Long Birthplace Poems
Long Birthplace Poems. Below are the most popular long Birthplace by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Birthplace poems by poem length and keyword.
Inspired By Red Storm
We’re living in a world where we are dying to survive
Daily watching the news where people are killing to stay alive
Minium wages are leaving more people selling drugs
And single mothers are raising less men to love
Because so many sons are growing up without the family’s head
Forcing them to die before their dead
We living in world
Where fathers like me are scared to raise a girl
Knowing that we can’t be with them every second of the way
Making sure they do as we do, not just what we say
This is a society, where you have to die for what you believe
Then have others believe in the same things you died for
A society where we believe what they say, rather than what they do
Not understanding these rap lyrics are brainwashing you
See they sugarcoat lies convincing youth
That every word they speak 100% truth
We need to take back these streets
Replacing rap with spoken word on beats
Instill positive messages in the hearts of the kids
Convincing them they must not do what we did
Somewhere or by somebody the ball was fumbled
Forcing us poets to find a new ways to rumble
I’m dying to survive daily you hear me
But I will spread this spoken word through this poetry
Until my body is covered with dirt and I’m laying in my casket
I’ll just continue to be the poetry bunny carrying raw truth as eggs in my basket
Everyday I pick up my pen and paper and began to write
I realize even after the death of me this war, people will continue to fight
So am I dying to live or am I living to die
I’ll never know but one thing is certain I dying to try
Trying to paint that picture you can’t overlook
Trying to speak the words you can’t just write in a book
I'm trying to reach every one, who they said was lost in the first place
Dying to survive to take back my birthplace
As Black Ice said, "we were so wrongfully mounted on" years before my time
Trying to be that eye watching dog, dying to lead the blind
I see our people have been ready for change
So much they are killing for change
Forcing the innocent to die for their change
Now how many are willing to carry this cross with me, to force people to change
Or will our generations to come still be dying to survive
Surviving barely enough, just to say they’re not dead, and they’re still alive
Yes like Redstorm says we are dying 2 survive!
People of the blue hill arrowhead new inroads settled the plum-rock if they would have known the thirteen crystal skulls would sing of disease prayer towns taken for granite People's Republic Taxachusett old colony pilgrim bay Make It Yours; The Spirit of America By the sword we seek peace, but peace only under liberty Large waters people of the three fires living in peace the Cadillac’s bristling hairs of fur trade stir the fox seven years of war and more expanding breaking treatise Out of many, one I will defend everyone wants the land great lake wolverine mitten Winter Water Wonderland World's Motor Capital America's High Five Great Lakes, Great Times; More To See If you seek a pleasant peninsula, look about you Land of rolling cloudy water dropping milk into water friends of the free people forced into smaller lands where crop failure a winters starvation red tape no credit for food If they're hungry, let them eat grass friends at war over three hundred warriors No attorneys or witness were allowed as a defense for the accused, and many were convicted in less than five minutes but Sheridan's, Custer’s and Baker’s plan was a dawn attack on a village in heavy snow, when most of the Indians would be sleeping or huddling inside to keep warm. It was a strategy he had employed before Explore Land of 10,000 Lakes Bread and Butter north Vikings north star Sky-Blue Waters * These called rebels heathen from underground before they had a flag forced to walk the trail of tears to be the red men from a land the government never paid then there is the slaves when cotton was king the Free people of color children of European men and enslaved women but half the population were slaves until KKK’s burning cross waving the guerrilla war flag calling it "the White Man’s Flag" as well as stating:“ As a people we are fighting to maintain the Heaven-ordained supremacy of the white man over the inferior or colored race; a white flag would thus be emblematical of our cause. ” Birthplace of America's Music magnolia bull bay the hospitality Feels Like Coming Home; The South's Warmest Welcome
I saw you welcome the sun's kiss in the tropical country.
I saw how you wished you had swings and the feeling of soaring through clear skies.
You dreamt of being your brother's kites.
I saw you cut the string and set them free.
You were so deeply young.
You wondered about rain and its touch.
You smelled of serenity and warm poetry.
I saw how you so proudly wore that red dress with white Daisies your mother bought you.
The chickens pecked at its flowers and you laughed.
I saw you running full speed into your father's arms.
He'd never let you fall.
You felt loved.
Like a child you had small doubts.
You are the girl that never chased after butterflies
You are frightened of cart wheels and shower drains.
As you grew older
You were afraid of deeper things.
Afraid to see your father's closet empty.
Your mother never hugged you.
I know you lived in a concrete home built on sand.
At times the walls came crashing and it left bruises.
You learned to resist,
Against all down falls and tumbling downs.
I saw you survive and it was beautiful.
Your father struck down on you with bone crushing words.
He no longer talks to you.
Your mother doesn't understands you
She doesn't know you.
Womanhood left you stranded.
I saw you drift into deep thought,
Disconnect from the earth.
Love felt like a different language.
You found refuge in a smile.
You put your hurt on paper.
You wanted the world to stop and admire your strengths.
You always run away.
Your voice tucked itself away in it's safe place.
Demons strangling your bravery.
You felt ashamed of becoming a woman
It took your father's love away
And like your mother he made you feel like you don't deserve respect.
You discovered womanhood in the dark. It is a cave of secrets. It is full of difficult strives and expectations. It is full of hardships and twisted inequity.
But somehow in the midst you found it breath taking.
You could never trade it.
It is the birthplace of strength and admiration.
It is the salt of the ocean and the colors of the sky.
Young girl
Learn to live unapologetically.
At times you will still find it difficult to accept your chipped edges
But you are a woman.
You'll find beauty in the scars and in everything that is broken.
Only you can tell the story.
Only you can change it.
Form:
Memorial Day – 2023... origin of holiday
Strong and brave men and women
gave their level best
crème de la crème strongest and bravest
leaving grieving significant others
with emotional agony within treasured chest
o'er the redoubt the the enemy did crest
where lovely bones of forebears for everest
dead bodies strewn across killing fields
hostility among warring factions finessed
forsook their lives eternal peace they rest
honored and revered succumbed mortal
electric kool-aid acid test
though I question if sacrificed life
worth a spit of land to wrest.
Now pardon ma faux pas
from dis po' pa try'n 2b sleek
line six starting here necessitated minor tweak
a reasonable rhyme rhyme,
where sense and sensibility weak
Officially called Decoration Day
proclaimed on 5 May 1868 by General John Logan
first observed on 30 May 1868
Waterloo N.Y. officially declared the birthplace
by President Lyndon Johnson in May 1966.
though seven and nine tenths score years
since (minor emendation regarding time frame
since original date I crafted poem)
Appomattox, a psychological balm
helped stitch frayed nation to calm
served as silent psalm
since bombardment at Fort Sumter qualm.
National holiday most adept
at uniting Civil War fallen soldiers
when fiercely armed as brother in arms crept
against opposing forces, which took
by surprise “enemies” or found inept
ill prepared troops with surprise mortal
blow which ambushed attackers leapt
mowing down valiant soldiers, thus
becoming slain grooms who eternally slept
sorrowful lamentable hymns from
widowed brides tears wept.
Cease fire that day
terminating internecine flay
o’er mounds of earth whence
bones o boys donned blue or gray
a day of remembrance for those
who died in our nation's service lay
celebrated this last Monday every May
one must know tis not about division
boot about reconciliation
and sacrifice brave heroes did pay,
the price of their lives for granted
freedoms enjoyed as american lee-way.
Forsooth, now we cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
February fourth nineteen ninety nine...
Signified birth of our second bundle of joy
whereby linkedin chromosomes betwixt
the missus and I intimately expressed ourselves
and me would alloy
courtesy meiosis the miracle
of human reproduction would deploy
distribution of genetic material.
Full term newborn occured
Suburban Mercy Hospital birthplace
(2701 Dekalb Pike, Norristown, PA 19401)
nine months after spermatozoon gave chase
to ovulating ova
(cue all around the mulberry bush...
pop goes the weasel),
the former latter did embrace,
where sonogram revealed inchoate face
courtesy yours truly burst into
singing amazing grace
adoring newborn exquisite
as finely wrought lace
a biological daughter frisson
snap, pop, and crackling within myspace
automatically, immediately, and ultimately
ingratiating special place
within mine heart of darkness.
No greater purposefulness
exists than to behold thee alive
bearing witness regarding thee
exiting thru birth canal ye did dip and dive.
Tethered to umbilical cord
analogous to astronaut
linkedin to mother ship
bobbing and weaving
once forced out the womb
thru metaphorical fjord
inconsolable offspring crying,
no matter papa implored
though nonreligious, nevertheless
ofttimes paradoxically invoking lord.
How quickly orbitz around the sun sped away
crawling and climbing in no time
atop highest ledge utmost goal without delay,
which might help explain
mine premature hairs of gray
and your dare devilish more frightening
than being hunted down courtesy janissary
(or so I imagine) above exaggeration, I may
beg poetic license and pray
ye anonymous reader enjoy
reading about our precocious Shay
(Hebrew for beautiful)
progeny, who though developmentally challenged
frequently ordinarily calm, cool and collected dada
uttering stronger epithet than oy vey.
Now, one score plus two years
astride planet earth ye attest
to mine wide eyed opened amazement
buzzfeeding, snapchatting and livingsocial
(shutterflying a pinteresting life)
more so than me at twenty two,
no matter I did detest
living under same roof as parents,
cuz yours truly felt like
most unwanted guest!
Palatial building of my Grandma, once in grandeur and pomp
ran full of kith -kin -cousins on extended family.
The staircase leading to roof with shiny banister
on polished brass coating attracted all visitors.
Any one ever met Grandma got charmed with her pleasing persona.
The residence was my birthplace.
So far, I remember on my visit, when I was four,
Grandma put a flyer under porch of the house.
Flyer was a dazzling golden satin cloth
designed and stitched by herself with sparkling red spangles
showing ‘Welcome Little Princess’
Onward whenever I visited, I saw that flyer in same gorgeous glow.
She died when I was seventeen.
And that was my last visit on her cremation.
After sixty years I revisited the decaying house.
Doors ,windows almost in broken condition:
Rusted creaky latch in gate.
Garden Once bloomed mostly in white fragrant flowers
spreading pellucid placid calmness,
now , no remnants left.
It is full of feral ferns, wild weeds and thorny bushes.
Most unexpected scenario : I was not shocked yet sighed.
Whelmed to see the dusty bland flyer still hanging
and showing ‘Welcome Little Princess’.
Spangles embedded on pale flyer still in shimmering sheen.
That four year old pretty princess now approaching eighty.
Sun rays are making network of shadows through cracked lattice .
The abandoned house greeted me
through zephyr whispering ‘ Welcome home.’
I felt warmth of the soul of empty house.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
I didn’t wipe off the flow but silently wept.
Guarded by towering hills on the East
And flanked by the Arabian Sea on the West
With its easterly shore of stretching sandy swell
That lulls the restless waves to sleep,
There is a land, my land of green vegetation
Nestled among palm trees and paddy fields.
Oh! I am in love with this narrow strip of land
Of rugged hills and meandering rivers
Of placid backwaters and blue skies
Of gibbering monkeys and singing cuckoos
What rich diversity you graciously provide
A land dotted with temples, churches and mosques
Where Hindus, Christians and Muslims cohabit
Where diversity flows through her arteries
And unity beats through her throbbing heart
Here souls dance to the timeless rhythm of music
Of diverse genres, vocal and instrumental
Classical and folk, sung either as solo or in groups
With the accompaniment of (2) 'veena',(3) 'tanpura' and violin
Their varying pitches beautifully synchronized!
In the serene dawns and dusky evenings
The atmosphere gets abuzz with the soft strains
Of (1) ‘Sopana Sangeetham’, the ethnic music of Kerala,
It comes floating from inside the Hindu shrines
Flooding soul’s enchanted shores,
And opening the floodgates of piety
In healing murmurs and throbbing notes,
As the symphony builds up its circuitous round
It descends down as a stream of blessing
Drenching devotees in its moistening sweetness
Like the drizzle of dew drops from heaven
Making hearts ride in the palanquin of joy!
May.21.2023
If your Birthplace- Country was a Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Anoucheka Gangabissoon
This poem is about Kerala, a small state in India, which is my birthplace and its geography and culture.
1.Sopana Sangeetham is a form of Indian Classical music, developed in the temples of Kerala. It is sung, sitting by the holy steps leading to the sanctum sanctorum of a shrine.
2.Veena- a stringed musical instrument, one of the oldest of Indian musical tradition, played sitting cross legged, capable of producing all oscillations of Carnatic music
3. Tanpura- a drone instrument of Indian origin used mainly in a concert of classical music, creating a melodic background, but not a melody.
Cape Comorin (Kanyakumari) of Tamil Nadu,
Might be copious of the core concept called Xanadu;
Indian Ocean, Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea,
Amalgamate and mingle here, like mermaids, full of glee...!
Treasures of silver, gold, and gemstones within oceans lay,
Sea gods and goddesses; ghosts and angels; live here, they say;
The sun, like a pendulum pushed from the sea, rises up,
Descends and disappears, like a kicked ball, before we sup...!
The southernmost part of the Indian nation is this,
Men and women of many religions live here in bliss;
Temples, mosques, churches, gurudwaras, and palaces antique,
Exhibit their inter-religiosity, unique...!
We don't have the Angel Fall, but a few falls we have here,
Young and old, at leisure times, play within them full of cheer;
Nature has made her paintings, lo, with green woods and forests,
Lullabies of little birds and beasts, never find a rest...!
Coconuts, Arrack nuts, spices, and tapiocas grow,
Bananas of varieties put up their fresh fruit show;
Goods trading we do; fish in terms of fresh tapioca,
We share, our simple love, in cups of coffee or cocoa...!
Jewelry, stone carvings, cane work, lace work, metal casting,
Needlework, sculptures, and sea shell crafts go everlasting;
Coral grass mats, palm leaf designs, cane, and bamboo caudex,
Jute-based handicrafts and we have so fine fiber products...!
A dialect of Tamil-mix Malayalam we chant,
Though our mother tongue is classical Tamil known so grand;
Kalial, Bow Song, Karagam Dance, and Kathakali,
We carry on our cultural heritage zealously...!
Rice, tapioca, coconut, seafood, legumes, lentils,
Mangos, bananas, and jacks are our food fundamentals;
Fishing flourishes; and farming into the inner land,
Toddy-tapping and rubber rearing too go hand in hand...!
Though our innate quality is love mixed with purity,
Modernity, no doubt, has brought in insecurity...!
Trust in the divine and love for nature, yet, make us grow,
Inspiring us beyond the oceans, and the skies to go...!!!
22 May 2023
If Your Birthplace-country was a poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
HOUSE OF GRANDMA
Huge house of Grandma once in grandeur and pomp
ran full of kin, cousin, relatives.
The staircase leading to roof had a beautiful banister
The residence was my birthplace.
So far, I remember on my visit, when I was four
Grandma put a flyer under the porch of the house.
Flyer was a dazzling golden satin designed by herself
with sparkling spangles and red rosette at corners
showing ‘Welcome Little Princess’.
Onward whenever I visited, I saw that hanging in same gorgeous glow.
She died when I was seventeen.
I reminisce her deep affection
After fifty years I revisited the decaying house
now left under caretaker.
Door window in broken condition: Rusted latch in gate.
Garden Once bloomed mostly in white flowers
spreading pellucid placid calmness
now full of feral ferns, wild weeds, thorny bushes.
Most expected scenario. I was not shocked yet sighed.
Whelmed to see the flyer still hanging
and shows ‘Welcome Little Princess’.
Gentle zephyr whispers.
.
Sun rays making network of shadows through cracked lattice.
Flyer though pale, dusty, bland,
spangles still in shimmering sheen.
The decaying house welcomed me
though Grandma had left.
I wept.
07/18/20
Second Place
'Decaying House' Contest by Constance La France
Story of Afghanistan
The barren land of my birthplace
Green at times but screening a rocky face
Known for thousands of years for its warrior race
Let me tell you the truth,
No one really wanted this “space”.
Up until two lions began prying around
Initially, just fooling around
Afterwards, casting off their cannon sound
Resembling the 6th night of an infant’s fête
Building their castles, and so began the burial grounds.
The lions pledged to crush the other
With a master plan
Dividing the blood brothers
Such was the instruction of the queen mother
As the clans clashed and killed one another.
The chiefs were swallowed by the promise of gold
The mullahs were swapped for the hollow soul
The seniors by the fire recounted and foretold
The purpose for the lion’s vehemence
This story definitely in time will unfold.
The old grew timeworn
Waiting for their young ones to return home
The teenagers free born
Screamed out of their mosques’ domes
Come and join us in this struggle
Faced with the crusaders of the Church of Rome,
But little did they know,
No one will return but the maimed men to a funeral home.
The sturdier lion won the combat
But what has become of my Afghanistan
The wolf in a sheep’s disguise
Has spoiled my jade paradise
My heart denies it but I may have bombed my youthful chums,
This is now a global land-dwelling for bums and slums!
The lion wishes to be unveiled this time
So he promises to take the last dime
After all it pays to cooperate in war crimes!
He roars in a deafening cry
I bring Democracy to this land
With loads of cash in one hand
A whip in the back hand--forgetting the long years of perfidy
I now declare and demand
This is the new Promised Land.
A woman of this realm is exposed with a promise
She is liberated by democracy
Famous on national publications like the story of Pocahontas
She’s affirmed independent and agreed to arise out of the darkness
As the saga is read to the United States Congress
She exhales
And anticipates the lion’s hunger
Waiting for the day when she will be veiled, unveiled, and then veiled again
Not by ordinary men
But by inscription of law.
Thank you for sealing the decree!