Long Columbus day Poems
Long Columbus day Poems. Below are the most popular long Columbus day by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Columbus day poems by poem length and keyword.
COVID-19 pandemic analogous how indigenous peoples got felled...
Woebegone, enraged spirits
holographic images taciturn
journeying somberly aghast
at their stolen sacred lands... mourn
dead souls impossible mission
sabotaged aery mission endeavor
happy hunting grounds upheaval
witnessed gaunt bloody sojourn,
perhaps collective aboriginal ghosts return
to haunt cruel innocent heir/heiresses
regarding interlopers, si?
Malicious intent birthed in subsequent
quick succession to adventitious,
(nevertheless grievous) events
visited upon heads of storied "Indians")
misnomer spurred European explorers
(more particularly exploiters),
when "discovering" the Americas
to dole out (deliberately)
contaminated accouterments,
plus various sundry trappings
to native inhabitants.
Gross misdeeds of our long deceased forebears
debauched, decorated, and dedicated
footloose hedonistic jackbooted violent men
loosed mayhem opening pandora's box
unwittingly and/or intentionally disseminating
seeds of annihilation germinating lethal pandemic
decimating innocent ofttimes knowingly
unleashing opportunistic virile organisms
without vital immunity linkedin
bodily defense mechanisms.
With advantage of hindsight
always 20/20 (especially
calendrical juncture planetary
space/time continuum 2020)
opprobrium plentifully quoted
as cosmic consciousness skews perspective,
whereby admission acknowledged
conquistadors looted, pillaged, and raped
(blithely, effectively, and indiscriminately killed)
every man, woman, and child
and/or sowed cultural abomination
acceleration, adulation, aeration...
Though thoroughly grounded
within secular humanism
courtesy kickstarting metaphysical realism
philosophical, teleological...
essentially Unitarianism paradigm
whereby ripple repercussions of actions
(think butterfly effect
starring Ashton Kutcher - ha)
trigger domino falling action,
yet additionally affects fate,
particularly he/she who
activated, cultivated, generated...
chain of events, particularly
brutal, deplorable, and unforgivable misdeeds.
Byzantium
In August, the heat tastes of dust and desperation
the despot feels that soon a time will change
the power is but in the eyes of the general
The sun senses a mounting revolt, is prepared
will show no mercy but absorb the world in its inner core
where we can burn forever.
August is tired too, he the General gave them a lovely spring
and now the riff-raff is turning against him
The mighty oak tree whispers to the lesser trees about sedition
talks about democracy.
Stubbornly the sun hangs on, till battle clouds like warships
appear at the horizon.
His reign drowns in torrential rain downpour that will
destroy his life´s work.
Oh
Your whimsical
Words and whiles and ways
Are like Vaseline on a chapped baby's bum
Or camomile on sunburn skin
Conservative journeys traversing the vacuum
On the dark side of the moon
Only the true believers
Are destined to see
If Apollo goes to plan
And the shuttle lands
The future is in your hands
Fire up the marching band
And make a stand
For a return to mother earth
Re-entering in a blaze of firework glory
The countdown where Rockets left
Sound a crack of warrant thunder
No more under
The spell of magic
The whimsical reside
Man has been to the other side
And there is no going back
The heaven's are no longer black
Back to the motherland
Where the only thing to fear
Is conquering army's
That fund exploration
You ruled the world with iron and lies.
Five hundred years of noise,
five hundred years of pain.
You called your conquest civilization,
your theft, discovery,
your cruelty, progress.
You built kingdoms upon stolen bones,
cathedrals upon blood and grief.
You crowned yourselves gods,
and forced the world to kneel.
But what goes up must come down.
Even gods fall.
The scripture you gave by force
now testifies against you —
“God cannot be mocked.”
You shall reap what you sow.
The harvest of sorrow draws near.
Your towers of deceit will tremble.
Your gold will turn to dust.
Your children will hunger.
Your nations will divide.
And those you once enslaved
will feed you crumbs,
as the wheel turns full.
The color you worshipped
will become a mark of shame.
Your arrogance will echo
as laughter across the Earth.
And when the new world asks,
“Why has Europe fallen?”
the prophets will answer —
They harvested what they planted.
One year passed, since BB broke my heart.
On 2025.09.25, EC told me,
His favourite song was "Top of the world"
I promised I would play it,
When I see him next week.
EC was one of my piano loyal fans.
From memory, he first found me in February this year,
After I played the piano at MC for half year
Since then, every week,
He made efforts visiting and listening to my music.
He was also the first person,
Who tipped me with a note,
Again and again, until I stopped him.
Six months on, he told me his favourite song
I promised I would play it on his next visit.
I have been listening to it in that evening,
And wakenup by it in the early morning.
Some how, I felt I could not play that song,
It did not go well with my feelings.
It was not the kind of melodies I would play.
Don't get it wrong,
It was a beautiful song,
It was just not my type of music.
While listening to it,
Somehow, it provoked me to read my diary,
All those that described my feelings for BB.
Strangely, I felt blessing from our friendship,
Missing his caring and helping.
Longing to ask him to fix
The damaged firmware Apps.
Which BB installed a while ago.
I knew very well, our relationship could not live
Beyond what it had already reached.
That was our fate and destiny.
On Monday, 2025.10.06,
It was Chinese Autumn festival,
I visited BB second home.
There he was, sat at the desk,
Surfed on the internet.
He was wearing a black jacket,
A light dull green padded back pack
Which rested on the computer desk.
His curved back seemed to get worsen,
Other than that, his appearances,
I would say, it had not changed a bit.
Good luck to his tragic stories searching,
Good luck to his voice raising,
Good luck to his soul mates and life meaning finding.
I loved to say, I have not missed him at all,
Since when I could not recall.
Air Force Memories
By Franklin Price
10/12/2021
The week-end of Columbus Day in twenty-twenty one,
My wife and I invited for a few days filled with fun.
Saturday in, Helen, Georgia to enjoy October Fest
Sunday, to the Aquarium, in Atlanta, was our quest.
Invited by our granddaughter, who doesn't mind our age,
Was bringing Air Force friends with her, I was turning back the page.
Back in nineteen-sixty five, so many years ago,
I enlisted in the Air Force, the service I would get to know
Four years went by quickly. They were all without regret.
The last year spent in Vietnam. Those are times I won't forget.
Made many friends while serving, in the Air Force family
I've wondered how it is today. Is it how it used to be?
My granddaughter and her husband are both Captains in the Force
They met there and were married. I think that's great of course.
The others who came with them, also Captains to salute
I wore stripes, not bars, when in, and made a lot less loot
Pardon me, I've gotten side-tracked from the reason for this rhyme.
Although my service different, in another place and time,
These Captains all impressed me with their grace and attitude
They made me feel a part of them, not a single one was rude.
If you're as old, as I am, and you're concerned about the young
Spend a week-end with some Captains, they're the best to be among.
They still love our country. That's right, the good old U.S.A
They protect us and defend us, as I did back in the day.
When you think our country's lost our youth, and we're headed down the drain,
You should pause and reconsider, and from those thoughts refrain.
Go out and mix among them, as we did Columbus Day
Discover there's a new world, the old one's not yet gone away.
A salute to all the Captains that I met this week-end past
I must say I'm most impressed, glad I've not breathed my last
Looking forward to a future that includes those such as you
My outlook's so much better now that Columbus Day is through.
When we first saw Columbus;
his sea-bowed legs were struggling ashore;
us natives looked upon that unhealthy guy,
that marinated mariner who brought
news of garlic and olive oil to the unsuspecting,
both of which we natives had no use for.
Then it was that we envisioned as if in a dream
that natives should never, could never
forgive him for the insidious spread of Italian broccoli.
Thus we made war upon the brownish white men,
endeavoring earnestly to place an embargo
on any more useless imports.
No use!
Salesmen traveled all over our hunting grounds
offering yet more pizza ingredients.
The Spanish (long before Columbus Day),
had left pigs and horses for us Indians
for which we were most grateful,
and so we forgave
the genocidal aspirations of the conquistadors,
but broccoli was the absolute last straw,
and so we reigned terror
upon many a city statue of his likeness
and his pervasive, belligerent
garlic-breath.
I write my thought
In what time has wrought
Doesn't mean I'm sad
Or mad
Just writing of the feeling of some point in time
About it I make a rhyme
I feel nothing when I write
Just words in the night
I can make you feel anything I want
My words can haunt
Can make you feel warm inside
Just taking you where my thoughts abide
Not meant to make you want to hide
Paint a picture with any given word
Make it heard
I feel no pain
Writing of rain
Don't have to get wet to describe the feel
To make it seem real
Same as pain memories serves me well
For a story to tell
Doesn't mean I'm all sad
Nor glad
Or mad
Means I'm a damn good at what I do
It's true.
For when I write
Even if it's all night
It's what I do
make you feel anything I want you to
Means Means I'm doing it right.
These things I write
How have you been, it's ok to tella
Explorer of the sea, like me can't you see
That Brooks and Paris need some money
Please support our trip to the far east
On the search for gold, spices, and peace
Make an alliance, no more will be deceased
And then with all your glory, power will be released
Now of course you know, I'm a man of navigation
We'll be chasin a new Spaniard nation
No hesitation just regulation
Make a fresh start on a new foundation
No more waitin, this is your chance
Travel be sea and not by land
I promise you we will do the best that we can
And once we succeed I hope you understand
That you will be the most famous queen of all time
Please Miss Isabella, I do not have a dime
Instead of a letter, I'm sending you a rhyme
It sounds a bit better, and rappin's not a crime
But enough about that, let me tell you this
If my directions are right then we will sure not miss
If no corrections are made then I can surely list
A whole scroll full of demands cause we'll be so rich
And I'm not just sayin that trying to be modest
I'm telling you the truth, I'm being totally honest
Nobody else can navigate even as well as I can aim
And once we reach and claim
We'll put your name to fame
Our route is better planned and leadership's a must
In my eyes, we're the only two that you can trust
Let me explain in detail exactly what we need
A whole bunch of sea men and a couple ships indeed
We need a lot of food, and of course some vitamin C
Just to make sure the men don't get scurvy
We need some beer and wine, some utensils to dine
A whole lot of rifles for men on the front line
Acceptable weapons win the battle every time
And I need a lot girls, bout 39 would be just fine
Now my time is almost up, you just need to know my route
We're gonna sail round Africa and take the passage south
And then we'll sail around and finally reach the Asians
That is when we'll start the new Spaniard nation
The Photo
When I was nine, the war had been over
for about two, years, but the German army had left
behind uniforms, so we dressed up
and made a Nazi salute thinking this was the way
the Germans greeted one another.
I know better, know they primarily shake hands.
A picture for posterity was taken of three lads
acting it up. I had forgotten about the picture although
it is on a frame on the top bookshelf.
A tiresome anti-Nazi, born in 1960, didn’t think
the photo had any historical value and wanted me to destroy
the offence we children had committed.
He got upset when I refused the request and called
me a Nazi storm trooper, left and slammed the door.