Land(A) Poems - Poems about Land(A)

If the UK is as PC as some would have us perceive (tho' Britons never never never shall be slaves Boadicea's turning in her grave) it's incorrect on two counts would you believe and the US we should see as between '52 and '22 it was a Queendom not a Kingdom and either way that's sexist so to speak more accurately accordingly it should be the United Sovereignty ...

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Once upon a time in a faraway land There was an old man, who had forgotten how to speak His eyes would stare into the sky, void of any emotion, His scars turned wrinkles narrated an untold story His hands, never steady, always counting Sometimes in the middle of the day, he would scream But no sound would escape his mouth,...

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The white man stole their land now the red man has the blues the white man sold their families and the black man's still ill-used the white man shot the American buffalo now the red man sings the blues the white man put their people in chains and the black man's grief accrues the white house is to blame the Government just the same the...

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Burning all bridges behind you, standing on the edge of a plateau If ever there was a time to see if you can fly, it is now, let's go There is no looking back, time to spread those wings and fly This is it; this is now your moment of do, or die These emotions you are about to...

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in snail-pace schizoid Land of the Dying they sometimes bake schnapps biscuits then throw them to black cat eyeing angels appear asking “what about fiscus ?” they reply “we care not, passings near roof leaks, grass not so glitter green new shoots will bloom, Shangri-La we hear!” “all acts account to day of goodbyes, clean fix broken...

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The land is soaked in blood and tears the hate is very old Like all the ancient stories in the Holy Bible told Each vows to kill the other asks their God to make it so Their vengeance masked as prayers consume the Holy Land of woe No leaders can convince them their hate like a disease There is no cure for this old...

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Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. It's a way of understanding it. Lloyd Alexander Starlight shown on the WHIMSY Island. So the well-equipped yacht berthed quietly Into the small harbour. Afar, Greg saw a small inn. It was in total darkness. Probably a total outage. He decided to go to...

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I drifted into a reverie, where space time unraveled into a vivid dream. I was a child again, a butterfly. Reveling in the hallucination and visualization only a child's imagination, can twist, into a whimsy fantasy. In a daydream, on a hot lazy afternoon, there I was, holding hands with Alice, of Wonderland fame. She was sipping 'drink me' slurps to re-size...

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## 1. A morning cloaked in guile arrives, It breathes upon my land, no light, This realm now bound in frost's cold curse, Where hearts are held in icy night. ## 2. The spirits of the blameless weep, Their muted cries pierce through the air, For sins they never chose to bear— Their names erased beyond repair. ## 3. With honeyed kiss and lullaby, The traitor dawn...

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Land Phosphorus packed Cascade slithers down Myriad of green Space Lunar Light Luminous Nebula Serpentine Discover...

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Hush now, the hills lean close in, cradling the town in green-field arms. The houses huddle, blinking from night lit rooms, beneath a dawn that warns shepherds of storms, As I lay me down in the lay of land I love. This is the land that knew me, before it had my name, before it lay me down, to sleep in lay...

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like a heavy cloak darkness covers all the land nothing moves or breathes ...

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eds are deadly dangerous more people die there no matter young or old than anywhere else in the whole wide world (or so I've been told) and if it's not too late someone should legislate to outlaw and recall them all then instead we'll sleep on the floor so before you go up the wooden hills to Bedforshire and wend your weary way to the land of Nod if you...

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I remember the land and its people, and I am concerned about the limitations of their mentality. I remember the dead and how the trees outlast them. I hear the language of the trees—the whispering sound of freedom and the resilience of human life, supported by the generosity of a mature land. The wasteland we leave...

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The leather tethers kept loosening. I had to pull at them until they dug into your body binding you to a rocking cross. It was all for nothing you died snapping at unseen knives, arching up, bending time into frozen waves. You once said you were Irish/Scots, Appalachian. You called yourself: Applachan. Sinewy girl --- wiry poppy stems in you, and engine oil to soften tenacious roots. The fever...

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