American History Poems | Examples
These American History poems are examples of History poems about American. These are the best examples of History American poems written by international poets.
the devil swings
with the pain Billie brings
to the song of a sparrow, once lost
but heaven cries
with the drug in her eyes
and the weep of a willow's sad cost
the awed repute
of a tree's strangest fruit
never gave up its dead or it's moss
one mother's urn
sifted ash from the burn
of a tragedy's southern-most cross
shall only years
dry that muddle of tears
the torrent drowning races and sin
or will the truth
age a sweeter vermouth
let as blood on a much darker skin?
weep collected
for life, disrespected
would deluge all Jehovah's dear streams
yet not one wonder
that God's loudest thunder
will ne’er quiet that riot …
of screams.
~ for Billie Holiday ~
Copyright © 2020 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art created copyright-free by the poet with GALA AI software )
Storms off Cape Verde garner strength in the Oceans.
Fed by seas of angry, restless spirits, Middle Passage emotions.
A black child knows the song of heavy trains,
as clanging engines brought my father home.
His weary, sweaty, fat thighs bearing strain,
from cooking pots of food for those well-known.
We felt the forceful song of heavy trains,
not rails or trams that ride below the street.
A move that in your gut of gut does reign,
black power that comes up beneath your feet.
Our past has known the song of steel on steel
as trains have carried tired heads held high.
When we approached we heard the air brakes squeal,
and at that sound we thought our hopes were nigh.
We've listened for the song of trains for years.
Their mournful horns just croon a memory,
and often resurrect the blues of tears,
or flash across the mind as reverie.
For many years we've sang the sad refrain,
with strength and power striving in the soul.
This melody of freedom laced with pain.
The weight of all life's longings taking toll.
Oh, sing a song of praise for those who bare
the weight of heavy trains within our past,
a rocking to and 'fro' from here to there,
maintaining in our spirits WILL to last.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my blessed little Sister!
When we were young, Papa always called
You “Black Patti”! Now we know why:
A Senryu Quintet Tribute To “Black Patti (1868-1933): **
For My Sister, Sula “Black Patti” Baye (08/25/1943)
Water gives rivers life
I swanee, “Black Patti” gave
Life to the songs she sang:-
“Black Patti” felt that
Singing songs was to her, as
Sunshine to flowers:-
When “Black Patti” sang,
Flowers flooded world stages:
Concert Halls, sold out!
She was Mitilda
Sissieretta Jones: singing
Abolitionist!
Black Patti, rather
Than Adelina Patti, was
Their Era’s Greatest!
**When others sit down and do oursrorical research,
They will know why Papa gave you that honor. Go
And enjoy another blessed year, perpendicular to
Earth and Heaven. To God Be The Glory. In the
Onederful oneness of the onement of Extended
Family, Peace And Love, your favorite Brother,
Deac.
Chiaroscuro ballerina,
Rond de jambe in chaînés
Jeté, jeté
Grand jeté
Mariana Victoria,
Your Seiren eyes speak in
Adamantine lies
Forbidden apple gates
Amina Afrikana,
Runes enjambed in chains
Adamantly denying
Grand opries
Bloomeria guro,
Your six-petaled cries sing
"Beaujolais, beaujolais!"
Forbidden pomegranates
Ghanaians are beating
The drum of shame
For Nigerians
Which they will later dance to
Calling Nigerians in Ghana
All sorts of names, due to some misunderstanding
Now they're promoting hate just because of mistakes.
Ghanaians are on the street
Creating scenarios
Nigerians the villains
Forgetting they triggered it
Forgetting what their Ghanaians
Are doing to Nigerians as well
No country without a foreigner
There are also foreigners here in Nigeria.
See Ghanaians on the streets pretending
They're perfect and absolutely innocent
Because of the acts and misconduct
Of few Nigerians in Ghana
Now they're protesting for disunity
Your mind is the greatest treasure, work on it
If we can't unite and live in
Oneness, peace and unity within ourselves
Who or where else!?... Let love lead us.
I am completely detached from that situation. I did not play any role in creating the issue at hand. My focus today is solely on discovering a viable solution.
Why is there such a tendency to place all the blame on artificial intelligence?
In reality, AI empowers us, providing both confidence and clarity as we craft our creative works. When we relied solely on paper currency, we faced the risk of theft, and then credit cards emerged as a safer alternative. Many people continue to voice their concerns, but I fail to see anything inherently wrong with embracing AI in our processes.
I recognize that for some traditional poets, the rapid evolution of technology can feel daunting and overwhelming. Yet, adapting to these changes is essential. I remember when computers first entered the healthcare field to assist in tracking patients' medications. I felt a wave of apprehension at first; however, I can now confidently say that this technology has been a tremendous blessing, making it much easier for me to capture my thoughts and ideas on paper."
We live in such a diverse, multicultural world
Yet I have to ask why Black History isn't taught
What is it about the black culture that mankind
Refuse to educate, elaborate, reveal, and expose
Black history is like taboo, no one wants to speak or preach
I often wonder what the men of old said about the first men in the world
Were they words dark and cold
Vicious and malicious
Vindicated and warlike, or did they write about a race
That was independent and intelligent
Powerful and wise
Great and Spiritual
Excellent and Gifted in Yahuah's sight
I choose not to offend, but I cannot help but follow the pen
You see, I am not the master mind behind the words I write
I am just the vessel that's used to inspire, awaken and motivate
Teach and educate a culture that has forgotten how great there are
When done with poetry
Report my Irish American journalism
And earth will get literated
When did today's war start
Without Irish ink
The bambinas know no reason well
This you have to bring with your bibles
Body body body
Birth certificate fraudy
Body moving
City be getting down
black boy hungry
feed black boy crumb
black boy needs education
black boy dumb
but the black boy
don't need handouts
he wants what he owns
government take and take
but they say
all black boy do is moans
black boy stolen
black boy broken
but they'll put him on tv
black boy token
black boy whipped
his black back breakin'
black boy cries
it's black boy land they're takin'
History clearly reveals that Black slaves
ENDURED the worst of their real life NIGHTMARES.
There is also the sense that their hearts
ASURED them that their future and that
Of their descendants held their
Best DREAMES.
TO THE TASK AHEAD FOR OUR WRITERS
No one can write our story but us;
His story merely footnotes us:-
In the culture of the penned word,
We must personally ink ourstory;
Footnoting history’s keloid pains:-
In doing so, the rules must be ours
As opposed to those of anglophobia:-
In our midst, do we not have
Our own Prophets, Scribes, and Seers?
Do we not have our own worthy Griots?
Let us not write for their critics, but for ourselves,
Demonstrating mastery of the enforced language
Through which we must uniquely cipher flowing lines;
Deciphering coded lies from undeniable living truths:-
Can an indigenous fruit be a “native” of one that’s not?
If you don't want it to be taught how America brutalized the American Indian,
and you don't want it to be taught how America brutalized the enslaved black,
don't talk to me about your Christian moral compass,
because a Christian moral compass is something that you lack.
400 years Today
Although my feet has bared the mercy of my body
I used the stars ? to guide me
I am no longer present in this moment
For I am not a slave
I am not a bastard
Oppressed and marginalized
I shall not bare the thought of my offsprings
For what will become of them
For miles I’ve ran to freedom but freedom had forsaken me
Arm and arm we’ve marched
Only to take a greater lashing
For what is freedom
I have no rights and there is no justice
Return me home
But there is no home
Native to the land but the land is theirs to own
Burn it down with my ashes into the flames
This ain’t no life of mines
Have mercy on soul
For I am not a slave
We ate the ones who died
But we did not murder them
We had to survive, right?
I stared at the surviving member of the Donner party
Did she not know
Two native American guides with them had been murdered
For food?
Not wanting to cause her any more anguish,
I did not correct her.