Strike! Strike!
Strike up the Band!
If you're brown
please beware
If you’re black
watch your back
If you’re yellow
dive for cover
If you’re red
you’re already dead
Strike! Strike!
Strike up the Band!
They’re coming to take us away!
They’re coming to take us away!
Raise high the flag
Raise high those stars and stripes
We’re Christians and Hindus
Muslims and Jews
We work, we sing, we dance
We play in parks
On Sundays after church
We’re neighbors
We’re lovers
We’re builders, cowboys
waiters, and cooks
We’re hot dog vendors
and ice cream peddlers
We hoe your fields
and pick your fruit.
We drive your trucks
and plow your fields
We cut your meat
and herd your cows
You wonder the price
You wonder the vice
It’s time to De-Ice
Rid us of these lice?
Strike! Strike!
Strike up the Band!
They came and took us away
away
away
away to Guantanamo
SWEET FIELDS OF EDEN
Oh sweet fields of Eden
When, do hear your call
Still, my eyes are open
Still, my darkness falls
Know my heart is bleeding
My soul has given all
To breath the air of freedom
Inside your garden walls
Sunlight stains each yellow petal
Under the vast Kansas sky
Never dull in shade or spirit
Flowing with vigor in the wind
Lingering with Nature's thoughts
Owning it's shade of yellow
Weary from its own beauty
Every seed holds a story
Roses envy this flower's freedom
gold and rust landscape frosted breath….
i feel welcome in fields of autumn
the wind passes
not a weed sways in it's motion
like time standing still
Even to myself I avoid to show
My begging for all kinds of troubles to go
Far away, so far where they’d never be seen
Then I’d feel relieved, on your sill I’d lean
Looking at your garden and the green field
On a clear day when the Coombe Hill
Becomes visible, maybe we’ll have a stroll
And as usual, a drizzling rain would fall
On our way back, we return soaking wet
And the sun peeks out just before it sets
Switch the telly on, what’s the news they tell
Nothing good for today, and tomorrow as well
So we’re off to the garden, to smell the flowers
Under the spell of the magic hours..
Just touch these hairs in the back of my neck
i will see your face and pray you are just the last
next to my bed, here you are reaching out,
stop touching me i am not yours!!
Take your clothes off and come to bed!
don't be so shy you are a good buy,
not as expensive as free voices,
not as cheap as kiss without thick lip,
color is my choice my blindness doesn't know.
Who are you let me touch your wrist
thin or thick i don't care at all who are you,
can i hear your voice just one time,
yes master I'm all yours let this be the lesson,
mute i might be, deaf it is what you are.
This is what the dream is all about,
if you scream i know because i can feel,
go ahead put your hand on my lips,
count the words on by one,
it feels like the first time,
white on black in the cotton fields.
Will anyone be responsible,
who will pay, the scars are too deep,
another 200 hundred years,
maybe than justice will prevail
until then mute it is my best pill.
Golden ribbons stretch as far as the eye can see,
A boundless sea under the sun's gentle light,
Where every stalk of amber wheat sways free,
Unfolding a vision so breathtakingly bright.
The wind comes whispering low from the west,
Tracing soft ripples across the warm, heavy grain,
Turning the quiet soil into a restless crest,
Rolling like oceans over the open plain.
Each gust carves tides through the deep golden hue,
A shimmering swell of honey, brass, and straw,
Rising and falling like waves in the blue,
Holding the heart in a silent, reverent awe.
Above the calm surge, the warm air comes alive,
As jewel-toned dragonflies shimmer and gleam,
While tiny gold midges weave through the hive,
And lacewings float past like a summer day's dream.
High in the canvas of an immaculate sky,
A crisp wedge of swans cuts through the soft white,
In perfect formation, soaring gracefully high,
Shadows drifting over the field in their flight.
Picture-perfect and still, yet endlessly in motion,
The earth paints a masterpiece under the sun—
Where the dry prairie wheat turns into an ocean,
And heaven and harvest are woven as one.
blazing sun in fields
cicadas hum in the trees~
heavy air stands still
dust clouds rise and drift
fields of wheat bow to the wind~
air humid and stiff
heat waves waltz on roads
cool water runs in the creek~
daylight holds its load
warm twilight now sprawls
stars blink in the velvet night~
tall shadows on walls.
For the nearest five minutes
I am here just to please you
For another thousand seconds
I’ll be there in the queue
Here, there and nowhere
I just wait for you to beckon
I’ll be hurrying up the stairs
I’ll be looking down you reckon
Looking down and all over
Distant hills and fields of grass
At the meadows of wild clover
At forget-me-nots in dust..
The green fields,the sand around
The cool breeze, the chirpy sound.
The peaceful ambience, the sweet vibes
The vast rivers, the blue skies.
The happiness spread in the air
The village sight is sweet,yet rare...
Dawn drifts in on quiet feet, brushing the world with silver breath;
morning gathers its scattered light, stitching calm through waking fields;
I stand still and listen—how gently the day remembers me.
Today’s the day to celebrate St. Patrick’s day, each in their own special way.
* *
Fine fields of green and cute leprechauns too
That Ireland is a wondrous place, it's true
The scenery, magical to the eye
Visited, saw it, adored it did I.
There's so much beauty of nature to seek
The mountains, rivers and flora unique
Seasons changeable, no rhythm or rhyme
Mild winters, warm summers, simply sublime.
Friendly folk, a best reception one gets
The moment onto Irish streets one steps
Irish eyes are smiling, one can't deny
They gleam alike shining stars in the sky.
Delightful pipe music, the river dance
Singing that greatly enhances romance
There one may sup the famous Guinness brew
And a comforting bowl of Irish stew.
One's never alone, when Ireland one roams
Treading the streets of the Irish green zones
The Emerald Isle has a welcome mat
Once been one’s sure to desire going back.
* * *.
All I desire
Are fields of green
Unife free of worry
Unlife so serene
Running along free
My feet bare and soft
Rid of the concrete
Rid of the rocks
The flowers and grass
Tickling my toes
I stop and I take in
The sweet air that blows
Worries aside
I stand wild and free
I lay me to rest
Neath a low hanging tree
A peaceful slumber
A joyous rest
For I’ve taken my life
For peace I will find
Only in death
Fields once green, now turned into stone,
Silent hunger fills the night.
Families gather, flesh and bone,
Darkness swallowing the light.
Whispers drift all along the moor,
Hope like mist, beginning thin.
Footsteps echo from the dark door,
Empty pots where feasts had been.
Children’s laughter now lost and frail,
Memories beneath the rain.
Brisk winds lament each ghostly tale,
Carrying their silent pain.
Resilient are roots below,
Hearts endure through famine’s blight.
Ireland’s great spirit, soft and low,
Rising high against the fight.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.