Long Country(a) Poems
Long Country(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Country(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Country(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
The Nordic Tribe
There is a great movement of Scandinavians
going to the South of Europe, they have their church,
cafes and shops selling the type of food sold in
the North. The Spaniards, say, accept and ignore them
because these strange northerners came here for
the sun and not take anyone’s work.
You can call the economic refugees, it is cheaper here
and that also keeps the heating bill low.
The people of the North dislike refugees coming to their
country a place to live and they protest loudly.
One day, when the economy in the south is par with
the Nordic one, the will leave, or seek other shores
where they can live as kings among the poor;
the Northerner’s are racists by nature but do follow
the money and its fluctuations and they have the ability to
see the local people where they have temporarily
sought shelter, as foreigners.
Somewhere, a mother teaches her daughter
to carry water on her head without spilling-
balance, she says, is everything.
In another country, a different mother
teaches her son to carry his name
without flinching when strangers mispronounce it.
We are all learning to carry something.
The refugee carries a photograph,
edges soft from touching-
proof that home was real.
The prisoner carries tomorrow
in the calluses of his palms,
counting days like prayer beads.
What if peace is not the dove
but the earthworm, turning soil,
making everything fertile again?
What if justice is not the gavel' crack
but the quiet hand that helps a stranger stand?
We build monuments to freedom
while forgetting freedom is built
in the small spaces between us-
the breath before forgiveness,
the moment we choose to listen
instead of turning away.
So here is my offering:
not grand words carved in marble,
but this-the admission that I am still learning
to carry the weight of your name,
your story, your right to be here,
as carefully as you carry mine.
322.
The Philippine Eagle: A Monument
Behold the Philippine Eagle, King of Birds!
The tallest eagle, terror of monkey herds
Its crest stands tall like a rooster on the roll
Hear its vibrant, authoritative call
Like a mythical griffin, it has the cover of a lion
That's why in our nation it's called “Haribon”.
Discovered by a man from United Kingdom
The faithful, monogamous Haribon (King of Birds) is only from
The Philippines, my country…a valiant country
First known to Europeans in our year of gallantry
When our national hero, Rizal, was brutally slain
By our first conqueror – the kingly Spain
This glorious bird is our monument of courage
A living emblem of our struggle for golden age
Its dignified countenance on our coin chiseled
So splendid & adorable like a handsome young man muscled
The starring on our national basketball team's logo
This is our national bird – adore, preserve & lo!
-01/27/2015
(Dumarao)
*Defense of the Animals Collection
Unwritten page
An unwritten page on a Word processor, I ought to leave it this way
look and dream of what I could have written on the page
If I delete words I have written, the page will be blank again
No history, a crumbled-up sheet of paper for the waste basket
For now, it is too late, but when coming to the end of the sheet
My wife was in Johannesburg for surgery. Born in Congo, she is
Light-skinned, but traveling on a Portuguese passport, she
Boarded a bus for the blacks, great consternation, the police
To go on the bus for the white people
Racism and ignorance, now it is the Muslims who feel the
Ignorance, we want them to be like us, not insist on doing
Their own things
Israel is a racist country, a thistle under the saddle of
And an Arab stallion, and can’t last the way it is ruled
The sheet is fouled by an opinion no one wants to hear
What now, erase the page and write about the moon
Years have passed, but still you stay,
In quiet thoughts throughout my day.
Your laugh, your touch, your gentle grace—
I still can see your smiling face.
The world kept turning, time moved on,
But not a day feels like you’re gone.
You're in the wind, the evening air,
The empty seat, the silent chair.
You loved so true, with open arms,
Our fur babies safe in your warm charms.
You whispered hope when I felt low,
You were the light I came to know.
You'd light up when the TV played—
Dukes of Hazzard or when Sam and Dean stayed
One step ahead of fate and fear,
You loved that world—it felt so near.
The Impala’s hum, the rebel ride,
Matched that strong spark you had inside.
A little country, a little wild,
A loving heart, a playful child.
We made a life, we built our own,
And now I walk this path alone.
But every step, you walk with me,
In every star, in every tree.
I never thought we’d be apart,
But you still live within my heart.
Some days I break, some days I bend,
But each new dawn, I try to mend.
I miss you more than words can show,
Yet still, you’d smile and tell me so:
"Keep going, love, you’re doing fine—
Just carry me in heart and mind.”
And I have tried, and I still do,
To build a life that honors you.
You’d be so proud of who I’ve grown—
Your strength still echoes in my own.
So here’s to you, my sweetest song,
Though gone in flesh, in soul you’re strong.
Forever missed, forever seen—
My love, my life, my dear Darlene.
Scott W.
"Franklin, why do you want such a fat, ugly bird?
Are you getting senile, or just being absurd?"
"Clearly, Mr. Adams, you are not being a friend.
My dove, not the turkey, will win in the end.
Though Franklin's turkey may be our most native bird,
your eagle, as well, will not be the final word.
A sign of Peace is what we need,
to show other nations of what we heed."
"Are you nuts, Thomas, for saying such?
Only my turkey can represent what we need so much!"
"Have both of you gone so daft in the head,
not to see that my eagle should be the one instead?
It has power and majesty that our nation new,
can be ascribed to the birds advocated by you.
We want Peace, but must remember this war,
so how can we petition a dove to complete this chore?
As for the turkey, I know the pride it shows,
but I just can't get over that thing on its nose.
So my Eagle is the one without a ruse,
and the best bird for the Congress to choose.
It can show our intent for Peace with an olive branch,
is native as the turkey, with a prideful stance.
Freedom will come and be represented by
my Eagle's unlimited flight in the sky.
Ever watchful for both Peace and War,
and without the turkey's nasal sore."
"We both know, Thomas, that Adams is correct.
His bird is beyond the circumspect."
"Yes, Franklin, I have always known
that my dove and your turkey would not have flown."
"Then are we agreed, gentlemen, that we three as one,
my Eagle is the bird that has hatched and won?"
Just thinking about this conversation made me weak,
especially when I had to give it a tweak.
But the Eagle has represented us well,
both in Peace and War, as history will tell.
I have obviously voted with Adams on his choice,
It has given our country a singular voice.
It is strong, majestic, and watchful to be sure,
and stood the test of time with great enure.
One more thing I'll say about the symbol we branded,
What would we have thought if Armstrong had said, " The Turkey has landed"?
The Nordic Tribe
There is a movement of Scandinavians
going to the South of Europe, they have their church,
cafes and shops selling the type of food sold in
the North. The Spaniards, say, accept and ignore them
because these strange northerners came here for
The sun does not take anyone’s work.
You can call the economic refugees; it is cheaper here
and that also keeps the heating bill low.
The people of the North dislike refugees coming to their
country, a place to live, and they protest loudly.
One day, when the economy in the south is on par with
the Nordic one, who will leave, or seek other shores
where they can live as kings among the lesser
The Northerners are racists by nature, but do follow
the money and its fluctuations, and they can
See the local people where they have temporarily
sought shelter as foreigners.
It was one of those sunny days, that later on merge in memory, and you can’t tell one from another instantly, but on the second sight they discern, each with its own number of little events. There was good visibility from the second deck of the bus - my memories start when we are standing at a junction on red, we need to cross a major motorway. There are not many cars moving along the motorway, we keep staying, I remember a delivery biker, and a yellow DHL van in front of us, it looks like it is going to attend in the same direction. Finally, the light turns green, and we slowly cross the motorway into a narrow street. The low-rise houses are half-hidden by trees - the spicy smell of linden trees in bloom wafts in through the half-open window on my side. We pass an industrial zone, a string of concrete warehouses standing tightly together, then we descend into a valley, then the road goes up the hill. Soon we stop in front of the barrier - ahead we see the car park, small groups of people here and there - tourists who have come to see the Seven Sisters, and perhaps to swim in the sea. I descend a fairly steep path down to the sea, and finally I'm down on the shore. Although there are people wandering around, I don't notice anyone, and I can't hear what they are saying. I manage to sit down on one of the rocks warmed by the sun, and just stare at the water, at the calm waves. It doesn't matter whether I exist or whether someone else is looking at the sea, as long as I stay in some incomprehensible flat that serves as my home, although my home is something out of the realm of unrealisable fantasies. But there is no law that compels one to have a country, a home, habits, a job, a family. I don’t have a country, its the country that has me, for reasons beyond my comprehension, same is relevant about that bogus home, job, family, habits. I agree to relate to some point to a number of things that are not my own, its not a big trouble. But I don't belong there mentally or spiritually. I take advantage of this oversight of the overseers of order, and slip away to where the waves reflect the light of the sky. Who I am, doesn't matter. Can be anyone, or someone you happen to know.
Jamboree
Young catholic people from far-flung places are arriving
in Lisbon, plain young boys and girls looking sober smiling
and waving to the camera.
Dressed in jeans and T. shirts that say something about peace
no hint of rebellion here, and no drugs needed as they are filled
with the holy spirit.
No uppity youth here, no green hair no torn jeans showing
knees and thighs, and no placard protesting against
the rotten government, the rainbow banner is banned.
In Portugal this is a big deal, people are jubilant fireworks
rock music at the center of Cascais and much beer is drunk
The Pope has promised to pay the country a visit.
It is so nice to see young people in the park when one of them
strum a guitar and they sing a Christian hymn; I walk home
and think what's wrong with me, why do I find this so boring?
11/13/20
"Halo"
Always try to give me the run around
Like I'm such a clown
That should be stuck and drown
Then stay under the ground
I've just about
Had it up to here
My oh my
A lot of the time, I'm not in this atmosphere
Damn, it must've been the dabs
Or the flower mixed with hash
Perhaps, it was the alcohol in my glass
When I pass, will I get a halo?
It wasn't always sunshine and rainbows
At times, had to wear the same clothes
And handle it, whenever I felt the pain grow
I maintained, as I aged, some things changed though
Often they'll try to say so
And that, that's how the game goes
I like to lay low
And stay away from fake folks
Out in the country, a ways from Arroyo Seco
One of many things this life has displayed and shown
I know it's wise, to stay on your toes
It could be a landslide or way too close
Make it known
Use your brain or don't
Some complain and groan
Others main aim is to own
A great big home
If you work hard and save, it will show
Regardless of if you came close
Expect the same results, if you always use the same approach
I'm not picky, don't always need my eggs poached
I'd like to make a toast
Near the bay and coast
May we make the most
Of this life, and stay engrossed
Instead of just chasing ghosts