of Simon Gelman

Adorning the walls at Brigham and Women's
Head on his hand quite comfortably resting
The subject distinctive in his smiling position
Inspires the asking who is this physician

Over his shoulder an old time sea captain
And over the other what looks like the Kremlin
A scene that recalls something seemingly Russian
What is its significance in this bastion of medicine

And so the commencement of careful researching
Reveals the story of which we'll be learning 
A Harvard professor with numerous contributions
To the field of anesthesia including ischemia-reperfusion

This skillful practitioner of inducing unconsciousness
Was born in the Soviet Union in Nineteen and Thirty-Six
The whitebearded mariner is his belov'd Granddad
Who perished unaccounted for in the blockade of Leningrad

When Simon was young he was frequently hungry
Simochka said Mamma for food do not ask me
Life as a Jew in the society of Stalin 
Was hard but instructive for the mensch now ascending

At that time in Russia was no concept of charity
Because the state cared for everyone and no one was needy
But the pogroms and politics couldn't kill his generosity
And as soon as they could his wife and he left their country

Emigration to Israel where he learned to be Jewish
In the sense of the word that's proclaimed and not whispered
And he saw for the first time a community helping
And he knew gum zu l'tovah was how he'd be living

And many years later ensconced at the Brigham
The giver, the teacher, the lover of freedom
Fortunate I who discovered his portrait
And learned the legacy of the man
Form: Rhyme


For the Sake of Rhyme

I have some info to dissipate
It took me a decade to collate
And now it’s yours for free
After this exposure I will flee
To a faraway country
I will work in an infamous pantry
There I will fall off the radar
Never leaving my door ajar
Lest they track me down
And bring me back to town
 
The info is highly classified
It will leave some of you mystified
Maybe you should stop right here
Take a deep breath and call your dear
Start making plans for a possible emigration
Collect a lot of stuff for this relocation
Because once you get to know
You and I need to flow
 
I don’t intend to make you feel scared
I only plan to make you feel dared
Daring enough to read to the end
Then I will have to commend
 
What I have is something unheard of
That’s why many of my friends call me Prof
Not because I possess so much knowledge
But because I always seem to encourage
 
This poetry is simply for the sake of rhyming
And I hope I have done justice with relation to the timing
Many things didn’t go too well in the previous year
But in all that I had someone to call me dear
Who stood by me when things were not so rosy
And offered enough counsel to make life a bit cosy
 
It’s been a while since I put pen to paper
Not because my ideas were in danger…
Danger of a possible extinction
But because I have been busy with this collation
 
Alas I have nothing for you
I only lied to make this poem feel true
Also to grab your attention to this very end
I believe many of you do comprehend
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Governments Legacy

This city 
has a spire 
in the middle, 
the needle 
of Ireland's despair, 
cost us money 
and lots of our riches, 
this is our city so fair, 

a government 
in ruling 
our ruination, 
as the clock 
in the Liffey 
Stood still, 
their time 
is running out, 
a country so wild , 
yet so beautiful, 

yet this is all 
we have got, 
rocked by mass 
unemployment, 
emigration heavy 
on everyone's heart. 

A government yes 
They destroyed us, 
as they made us pay 
For what they ill got, 

bailing out these 
so called scrooges, 
fair is the state 
of our nation , 
poor in everyone's heart, 
this is the state 
of our country 

Rich and peasants 
miles apart, 
gambling 
our children's futures, 
as job creation, 
plays the necessary part, 
now this is the state 
of our country, 
Ireland 
A nation 
in despair
Form: Sonnet

The Sea Does Not Feed Its Children

land is  threw you

And was laid on pavilion of a poem

It may not mislead characters ... Who are you?

A homeland on the door of hell though it appeared

your is emigration was to merit

 did not shake the anti-palm trunk

To fall in your hand

Wet promises to the waves of the sea

His Salt ...

The lust of the hard soul ... maybe

That ... kill you

Your word is your land

Arabism is no longer enough

To feed you

A dark dream

Between border modesty

Satisfaction of expatriate saints

Blow your sadness,  will kill you

And you are who

Taken from the hands of your priest

 retained for the mole

He will not let you down

Believe you are the close neighbors of your soul

What inflicts the predestination for you

It was like a piece of candy

My hand fell

from your mouth

The sea does not lay down its children

My name is Yabibi

It is the paradise of the highest mortal

Of false nectar

As a tomb, its inhabitants did not inquire

A song to grieve your childhood

Sleep, my love

It is no longer within history

He who condemns your innocence

Or ask you

Is his condition

The sea does not feed its children
Form: Lyric

Premium Member A Simple Disc of a Poem

A Simple Disc Of A Poem

Not yet another stream of consciousness
from disc to brisk journey path behind no
emigration refugees bombs shrapnel hunger
There is gratitude though among the pain

No music on the vinyl player with cracks
and crackle’s dust fore-playing Cohen from
‘Chelsea Hotel’ to ‘Famous Blue Raincoat’
We do love blues though like Klimt’s lovers

No endless loop of thoughts emotions gusts
and gushes scribed in gloomy neural paths on
the ‘thank you for flying with Prozac Airways’
But my head is on the pillows nevertheless

Only that little cushion where Chakra’s spirits
supposedly align energies together from red
waves to indigo in seven easy steps to health
a brittle disc squeezed like toothpaste beyond

A few tiny scraps of distorted flesh only when
screams of agony abuse the meaning the word
like Heavy Metal like Munch in disguise when
my poetry is caught in referred pain in the ‘leg’

In German they call sciatica shot from the witch
which I think unfair why must it be a woman to
elicit my back and do they not cast their spells
in magic wonder and miracles in any some case

Klimt’s lovers are no distant memories and your
famous blue dress still enchants when you hand
me the ‘Deep Heat’ to rub on my skin and my pain
And there is a stream of conscious consciousness 

From my prolapsed disc and what feels like
agony however the clever word books disagree
to the bombs shrapnel hunger and madness I am
safely tucked away from with my pillow and duvet

29th July 2016

Premium Member Boat People

Boat People
                        by Bob Moore © 2017

We, were the boat people of our day, 
from many lands so far away
with Europe in chaos from war and strife 
looking to find a brand new life
                
And so began an ambitious dream,
The Displaced Persons and Migration Scheme
“Populate or Perish” was the catch cry then
come here to live, we need more men

They came without families, left them behind
hoping a better life they would find
and bring them out here later, hopefully when
they found a home, and a job, they would see them again

The Australian Government paid most of the fare
“Bring out a Briton”, by sea or by air
just stay two years, and your debt is then paid
get a job and work hard, your future is made

You need to work, and fit in you know
we want you here, to help us grow
and you need us, for a place to live
so we both have something, to take, and to give

We will not always get along
the ties to our homeland, are still strong
you’ll call us names, we’ll call them back
sometimes it’s just words, now and then it’s a whack

Dago, Gypo, pommie and wog
but be ready to fight if you called us a dog
we’d call you a convict, but you didn’t care
and so friendly insults would fly through the air

That’s how it was built, this homogeneous land
with all the people working, and lending a hand 
multicultural is the word, politicians all use now
back then we were just Aussies, and we did it somehow

A New Ireland

It was a wet November day
on the motorway to Cork
waiting at traffic lights
a tiny man shuffled towards me
frail, bald and alone,
his piercing eyes beseeching,
palms outstretched, imploring.
His face ravaged with fear
his shame stirred shame in me
as I turned my face away,
I saw others do the same.

I felt raw discomfort 
it changed rapidly to fear
as the cold face of recession
the demise of my country
the pain of my people
stood before me
in this little man
an ache so immense,
I had covered it deep.

Faced now with utter revulsion,
abject anger towards our government,
our bankers and developers,
those sneaky golden circles,
as my eyes met his,
I saw my own reflection.
The country’s bubble burst a year ago
but he had just burst mine.

For In his tiny frame,
I saw our fragile nation
a country on its knees
begging for a bail out.

In his isolation,
I felt my own vulnerability
huge impending loss
as my children face emigration.

In his baldness, 
I saw the naked masses
new poverty and pain,
still crushing us, the people

This little man
could be me.
© Eiken Laan  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Straight White Privileged Silence

Listen to sterile silence
nursing homebound fans
wavering white noiselessness
of silent futile passing

Absence of passion
hope
care
happiness
or creased
and reasoned 
nearing deceased sadness.

Hear this void of madness,
lack of hunger
or parched thirst
for conversation
splendid nutrition
scandalous emission
empowering immigration
enlightened emigration
or angry fear emanation
of forced solitude migration

Into mortal loss
of sensory reception
political deception
economic perception
theistic inception
septic conception.

Smell nothing.

Taste everything
becomes dust
delustered rust
lust for transcendent
disembodied consummation
omnipresent transportation
omniscient evaporation
full latitude
for fragrance-free
plastic platitudes
feckless attitudes
disdainful blows
against further fertile emanations.

Sing where nothing
settles into rounding octave rings
to never
ever want to dance
in robust spirals
forming springs

Against depressions
felt repressions
thought impressions
known suppressions
unheard deflation
worn through integration
transcultural conflation

Of pantheistic elegant circling Zeroes
absorbed by a monstrous
monopolistic silent
slick supreme One

Listening to sterile silence
nursing homebound fans,
white emptiness
of silent
restless passing.

Glare at isolation.

Rake loneliness in.

Sleep with solitude
if you dare
to care
and share
yet without an inch
or squeezed moment
to spare.

Comfort Zone

I FIND IT HILARIOUSLY SADDENING 
THAT EVEN TO THIS DAY... 
MY STILL FURTIVELY PURSUES HISTORY
AS IF IT WILL HELP THE FUTURE 

HINDERING ON SEEMS LIKE 
A LIFE LONG GOAL 
ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO ENVISION YET ALONE ATTEMPT
BUT 
HOPEFULLY- 
THOUGH I DOUBT, FAITH WILL GET ME THERE. 

I'VE BEEN LIVING WITH SHADOWS OF DARK BEAUTIFUL MEMORIES OF US 
AND ECHOES OF OUR LOST BUT TREASURED LOVE 
FOR HOURS TOO 
INFINITE TO NUMB-ERRRRRRRRR... 
EMIGRATION WOULD BE THE ONLY ROUTE TO CLEANSING MY SOUL 
THOUGH MY HEART SOULY UNDERSTANDS THAT ONLY 
YOUR LOVE
CAN REHABILITATE ME 

CURSES ARE NOT BEAUTIFUL SO 
MEETING YOU WAS NOT ONE
ATTACHMENT IS HUMANLY AND 
I AM NOT MADE OF STEEL 

LOVING YOU IS STRANGE 

NOT BECAUSE I'M NOT USED TO IT,OH NO! 
BUT BECAUSE I'M SO FAMILIAR WITH IT 
THAT I NEEDN'T NOTHING LESS THAN IT 
NOR SLIGHT INCHES MORE THAN IT... 

FOR YOUR LOVE 
IS MY COMFORT ZONE.
Form: ABC

I Have Known

I have known 
the blessing of caring parents,
the pain of emigration,
the miracle of motherhood,
the wonder of loving and being loved,
the thrill of learning and teaching,
the joy of poetry and music,
the adventure of mountains and canyons.

9/27/2018
For contest: Your life in nine lines
Sponsored by Anthony Slausen

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