Long American history Poems
Long American history Poems. Below are the most popular long American history by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long American history poems by poem length and keyword.
I'd say it was late Spring or early Fall in 1954, a quiet time
in American history; and Mr. Eisenhower was The President.
There was a sweet and kind teacher hard at work,
teaching kindergartners how to figure, read, and write.
She's also teaching them fair play and how to do what's right.
No one seems to be interested in picking a fight with The Lord's
Prayer or The Golden Rule. No one is opposed to the reading of The Ten Commandments or The 23rd Psalm being read in public schools. Why,
there's a Bible on her desk. There's a little boy playing with cars and trucks in the big sandbox, and later that evening, I saw him on a stage in a play with several other kids as they were singing, 'twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are'. The next day, he was on the playground having the time of his life swinging high and seesawing. He and all the boys and girls were jumping on and off the merry-go-round and never grew tired of running and playing hide and seek. Every second of play is treasured, recess being so very brief. That old fashioned cowbell rings dutifully every morning, signaling class time. Several hours later, it was lunch time followed by a recess of fun time. I saw little girls 'jumping rope' or playing 'hide and seek' as the little boys busied themselves playing 'marbles', 'softball' or 'pop whip'. Sitruc, the little boy I referred to earlier, attended this little school about two years before it burned down, and he had to be schooled temporarily at a little church in the same little community. He was now in the first grade and loved playing 'pop whip'. As usual, Sitruc was at the end of the line, being held very tightly by an older boy, lest he being airborne, gets thrown across the grassy green campus grounds and get severely injured. Before long, the old cowbell begins to ring and kids start their trot for the afternoon classes.
020821PS
In the land of sun and sand,
Where the world burns hot and bright,
Stands a man with skin of onyx,
A black man, a noble sight.
He walks with purpose and power,
His stride firm and unyielding,
For he knows the weight of history,
And the challenges of his being.
Through the centuries of oppression,
His people have persevered,
From the chains of slavery,
To the fight for civil rights revered.
But this man is not just a symbol,
Of the struggle and the pain,
He's a person with a story,
And a heart that beats the same.
He loves, he dreams, he creates,
With a passion and a fire,
And though the world may try to break him,
He stands tall, his spirit higher.
For he is more than just his color,
More than the stereotypes that bind,
He is a son, a brother, a father,
A man with a brilliant mind.
So let us celebrate this black man,
And all the beauty he brings,
For in his strength and in his love,
Our world is truly enriched.
Birth of a Nation, Revisited.
Yo, In this birthing of new imagination,
Competitive flows stifle my creativity,
But in the inertia of lifting my sisters,
I am catapulted to new day and night dreams of joy,
My budget is tight cause’ I care more about poverty than riches,
And my freestyle flow is kinda weak, cause I’m a geek from the suburbs,
But God loves me still the same,
Tupac, Breed, Clapton, Mayard, prophets spanning generations,
Barak, a new kind of king that trades his crown for true democracy,
Democrats prayin’, Yo that’s a new day dawning,
Cause now its all over,
Cause when progressives start seekin’ the Divine,
That’s the whole code cracked,
Yo this path I walk is tired,
Yo this path I walk is tumultuous,
But when I see Barak steppin’ out of shells of racist idolatry and uniting a nation,
Then I know I chose correctly.
Yo this path I walk is tired,
Yo this path I walk is tumultuous,
But when I see apostles speekin’ of justice, mercy, and faith instead of straining
over gnats of imposed sexuality, and swallowing camels of foreign fears,
Then tears flow, and I know its all worth it baby!!
Just me and Jesus, Just you and Jesus, Praisin’, Worshippin’, and putting up
free swim centers in the projects,
What a Nation!
Not quite yet, but in the makin’
I can’t quite taste it, but I can see it,
And seeing is the beginning.
Yo can it be, I ask you?
Can it be, that we be the first Rome to voluntary step off its thrown of hubris,
To step off its thrown of unjust domination,
Economic silos destroying other folks sense of belonging,
And say to the World, “Yo God loves us, However you conceive of her, she loves
us, and that’s enough, so let’s party!!”
i love my skin. God has blessed me. from the beginning of time, my skin has been seen as a weapon. my skin has been seen as a curse. my skin has been seen without even looking. the world was quick to judge and belittled my people to nothing. no voting rights. no human rights. men go work! women go produce! both tie my shoe! move wrong, get whipped. breathe wrong, ladies have to dip. bend down, bend over. bore children from a master who holds not just the whip but the pen to free and deliver. deliver to freedom or try to escape. harriet tubman tried but not many relate. some got stuck, some got free. some are in the ocean, from where the middle passage had to be. my skin i love. my skin i am unashamed of. we matter. we are loved. happy black history, those below and above.
Over 400 years ago, the arrival of 20 or more enslaved Africans are called ‘The Beginning of USA Slavery', which are much more complex than that.
We were kidnapped from Angola, forced on a Portuguese ship, tied from head to toes, Europeans called "The New World"—stolen from that ship,
English pirates confrontation on Mexico coast 20 or more,
“Odd *******” landed at the Point Comfort 1619, English settlement would become Virginia.
Injured defenseless, don’t know what to do; would you?
Duly noted, colony’s secretary, famous as the widower of Native American Pocahontas.
The horror of the journey began with 350 slaves, onboard “The San Juan Bautista",
One of terror, hunger, death even before the piracy begins,
Half would die Portuguese ship, some of millions would perish,
Middle Passage, 1600s to 1800s, before the docked near Veracruz,
Overboard they would go, feeding the sharks valuable no more.
2019 anniversary of the slaves, arrival in the USA must be observed,
No more shall it be paying tribute to perseverance and resilience,
African-American History Commission, Virginia’s 2019 Commemoration, American Evolution,
States—Nations—history must remember that we are Americans,
Complexity as it may be for some to know we are here to stay.
The death winter came and was cold
With white on the purple mountain
The Tiwahe’, the Standing Rock People
Begged for warm fires from Iktinie the Sun Spirit
Our mouths were hungry and bodies were weak
Iya’ the Snow Monster had taken us farther to the south
To follow Capa the Beaver Spirit
A long journey into early winter’s night
For there was much labor to keep warm in our Thipi’
Our mouths were hungry and bodies were weak
When Iwoblu the Winter Storm whispered his cold story
To the Aicita, the Ghost Messenger
She tricked Mathohota the Grizzly Spirit with her wailing
To haunt the sky with growling winds
The Wahupakoza escaped on icy feathers
Stirring the winds with their flight of fears
And within the SunOthi’ earth dens, the wolves
Sungmanitu’ howled with their starvation
The stone figured buffalo,Wankan Tanka’s blood was cursed
With ice and their coats were bitten with Heyumka
Mothers were caged in the hard frost, while their calves fell and died
Our mouths were hungry and bodies were weak
Gleska Wowayazan, the spotted sickness, harvested our souls
We were prisoners of Wichat A’ the sickness that takes all
Our boldest warriors, Zuya Whichsa’ were taken from us
To follow the Wanagi’, the spirit of departed human beings
Far to the Milky Way to stand before Hihankara’ the judge of souls
We mourned and chanted for the loss of our children Wasigla’!
And the People of Standing Rock wept AcheyA’ in dreams
Of earth warmth and filled bellies of mothers and children
Our mouths were hungry and bodies were weak
It was the last winter of the ghost road
I am White Buffalo Calf Woman,
I am the keeper of words and I tell you now so that you will know
Edited reposted
April 27, 2022
Theme: Life
wing my loss) if grim reaper
came for das scribe as skew
ward poem attempted to infer, now
circling back to your queue
ped ditty linkedin with aforementioned
poppycock poo poo
merely a hypothetical premise aye drew
if my unexpected demise took place
husbanding half a motley crue
(ideally such unexpected tragedy
ideally tubby quick and painless)
without war ning, via internal bombardier
in tandem with luft waffe.
Sorry for rather somber tone -
but this psychological state
of yo dough less bro
affected by his reading,
autobiography coup (now, no idea titled tract)
d’état of Abraham Lincoln -
the author drew
my rapt attention (american history
strong interest) – whereby
past, present n near fee var few
chore wrenched with both
prized progeny persevering
(as they should) a path to hew
of their own making,
which steps toward emancipation
(worthy proclamation) for gentile or Jew,
these kindred (chromosomal byproducts
from countless chanced
genetic dice throws)
perhaps n uncle or aunt a bit loo
knee, perchance dna housed new
bile queen of the nile,
where (August) Caesar
didst hotly pursue
anyway....yes, lives of
deux darling daughters
un wii ting lee triggered flashback,
when self worth equaled zero
tricked, replayed, and generated
mine horror silent film
to rewind at nadir total fall out,
when anorexia nervosa did stew
underscore ring (four decades plus…) true
value of this moment colliding
with elapsing squandered
youth in rear view
mirror, unseen only
by ma doppelganger,
I now close with whew!
I'm still smarting from the Sixers devastating victory a few weeks ago.
It been raining the last two days, but today it isn't, just cold.
You know, just when you think it's in the bag, you then realize
that you threw that bag out, last week.
But the Sixers, they had it in the bag.
Finally! We would get the recognition that we so well deserved.
For this was not just any consecutive lose record. No. Not some
basketball record, or some baseball record from some inept
team in 1943. No, this was "the" consecutive loss record
for all major professional sports teams in modern day American history!
The grand daddy of them all. And It's was ours. In the bag!
All we had to do was lose.
I mean come on, we lost 26 games in tying this thing.
Surely we can lose just one more. I mean, what's one more?
After losing 26, we all just thought it was in the bag.
I mean really, what could go right?
I even had a group of fellow dejected Philly sports fans, and we Face booked
a kind of group event. I think each one of us watched our first Sixers game
that night in finally getting to witness some type of achievement.
And they(excuse me)won. 26 loses in a row, the record all tied up,
all but in the bag and they go out and win.
And yet, even though it put a real damper the Rocky statue luncheon,
every one still showed up. And on that day, that group of nine dejected fans,
came to a wonderful and I feel beautiful conclusion. And I paraphrase,
'It's just as good to be tied with the biggest loser,
as it would be to actually be the biggest loser."
Like, actually have something to hang on your mantle.
So I just want to thank the Sixers. What a ride it was guys. So close, so close,
and yet so far away. Don't let winning eat away at your propensity be horrendous!
Hang in there and one day that record WILL BE OURS... King of the World!
Black History is Our history
Black History is American history
Black History is World history
Black History is The history
Black History IS History
Although it is celebrated in February, Black history is not just a month, it is every day history.
Black History is a reflection of the segregation and discrimination and the sacrifices and struggles for our freedom for justice and equality.
It reflects how far we have come, from where we were to where we are.
Black History is History. It is written by “We the People,” and in case you didn’t know, we are part of the “We.” Our story matters and our ancestors stories matter.
So no matter how much they want to have “selective memory” and try to dismantle or impose restrictions, take away fundings, or pick, choose or limit how much (if any) is being taught about Black History, it is our job as parents, grandparents, leaders and people to teach our children, nephews, cousins, friends and others about “Our” history.
Black History is History and it’s not just up to the teachers to tell our history. With that being said, parents, Be the change! Teach them at home, individual, in group settings… take them on field trips to museums, monuments, parks, take them on a bus ride, show them videos and books… By doing so, we are allowing the history (our history) of our civil rights leaders and ancestors to be remembered as their sacrifices for our freedom was not in vain.
Black History was then, is now and will forever be a part of history.
It sucks...
The batteries in my mouse are dead and abused
the charge expelled from too much random use,
I should ,I guess
be more grateful of that which with I'm blessed.
It sucks...
The corn and sunflowers once tall and beautiful
lay on the ground pressed down by heat and rain
while bills arrive each and every day still dutiful
as the checkbook balance gets lower than its gain.
It sucks...
The squirrels took a bite out of all my tomatoes,
and the squash rot draws the flies
the carrots and radishes hide like potatoes
what did I do wrong and why?
It sucks...
The bees buzz doesn't come to flower anymore.
the butterflies flit and flutter hurriedly away
standing looking out the back door
the neighborhood gets more quiet every day.
It sucks...
The rose petals fall and not a bud remains
the baby birds have all flown the nests
when winds and clouds shed torrential rains
as every heart tries to handle the Covid tests.
It sucks...
Summer burning, humidity unbearable
and sequestered here at home
marketers call on the phone hysterical
and tv is the same old movies while I'm home alone.
It sucks...
Being young and foolish, taking too long to grow,
getting old comes too fast and time grows shorter in truth,
everything just sucks you well know
even children long to go back to school forsooth.
It sucks ...
The man up on the hill is such a fool
never recognizing anyone else's need
it sucks that he isn't very well schooled
as American history is on its knees and bleeds,
Random Thoughts on things that suck
- big time
for Kai Michael Neumann's contest
It Sucks