Best Immigrant Poems
Equation invasion pilot light;
Substance abuse out of sight;
Bargain donors Delight;
Quantum disturbance;
Humanity really hurting;
Relying on physical denying the spiritual;
Unmanageable
intangible
Spiritually ignorant
Disloyal spiritual immigrant;
Work and toil;
Loosen soil;
Help me Lord;
For I am more solid and spiritual;
Table mound of dirt and clay;
With the breath of God in Me;
Unimaginable
unmanageable
intangible
spiritually ignorant
I am chosen
I am a
Spiritual Immigrant
2/29/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
Immigrant from a sun kissed land
I come from a sun kissed land made of gold and green.
From a people of color black, white and colored,
We are the original rainbow nation.
For holidays we love our road trips, down to the Cape To see the sea, it takes forever,
so the holiday begins from the start of the motor in the middle of the pitch black nights.
We drive along roads, beaten by tires, many travelers drive on a river of tar, to glimpse great fierce waves.
Sun, sea and beach, we revel and delight on shores of sun kissed land.
We play hide and seek in vineyards of purple or white and green, as the taste of the land thrills our tongues and we giggle with glee due to wine made with perfection.
We surf on waves, a mile or more long, we are sun kissed and brave.
We eat lunch on tables made out of mountains, as we peer at the lions head across the way!
We know the cry of the Lion, so wild and free, with his friends, Giraffe and great big ole Elephant.
We have shops in all four corners, North, South, East and West where we can feast our eyes for hours, in Johannesburg, the concrete jungle so fierce, so strong, so regal.
Meat is abundant and all kinds are for sale, catch a fish, hunt a buck, put both on the coals
Any weekend in summer, that's where we will be, out in the shining, kissed by the sun, sharing food and a smile
We are fierce protectors of the land we love.
We support our boys of green and gold, in cricket, or rugby or soccer,
we don't mind what they play, the game is our passion and watching them win, our celebration
Sunsets of purple and sunrises of orange
Purple jacarandas to line the road
We are a sun kissed, colorful nation - and we are all for one and one for all.
Yes I come from a country sun kissed and loved
My story there has ended but I love where it begun.
Its home I miss, my home I long for.
I may be somewhere else, but I will always be sun kissed.
Chantelle Smith
12 January 2026
from the book’s open cradle,
a rush of color lifted~
soft wings trembling
like thoughts just born,
those delicate immigrants
rising from ink into air.
they gathered in a gentle rabble,
a drifting, shimmering chorus
of saffron, coral,
and moon-washed blue~
each one carrying a quiet story
the pages could no longer hold.
upward they traveled
a migration of light
toward the turquoise sky,
where the wind waited
to welcome their wandering,
to scatter their small miracles
across the wide, listening world.
From the book’s open heart,
a rabble of butterflies rose~
saffron flickers,
cerulean shivers,
petals of pink and ember-gold
fluttering into freedom.
They drifted upward
like loosened dreams,
each wing a watercolor whisper
of places yet imagined~
delicate immigrants
carrying quiet stories
the pages could no longer contain.
Across the turquoise stillness
they traveled,
a bright migration of meaning
stitching color into the sky,
leaving the book glowing behind them
as if every word
had learned to fly.
The musty, foul smelling
Boat rocks
The room is dim
And silent
Everyone is waiting
For the shores of Ellis Island
They hope to have a new life
Start over in America
The room awakens
When the captain yells
"Land ahead"
Everyone cheers
I see the gleaming copper Statue of Liberty
I can smell the fresh salty air
My heart is filled with optimism
My dreams are so close to coming true
But the same cannot be said for others
Some are sent back for illness
Or not enough money
Or no ride
They send you back
To that hopeless land
Back on the dim boat
Where dreams once lived but now are lost
Yet others are let through
To the country of America
Where a better life awaits
Filled with hope
In the land of opportunity
I smile a happy smile
I am almost there
Underage Immigrant Crisis Part 1
We are having a big problem here in Texas, by the border.
It is turning into a dilemma. A lot of underage children are
coming into the United states, from El Salvador, Honduras
and Guatemala.
These immigrants are only kids. They are running away from
poverty, gangs and their lives being threaten. They come here
to reunite with parents, or relatives that already live here.
At one time President Obama said that any child that reached
American soil, would not be sent back to their native Country.
I think that people confused his words. He never said for them
to send them by the thousands.
Now it seems that their own families are sending them, or
paying the coyotes big money to bring them here. Last year
24.000 children cross over. This year they expect 90.000.
What can we do? This is a big problem.
In their journey to get here - these children encounter a lot
of dangers. Some get raped, some get killed and some are
taken by the Cartels and forced to work for them. Still some
get here, but without an ear, or some fingers missing. They
do that so their relatives can pay more money to save their
lives.
These kids come to the Texas Valley, than they bring them
to Houston. From here they take them to California, where
they are not wanted. I think we should be more human with
them, by that I mean - maybe we should let them stay with their
families that are here already and help the ones that have no one.
What do you think?
To be continued:
07/11/2014
By Lucilla M. Carrillo
IMMIGRANT GIRL
Remembering this night of our last touch,
when nothing is between us we should know,
in love with loving you, and just how much
I wonder where in time do such nights go?
Forbidden like a box all sealed up tight,
or like the burning Zeus refused to share
with mortals such as we, and on this night,
Pandora's box is opened everywhere,
you are, this night, my first and only love
and always shall remain this part of me,
created from the earth and waters of
our night when Aphrodite let it to be.
And I am more than blessed for loving you
illegal though you are, it's what l do.
©ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
We came to this glacial paradise
Frigid and arid, the weather's nice
Much like our Motherland
And so we made it ours box of sand
As it made us its slaves
We tamed each other in shallow graves
Free from starvation,
No need for a proclamation
Chorus
We don't own the land, We don't own the sea
Don't need money, don't need greed
So take my hand, a family we'll be
On solid ground, we'll plant our seed
We came to this rock
Steadfast and strong as an ox
Free from the judgement
Or any negative sentiment
We'll feast under suspicion as we please
Breeding contempt and bringing disease
Like rabbits!
And we made this land, and we shackled mules
And its inhabitants we took as their fools
Chorus
We were hauled to their farms
Steady suppers and whipping charms
How dare we suggest we're human
Rights are granted, but not to "vermin"
You're free to enjoy starvation,
You'll have to beg us for a proclamation
Chorus
We came to this deserted strand
Branded traitors to our clan
And labelled usurpers to the old tribes
When to their customs we don't subscribe
Watch in growing dismay
When a nation once united begins to fray
Chorus 2X
--------------------
Food for thought.
During the '70's, deep in the South,
I was white but raised black by a black man.
As a boy, I have watched the Ku Klux Klan
on the news—and was frightened as a youth
who felt “black.” In those times, it was uncouth
and a mark of disgrace to be less than
the child of a white mother and white man:
even back then I knew that racist truth.
Two-score years have passed and I’m still confused,
troubled, and unclear as to what or how
I should be: am I white—or “black”? (Abused
by my step-dad, I identify with him now.).
It’s terrible being me. But scarred like this,
(and once raised as black) I now loathe prejudice.
SON OF SEOUL
Child presses sweet head to her,
While mother holds fast to him
Man busses forehead, soft lips tight
‘Gainst acorn-colored skin.
From ashes G.I. soldiers rose
To souls of Seoul set free.
Much taller than the rest, one stood
‘Bove war-torched Calvary.
And drifting now to streets of home
And bird-song tones of voice,
Her heart aches for freedom sounds.
Her sentence, Life, was choice.
Hiding loneliness in a treasure chest
Her soldier man won't find,
She forever bleeds for Seoul's sweet spice
to free her captured mind.
This child on her lap had been
Her altar-offering hope
That life could rupture forth again
Through scourge of blood and smoke.
But images of her home dissolve
As Soldier-shell draws in
And presses tight dead lips against
Her acorn-colored skin.
Underage Immigrant Crisis 2
The problem keeps getting bigger everyday. It seems to
me that it is everyone's problem. There are a lot of horror
stories that are told by the kids that do make it here.
Some never make it and their parents don't know what
happened to them. A couple from Dallas paid a coyote
$ 7.000 for one daughter and then another one to bring
them here. They have not seen them yet.
Other kids say that they go hungry for days until some of
the people throw them food when they are on top of the
train called ( La Bestia ) meaning ( The Beast ) They call it
that because a lot of people have been killed, falling off, or
trying to get on it.
Sometimes they get to a place in Mexico that is run by a priest
and there they get food and can stay a couple of days, than
continue on their journey. This run by donations, but they are
running out of food.
They just had a meeting with the president of Honduras and he
said that these kids should not go back, that the United States
should help. What can we do? Mexico said that because of two
derailments that happened in one week on ( La Bestia ) with more
than 1.000 passengers - now no immigrants will be allowed in that
train.
The president is now asking Congress for $ 3 billion to combat this
problem. I don't know if it will work, but I think that if we all pitch in
a dollar, or whatever we can - it would help a lot...
07/12/2014
By Lucilla M.carrillo
Note: I Just think that this concerns us
all. Have you got any Ideas? Kids are
kids, no matter where they come from.
Everyone is an immigrant
We all are human
I guess we belong
On this planet
Called earth
We all are human
Born by a woman
As she pure her
flesh blood on
Each of our heads
So we are here
Not as an alien
But citizens of the world
We all are human
We all share same air
I guess non of us
Breaths in nothing else
We feed on plants for food
We drink clean waters
The world was design
For our good
Hope it still does now
We all are human
And non is an alien
If the earth is human
Place for a planet
Then i tell you non
Is an immigrant
If there is then
Is all of us
We all are human
Sharing this round world
Together in different ways
As we differs in our ways
So was human who
Created banderies
By forming teroteries
Called countries as we
Know today
Is sure and true
Our forefathers
Where one family
From same place
I really hope the world
Understands this
We are all human
Not an alien
To be killed or devalued
By our selves
The world is too large
For every one
So we are to live
And settle peacefully
Where ever it pleases
Who ever
Yet the reality today
Dont and never
Aprove so
If you think other people
Around you are immigrant
Dont forget you are same too
Cos you cant carry the land
Or could you carry your houses else where
When ever you travel
You must step on someone's
Land
The land of our one mother
In this earth non is a foreigner
And if there should be one
I have never seen
Apart from the aliens unseen
So on the quest of fighting
Immigrant
Remember our forefathers
Are from one source
As it simplifies non is an
Immigrant
If there is to be one
Then the truth is
Everyone is an immigrant
The dark and moonless night at sea
reflected well his mood,
from where he stood out by the rail
the ship seemed not to move.
He was gazing far away
into years gone by,
where there resided youthful joy
to recapture if he’d try.
He wore a paper around his neck
dangling on a string,
three letters there made an acronym
and such horror they did bring.
Put there by an officer
blue uniformed and stern,
because he had no documents
to his homeland…. he must return.
Turned away the very day
he landed on the island,
destitute and paperless
being denied asylum.
He watched the statue fade astern
after seeing her rise at dawn,
a goddess from the sea of hope
and all of his was gone.
The tag he wore about his neck
was his last and final doom,
WOP spelled “none for me.”
as he stood there in the gloom.
“With Out Papers” the letters meant
said the officer who put them on,
America’s milk and honey
was not for everyone.
Hustled back aboard the ship
without the means to pay,
no bunk no cabin or meals to eat
on deck all night and day.
His homeland would not welcome him
he was on the wrong side of their fight,
dispossessed and on the run
returning filled him with fright.
With only one place left to go
he was filled with true regret,
but the decision was an easy one
so over the side he leapt.
His body washed up on the shore
not uncommon for Ellis island,
there he was buried for eternity
finally finding his asylum.
Don't call me immigrant
Call me cherry tree
With pink and white cherry blossoms
Don't call me immigrant
Call me sunny butterfly
With swallowtail
Don't call me immigrant
Call me yellowtail snapper
In the cold waters of Florida
Don't call me immigrant
For Pradesh the taxi driver may not come
Pavlov, so well dress, may not open the door
The coffee may not bring vodka nor rum
And your children may not see Tina anymore
Don't call me immigrant
I am just a cloud laden with your rain.
punctured, onward continue to quit decision's to make second guessing a moment ,
wit a wound wide opened by sliding the cold shoulder's lap first but enlightened by composure, intellect wasted misuse's of time the truth withheld to prove ill state vs. denial of a mans prime singled too proud deviating the lost to worship no man who lives under trial.
CHAMELIONS AND WATERMELONS
One foot forward, pause a sec
Two foot forward, pause and check
Googley green goggles, round and round spies.
Slow reptilian eyes spots garden boy who in great excitement cries.
"deez aaah, aah, what seh in Ingish...?"
The garden boy tried words to distinguish.
Runs right round the yard to Stan.
Stan was his large employer man.
"Meester Stan, deez aaah?", inquired the boy.
Big stan sat in his big chair, and smiled with big joy.
He gave a big thought, pondered a little while
"My dear man, that is a watermelon", said he with a big smile.
The garden boy listened with intrigued intent.
Exclaiming to chamelion in a rough English accent.
"yuu, yuu aaah Wa-tah-meh-lohn!!!"
Beside himself bolted excited over the lawn.
Inside a pet store
Trying to sell watermellons for a few pennies more.
The garden boy tried to explain
But never seemed to understand, that chamelions and watermelons are now the same.