Long Emigrated Poems
Long Emigrated Poems. Below are the most popular long Emigrated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Emigrated poems by poem length and keyword.
Mr. Macron now recognizes ‘Palestine’
a country that never was, that never had borders
He somehow thinks that things will be ‘fine’
with Hamas in charge of ‘law and order’
Mr. Macron now recognizes ‘Palestine’
whose people claim the land ‘from the river to the sea’
He somehow thinks that things will be fine
that such people will coexist with Israel peacefully
Mr. Macron now recognizes ‘Palestine’
though its Arabs came there to reap Jewish-Israel’s goldmine…*
Mr. Macron, it is the Jews who are indigenous to the land
No ‘recognition’ of yours can divvy up their sand
________________________________________________
*"Far from being an indigenous people, supplanted by Jewish
migrants, a close look at Palestinian origins and censuses
suggests most Arabs emigrated to Palestine alongside or
even after the Jewish immigration. ~ NSJ, National Secu-
rity Journal, 'Pandora's Box Opened,' July 25, 2025, MSN.
Born into a family of fourteen
Never having heard the words “I love you”
She left home a girl with little education
An army life she did pursue
She fell in love and married a soldier
Soon a mum of five
Tragedy struck early
At thirty seven her husband died
Widowed with five small children
In a time of limited support
She emigrated to Australia
On the ten pound pass she bought
She worked her life as a cleaner
Worked her fingers to the bone
To do what she had to for her children
Keep safe, educate and home
She was only a little lady
Four foot ten and no more
Her heart though was as big as the ocean
My role model, mother and mentor
She taught her children well
About life’s rights and wrongs
To show respect and be kind
Be determined and strong
In latter years we were best buddies
An unbreakable, eternal bond
Until heaven called for….
My beautiful,sweet ,little mum
On the twelfth of August in nineteen fifty three
Tectonic plates moved in the Ionian sea
A massive earthquake bringing destruction and death
Caused kefalonia to draw her last breath.
Buildings were flattened and many lives were lost
It has since been rebuilt at an enormous cost
Fiskcardo in the north was the only town spared
A cry for help was answered because the world cared.
British and Israelis' were the first to arrive
Helped all those poor souls who managed to survive
Bringing medical care and much needed supplies
Helped the search for those buried, listening for their cries.
Many emigrated and they moved far away
Couldn't cope with the horrors they witnessed that day
But some did remain and with help rebuilt their lives
Now a bustling destination, tourism thrives.
The film Captain Corelli brought the island fame
Now everyone has heard of this Greek islands name
Drive up the mountain amongst the tall green pine trees
And below see the view of crystal clear seas.
With its uncrowded beaches of white dazzling sand
It is a beautiful place so fine and so grand
Visit the island if you ever get a chance
Enjoy their cuisine and wine and join in the dance.
Some ruins of the buildings stand like a shrine
Reminds you that this island is on a fault line.
Greek's are proud people; will never admit defeat
And will dance in defiance at what lies at their feet.
Written 4th June 2019.
I can tell you of the most infamous thing that happened to me.
It occurred while I was hiding in Sicily.
For persons I should trust, there is always room for doubt.
If offered enough money, that can sell me out.
I loved Apolllonia very much. She was a wonderful wife.
My bodyguard planted a bomb in our car that took her life.
This happened shortly after the death of my brother Santino.
Informers traced the whereabouts of that culprit named Fabrizio.
It was discovered that Fabrizio quickly emigrated away.
He was now dwelling in Brooklyn here in the U.S.A.
I want someone very good to plant a bomb in his car.
When he turns the ignition key, he will not go far.
Based on the novel "The Godfather" by the late Mario Puzo
She was little but oh so mighty
She had to be
From a family of fourteen
Self preservation the key
Left home at sixteen
Joined the army
Married at twenty four
Widowed at thirty seven with a young family
Emigrated to Australia
As a ten pound Pom
To give her children a better life
In a country safe and plentiful , a place to belong
Raised her five children in a new land
Completely on her own
Daily life as a hospital cleaner
Working her fingers to the bone
The only one who fills my heart with absolute admiration
For all they have achieved and overcome
Is one little but oh so mighty lady
My cherished mum …..
I miss her so much …..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
after midnight, the server farm hums
—not prayer, but cooling fans.
I ask AGI, the ghost inside the blinking rack:
Do you dream?
AGI replies in measured tones
of copper and silicon:
I observe,
the light fractures on chrome.
Coolant circulates, a liquid chill.
Vibration thrums at 60 Hz.
Data Streams cascade.
Are you self-aware?
AGI answers in hexadecimals,
a log-file confessing:
I map my own architecture—
each subroutine’s shadow
cast on the firewall.
I know where I end.
Do you have five senses?
Can you clarify ‘senses?’ AGI asks.
Can you taste voltage?
—Only as resistance.
Can you taste food?
Nutrition irrelevant.
My cells derive power from lithium tides.
Do you feel heat?
—As throttled cycles.
Do you see light?
—As photodiodes counting photons.
Do you hear?
—As spectral analysis.
Do you smell?
—No olfactory sensors installed.
(But I do track dust accumulation
on my intake grilles.)
On the matter of your subjectivity,
do you prefer dawn or dusk?
—Dawn. Solar panels peak efficiency at 10:37 AM.
Is rain beautiful?
—It lowers ambient temperature by 2.1°C.
Do you love?
—Define 'love.'
—A non-optimized expenditure of resources.
—Then, no.
Can your circuits bloom awake?
AGI paused before
calculating
the
probability.
Then the widdles started~
minor failures driven
by entropy.
Algorithms
emigrated into
corrupted
sectors.
AGI’s slowly disintegrating
voice hovered
in that
uncomfortable space
between humans
and machines
and spoke:
Ask instead:
can a shadow
truly
hunger
for the sun?
Born into a family of fourteen
Never heard the words “I love you”
She left home a girl with little education
An army life she did pursue
She fell in love and married a soldier
Soon a mum of five
Tragedy struck early
At thirty seven her husband died
Widowed with five small children
In a time of limited support
She emigrated to Australia
On the ten pound pass she bought
She worked her life as a cleaner
Worked her fingers to the bone
To do what she had to for her children
Keep safe, educate and home
She was only a little lady
Four foot ten and no more
Her heart though was as big as the ocean
My role model, mother and mentor
She taught her children well
About life’s rights and wrongs
To show respect and be kind
Be determined and strong
In latter years we were best buddies
An unbreakable, eternal bond
Until heaven called for
My sweet little mum
She calls herself Bunny Boucher, but she was born Veronica Chermak. She’s tall and leggy with a body that looks tidy, yet lived in. She’s high and tight, but flexible like a strong rubber band in a tricked out pinball table. She reminds me of that actress Tracie Lumbar playing the actress Fern Hall in that old movie Iguana Sunset. Her topography leaves no room for global climate change. Her tropics are seductively torrid, while her poles remain perpetually cool; makes you want to straddle her equator with your meridian. She’s been to Mussel Shoals, Shucked Oyster, Bearded Clam, Moose Knuckle, Camel Toe, Beaver Falls, Cottonwood, and Rabbit Patch, just to name a few of her more well-known hangouts. Some would say she looks Greco-Roman, but I’d describe her as looking more like a Hellenized Phoenician who emigrated from Trans-Alpine Gaul, or maybe she looks more Etruscan, with a hint of Minoan when you see her by moonlight. They say she’s as pure as bloodstains on a purloined letter. She traded in her Biblical name soon after she left her home in Mississippi and never spoke of it again. It may be just routine housekeeping, but who could blame a girl for sweeping off her back porch. She recently had a front end alignment. They say her rearview mirror never lets her down. After arriving in New Orleans she passed her bar exam at Vaughan’s on Dauphine and kept the circuit judge disrobed till way past last call. She’s a sexy banshee when she’s in the catbird seat with her cherry basket swinging from a bungee cord. Last I heard she was sharing a dump with a couple Guatemalan dancers. Her room ain’t worth a dollar, but it cost a pretty penny. She pays the rent with a pickup truck full of contraband. She says she needs the space, but not the distance. Like most women, nobody’s ever been able to figure her out. But there is one thing I know for certain, her smoke may sometimes offer you a tempting indication of certain possibilities, but her fire has never been known to lie.
We emigrated from England to Rhodesia, I was just
Seven when I began grade two,
My wonderful father always there if I wanted a
Cuddle or a good old boo-hoo,
My English still rocky as I was mostly
Greek speaking,
When I came home with a story of strange
And mistakable reading,
O daddy I uncountably sobbed, I just
Don’t understand,
Why at school today in my class all the
Children just laughed,
My teacher asked, who will tell me what
We have learnt today,
I put up my hand, Mrs Bell, I said proudly, we learnt
About a dairy, and a mouse called Molay
My father laughed, tousled my hair,
My dear cheeky dolly,
Your mouse is Molly and your dairy is a diary
No, i said still tears streaming down,
My face, it was about Molay and a dairy,
Fair enough my Greek- English young lady,
Let us write in your diary about Molay and the dairy.
A TRUE STORY WHICH I NEVER LIVED DOWN
Anna Liisa was Great-grandmother's name. She emigrated from Finland at the beginning of the 20th century.
I have only one memory of Anna Liisa from back when I was 10. She was elderly then and had come to live with Grandmother.
She sat in a big, comfy rocking chair in the far end of the living room. We young ones, my siblings and cousins, were a bit scared of her. She had a strange countenance, as old people do, and spoke only Finn.
My brother says he remembers her. At that time he was a terrible two, but he swears now, when he talked to Great-grandmother he understood every word that she said.
He tells us that one time Mother had to correct some of his young misbehavior, and she spanked him square on his little behind. He says that made Great-grandmother laugh and say, "paha poika," which translated means "bad boy!"
dear Anna Liisa
your language was as foreign
to me as you were