Long America Poems
Long America Poems. Below are the most popular long America by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long America poems by poem length and keyword.
Fierce fighting raged, but surprise was gone,
the Americans rallied and pushed hard,
the Indians fell back, out of the ravine,
the patriots driving them that far.
Hand-to-hand combat broke out brutally,
with knives, clubs, and rifle-stocks,
Iroquois would wait until patriots fired,
then while they reloaded, charge with tomahawk.
Herkimer saw his people being killed,
so he ordered them all to pair off,
one man would fire, the other would load,
now It was the Indians who felt sharp loss.
The killing continued, on through to morn,
until a thunder storm broke over the field,
the fighting quieted but neither side budged,
neither side put down powder or steel.
But as the storm passed, back at Stanwix,
the garrison heard of Herkimer’s plight,
they charged out into the near empty camps,
putting the few British still there to flight.
They plundered and pillage all that they could,
ransacking and stealing their supplies,
when word reached the battle, the Indians turned,
now it was their turn to be surprised.
The broke from the field, ran for the camps,
but when they arrived they saw it was too late,
the garrison had retreated back to the fort,
with their spoils behind a barred gate.
At Oriskany, Herkimer held the field,
so by the standards of the day he had won,
but neither side had gained that much from it,
despite all the bloody work that was done.
The patriots were too savaged to continue on,
to damaged to hope to lift the siege,
they retreat back east, to Fort Dayton,
to see to their wounds and their needs.
St. Leger found himself in a terrible spot,
supplies dwindling, his camp ransacked,
to make matters worse, mad Indian allies
started slinking off, not to come back.
Not long after another relief column,
led by a general who’s name won’t be said,
marched for Stanwix, convincing the Brits
they had little chance of not being bested.
St. Leger ordered his forces to retreat,
back to Canada his troops did go,
and the British plan to split the colonies
suffered from its first heavy blow.
Herkimer didn’t live to see that day,
his wound quickly became infected,
when the time came to amputate his leg,
it was botched up, and quite freely bled.
At least the brave man got to die in his home,
and his name is recalled in glory,
he remains a hero in upstate New York,
for his courage at Oriskany.
“It's not that we cant see the solution; it's that we cant see the problem” - G.K. Chesterton
It's all so crazy
The perception of our society
Are we blind; are we ignorant?
Perhaps what will be, will be
It's not that we can’t see the solution
It seems so obvious - so clear
But when you look beneath the surface
The reality - I think that's what we really fear
We think that food is a problem
With obesity at an all time high
The truth - obesity Is a symptom
Yet, we continually close our eyes
Over half of America
Is over weight or obese
It's the leading cause of preventable deaths
However; it's not what we eat
It's what's eating us
During our days and our nights
Its the voice in our head
That tells us things aren't quite right
Food doesn't kill people
It's similar to gun control
30,000 violent deaths per year
I bet here's a fact you don't know
Of the 30,000 violent deaths
18,000 are suicides
You're right - guns do kill people
But we never ask people why they want to die
The solutions may seem clear
But stress, anxiety, and fear still remains
It's not food or the guns
That elicit the majority of life's pain
So let's have a drink
That will help us to relax and unwind
Here, have another
It's a sophisticated red wine
According to a National Survey
86 percent reportedly drink
26 percent binge
That's a lot don't you think?
An estimated 88,000 people
Die from alcohol-related causes per year
It's the third leading preventable cause of death in the United States
The solution? - address, don't try to drink away what you fear
So what's the real problem?
Here, I'll take the sacrificial dive
I'll use logic and reason
A method we use in other areas of our lives
It's not eating or drinking
That’s causing our pain
In modernity
It's the mental health of our brain
It's what we value
It's who we choose to idolize
It's the trivially matters
The distorted sense of self we despise
When we learn to face facts
Prioritize what we do
When we value virtue
Compassion manifest - love will carry us through
We’ll choose take smaller bites
Have one drink to unwind
We’ll have a gun for protection
Moderation - the Golden rule still applies
It's not that we can’t see the problem
It’s that we won't look at the disease
The solution?
Address mental health - please
April 6 Wagontire, Oregon
1973
In 1973, I went on a road trip
With my father
We left Berkeley to go to Yakima
Where my father had a summer cabin
He was a college professor
And had July and August off
And we spent the summers
Every summer from 1968 to 1978
Our whole dysfunctional family
Our annual road trip to hell and back
As we did not get along at all
We decided to drive through Eastern Oregon
Just my father and me
Just for the hell of it
The rest of the family was already there
My father and I shared a travel lust
One of the few things we shared
This was one of our best trips
We got along
Which was unusual
Normally our relationship
Was fraught
As we were so different
We left Klamath Falls
A real nothing burg in those days
And headed east along highway 395
As we entered the desert of eastern Oregon
We entered a different world
High mountain dessert
Almost no one on the road
Then we saw the sign
Wagontire Oregon
100 miles ahead
99 miles ahead
98 miles ahead
We counted down the signs
Miles after miles
As we drove into the gathering dusk
We speculated that Wagontire
Must be a giant truck stop
In the middle of no where
We pulled into the town
Nothing there but a gas station
Motel and café
We decided to stop
Last gas for 100 miles
According to the highway signs
In the morning
We chatted with the owner
He was the sheriff, the fire chief
The owner of the motel, gas station
The only business in town
And the only place open
For one hundred miles
I noticed a highway sign outside
Welcome to Wagontire, Oregon
Population 2 ½ humans 10 dogs, 50.000 sheep
I asked the Sherriff
Say who is the ½ human?
My idiot son!
And we left.
200 miles later
We finally left Eastern Oregon
2016
In 2016 my wife and I drove through Eastern Oregon
As part of our epic cross country trip
10,000 miles
31 states in three months
On the way from Medford to Yellowstone
We drove along highway 395
The signs for Wagontire was gone
And we drove through the town
The motel was abandoned
Nothing there at all
And that sign was gone too
I said I suppose the idiot son
Never took over the business
And we speculated about Wagontire
And all other nothing burgs
We drove through that summer
Heart of Trump’s America
True fly over country
Black Lives Matter is a statement of love not statement of hate
So, please erase the confusion from your face
But they can't hear because they're too busy spraying mace in my face
They keep yelling: s who needs them, nigga please, black boy black girl you don't belong
Today I read murder s on a random wall
Someone tried to spray paint over it, but the hate was still legible
They try to sweep racism under the rug, but the people living in that house still keep the hate at their side at all times
Taking lives at all times, so much so it has become a full-time job, and they love overtime
Humans are not animals but sometimes I wish black people had 9 lives like a cat
Then maybe one of those we could live out who we were meant to be
Or maybe we could be a dog, you heard the cops call us treats,
Right?
Justice where has it gone, people will say it's just the times
But now it's 2020 and Justice is more like just them all the time
It's not fair, it's not right, it's not love, and to everyone who gets hurt standing up for the air being sucked out of our bodies continue to stay ten toes down
Because we is a selfish term in America
Freedom is a selective term in America
The grey line takes up most of the space in America
Right is looked at as wrong in America, and some still choose to ignore the true colors of America
Red is my blood stolen from the boys in blue, that sadly can be defined as a white American most of the time
The red should really symbolize the fire raging from this hell on earth
That makes the world blue, well some of us
White culture eating white cake from the recipes of slaves
Wanting to experience different things
Wanting to participate in our lifestyle
Stealing traditions
Without the ritualistic red dot constantly pointed at their back
But when a black person wants more for themselves, they have to start with a wall against their back
While carrying the cross their ancestors hung from
While trying to make change, positive change should not be as hard as looking for a dropped charge
Awareness and action is the key, but there are many doors to unlock until Justice can start to have the appearance of a just world
We can be more, we can do better, when we start to believe that no one is better
We are all equals, this is not algebra its addition
love + human=unity not hate, it's simple
p.s. I'm still praying...
Ladies and gentlemen,
Let’s take a moment to reflect on what happened in Venezuela. In the blink of an eye, everyone became a **multimillionaire**—not because the economy was thriving, but because hyperinflation piled up so much worthless money, people could barely carry it. Piles of cash with no real value. It’s a harsh reminder that money itself is not an asset if it can be manipulated to the point of collapse.
So, **where do you put your money?** This is the burning question in today’s uncertain economic climate. We’ve seen trillions wiped out of the stock market, and people are starting to worry. With central banks printing money and stock markets artificially inflated, where do you go to preserve your wealth? What is truly an **asset**?
An asset is something that holds value over time. But to understand how long your asset will last, you need to know two things: its value and the cost to maintain it. The reality is, if you’re holding onto an asset that requires too much upkeep, or worse—its value is tied to a depreciating currency—its lifespan will be cut short.
**Look at what’s happening right now.** The stock market, once soaring, is starting to falter. The markets are high, but we all know the **Feds** are coming. The next **FOMC** meeting will likely bring changes, and many are anticipating interest rates to be cut. We’ve already seen **50 bps points** pinned from previous CPI data, but the big question remains—what’s going to happen with rising geopolitical tensions in the **Middle East**, upcoming elections, and Japan’s interest rates, which have been low for so long?
This brings me to a crucial point: the **acquisition of the right assets.** In uncertain times like these, it’s not about following the herd into the stock market or real estate. It’s about finding assets that will **survive and thrive**. And I believe we’re going to start seeing a shift. We might witness **America considering Bitcoin** as a part of its reserve. Think about it: decentralized, free from the manipulation of central banks, and capped in supply.
Ladies and gentlemen, as we navigate this economic landscape, remember: **it’s not about chasing inflated markets or relying on printed money**. It’s about securing assets that have true value and can withstand the tests of time and turmoil. The future belongs to those who understand this fundamental truth.
Form:
Warm your heart with what’s left of summer, warm your heart and put on a thick skin for winter, open all the resorts and hotel all over the town and fill them with tourist where destiny is bound.
Fire and storms will come, twister, tornados, typhoon, hurricane, cyclone will take you up to the moon and when the earthquake levels everything to the ground you can find solace on the other side of the town. When the fires burn the hill, just look up to the skies and keep still, it is purifying the land so the next generation can sing a happy song.
Warm your heart with what is left of the summer, warm your heart and dine with me in winter. I will give you discount on every suite and I will give you half price for a table for two to romance in the breeze. Get the whole family and come and have some summer fun life goes on for the battle that is not yet won.
Many businesses are down and total devastation is left in the town but somewhere in the middle of the ruins, there is hope. You can clear away a spot, set up a mobile kitchen, an entertainment corners and bring the caterers in.
The tourist bus will arrive in your town and they will greet you without a frown, the ships will come too and you will have business for the rest of the year so don’t fear.
Warm your heart with what is left of the summer get your friends and family and join me for dinner, Aunt Jane cannot come because her grieving is long,
She cannot get over the loss of her entire family. Three boys, a husband and four dogs perish in the fire. She was away when the fire started; she is inconsolable and she is vulnerable so we visit her from time to time to tell her that life is divine. She will always have a seat at this table.
Warm your heart with what is left of the summer and let’s go shopping, before winter, we will get something’s from the gardens store because we are going to do a big barbecue outdoor.
You must get some household gift, kitchen counter and table items. You will go to the electronic store and buy many things galore; business is very slow so you will bring some people in the town and have blowout sale all year round.
Warm your heart with what’s left of the summer, take a trip to Japan, China or America, just let it all go and get ready for the big show.
Winter is around the corner so enjoy what is left of the summer; just warm your heart.
I promise I would be a good girl when I go out into the world, I promise to stay out of trouble and return home in a hurry. I promised never to play in the street or walk barefoot, I promise I would stay in school and complete the semester and when the climate changed, I promise to graduate and study at the university.
It’s seems like yesterday when I utter such word when I was at play. I was thirteen and you were thirty-three and I always looked up to thee. You have always encouraged me to hold my head high and never look into ground that hold the dust of shame to its core, and the molten lava spewing through the hole and entering the spot where the disgraced soldier, conceptualize the plot.
I can still hear those words ringing in my ears as I walk the path that everyone fears, it is the moment of truth that is embedded in my youth and the ordeal I encountered on life’s journey comes back to remind me.
I could tell from the start that you are a heart breaker and the season come to remind me that the fault is within me and love is my destiny; when the autumn is done and winter comes along and the snow starts falling, it will fill the lakes and the trees, the ocean and sea and you will come and dance with me.
We will do the river dance on the roof and do the fire dance in a circle, then we will roll in the snow and touch each other dignity, and Boston and Richmond will come alive, Baltimore and Washington DC will take the dive, but New York and Philadelphia will ride out the snowstorm.
It seems like yesterday the climate changed and the clouds start fading away. I stood on those very steps and recited the whole chapter, I stood on that step and grasp every living character, I remember how you cast your eyeballs at me and how the mountain shook beneath the sea when you said, “will you marry me?”
“I am only thirteen, “she said, and I cannot lie in that big bed, “Yes I will marry you,” she replied, she held breath for a while and look on every side and you were still standing looking at her; then a gust of wind came, and you suddenly disappeared, and I stood on the step gazing at the wind.
The daughter's promise was fulfilled, and they walk boldly up the hill after thirty-three years in the making the universe had their blessing, the evidence is in the wind and you can hear it when you are still, winter is chiming in.
A fairyland fable is a magic table floating around but nit with a rallying cry. That is purely reserved for several synchronised cruise ships whose sunbathing missions thwart many a delivery driver. It is with great interest that an interest is neither a monetary aim at a bank or an inked out financial score singing a palate of possibilities. So go call the cat then. Go on. Meow meow. Dinner time. There you go. Fresh tuna is very scared now. Oh dear. And all the little flakes hard at work minced flesh in factories never really has a rest does it? Dilapidated dog during digging. And a great big wish from a ten thousand kilo cake is a celebrated glow in an outer solar sphere. Clap them all. Many cakes many spheres. Loud claps. And shouting at the mail is equivalent to eating beans on toast at several hundred miles an hour upside down in a bucket. It is in many weathers that a tall lanky snail circles a circuit in a rally car. Very very fast. Well done. There is a crown and a bursting champagne bottle whose antics on the plane were quite rude and non productive. However showering the podium with released bubble is quite a feat of engineering and requires precision mathematics too. So never ever become intoxicated if holding a compass, a text book, six lined sheets of paper, ten pencils and an organic cheeseburger with salad. Marketing making money moguls merry. And the swimming curry is out for the day in the lake occasionally resting on a Papadopoulos papadum boat who whips a papaya to create a cocktail. How rather quaint that is isn't it? How many radiuses are there in a pear? And how many tents can be made from a single pair of tights? These are highly significant questions to ask at a time when the antipepiscides are at the protest. Rioting. And tootling along the lane came a little green car whose plan was ever only to drink copious amounts of tea at the inn of then. Saviour not a sanctified secretion of a sweet set of stagnant striped silk. And enter no password of hi dee hi on a billboard for frames are allowing much to pass by over the cliffs. So watch out if carrying ten cars, a wobbly bus, and a twelfth century castle for it is the marksman who are marking a book from a diocese, a school and a university of agha banks. Couple that then. Great. Hahaha fantasy fig floating around hahaha banana bandana bringing bee balancing. Xxxxx metropolitans z
Form:
the Bus – Travels Through America’s Underbelly
I am a bus rider
That makes me unusual
For a white male
From an upper middle class family
Our people are not bus riders
Though some are subway riders
Bus riders are other people
The poor, minorities, immigrants
People who don’t drive
Because they are blind
Or have a DUI
And in my case
I don’t drive
Because I have bad vision
And bad coordination
Just never got the hang
Of the whole driving thing
Fortunately for me
My wife does the driving
But I still take the bus
From time to time
I rode the AC buses in Berkeley
As a child
Line 67, line 51, line 43 F bus
Rode them long before BART came along
And afterwards as well
As an adult seldom rode the bus
But when I did so
I was always impressed
By the sheer diversity
Of the bus riding property
Hundreds of languages
All sorts of sexual orientation
Some were white
Most were not
Most of my fellow passengers
Were nice enough
Some were friendly
And some were lost
In their own thoughts
And a few
Were scary looking dudes
With the look
Of someone who had done time
And were capable of more violence
I also rode the bus
In Seattle as a graduate student
A lot of fellow UW students
And the usual immigrants
Minorities etc
And some white people
Commuting
And in DC
Over the years
I rode a lot of buses
Mostly to and from the metro
But I got to know
And love the DC buses as well
I also took the greyhound bus
Across the country
Several times over the years
All over the U.S.
From Bay Area to Stockton
From Bay Area to Clear Lake
From Bay area to NYC
NYC to DC
All over the USA
Taking the Greyhound
Was always an an adventure
Met a lot of interesting people
As people on long distant bus rides
Tend to open up and talk
To pass the time away
Overseas I took the bus
All over
In India, in Barbados
In Spain and in Korea
The Korean buses
For many years
Were difficult for foreign visitors
As the signs were all in Korean
Most have signs
Now in English, Chinese and Korean
And are much more foreigner friendly
Riding the bus
In America
Allows one access
To the underbelly of American society
The poor, the marginalized
The immigrant communities
That many middle-class white people
Just never see
And for that reason
I am glad
That I am a bus rider
Carmena was born in Bolivia
but left that place at seventeen,
after three years of waiting for the chance
to live out an American dream.
When her folks finally got their green cards
they moved up into old Santa Fe,
Carmena finished out her high school years
picking up on all American ways.
She’d known some English before she had come,
but her vocab expanded real quick,
immersed in the tongue every day
her accent softened and became less thick.
This helped a lot in her father’s new shop,
he bought a gas station in a franchise,
Carmena waited on all walks of life,
and the experience opened her eyes.
She’d chat with truckers and travelers
from all over the fifty great states,
lefty Californians, southern good-ol’ boys,
northern Yankees and Texans hauling steaks.
Mid-westerners who were so crazy nice,
New Yorkers who always sounded pissed off,
good-natured rednecks looking for more beer,
even some Yoopers with their funny talk.
Learned more of her new home on that roadside
then she did in any public school,
what would divide and what would unite,
but the one thing that really stuck her as cool
was that Americans, the better ones,
made everything subservient to choice.
Culture and skin, ethnicity and faith,
you had the freedom to ignore and avoid.
These facts struck her as how things should be,
had not every person a claim to these rights?
Here force of law was meant to make free
people to be the driving force in their lives.
And best of all, she heard all sides of things,
good for thought, both the grease and gourmet,
when seven years passed, and she took that oath,
she became American in so many ways.
But then something happened she didn’t expect,
it came about in an election year,
talking with her friend Sue about the vote
she was greeted with anger and fear.
Carmena was confused,"Why the harsh look?
I was just sharing the thoughts on my mind.
I believe in gun rights, and low taxes,
My father’s shop has been having a time—”
Sue interrupted,”Do you hate yourself?!
Don’t you know that you’re a Hispanic?
You’re betraying your own kind, voting this way,
colored people should vote Democratic!”
Carmena was stunned, struggled to reply,
“But I see nothing good in their beliefs.”
Sue just fumed,”You’re a damn race-traitor,
or brain-washed by fascist enemies!”
CONCLUDES IN PART II