Long Europe Poems
Long Europe Poems. Below are the most popular long Europe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Europe poems by poem length and keyword.
At Austerlitz I two nations vanquished;
making me historically distinguished.
At Marengo I had Austria subdued;
then I was to honour undoubtedly glued.
At the Pyramids, Mamluks kissed the sands;
then like a French Pharaoh I annexed their lands.
At Jena-Auerstadt, Prussia to her knees fell,
to avoid carnage, and possibly hell.
At Borodino, Kutuzov my boots licked,
as his Russian forces had their arses kicked.
At Ligny, Blucher like a coward fled,
as his smitten forces profusely bled.
At Toulon I first distinguished myself
for a career that would exalt oneself.
Rolica, Leipzig, Waterloo like curses came,
but history will forever my triumphs reclaim.
NATO
The secretary general of NATO is a Norwegian
and as most Norwegian's pro-American
and probably selected for his fidelity
He is a tall thin man, likes to run in the woods
and has been observed saluting them while talking
to his elbow
still wearing his confirmation suit which he has
grown out of, he must be a frugal type
at conferences his eyes darts around like a rabbit
caught in the headlight of a car
on these occasions, he has been seen talking to
probably sending a message to his office staff not
to forget turning off the copier
NATO is a strange outfit, the idea was a defense
against an enemy people were too polite to mention
I will go out on a lam and guess it was the Russians
funny thing the way we think of Russia, nation
feared by Europeans despite the fact she saved
Europe getting rid of the Nazis.
I've been told NATO, has 35 generals who look
splendidly uniformed at glittering parties
we know, read between the lines, NATO is
a sub diary of the USA, that has transformed
the outfit into a reserve army, bombing places
like Kosovo, Libya, and other targets in
the name of democracy which translate into
a client state, with cheap oil and corrupt leaders
the secretary general is often appears in
Norwegian news paper about his importance
and help to secure a sense of being among
among the big boys of international affairs
a Danish imbroglio
The Danish prime minister is appealing to Europe to stop Trump’s idea of taking Greenland and making it an American state
What he wants not that he is overly interested
is to be sure that no other country places
bases on Greenland’s still-cold soil like Russia
or China
the Vikings when Greenland had a period of thawing had farms there, which tells us the brave Vikings were mostly farmers, their fierceness is a national lie
As for Europe helping look another way they
write the declaration of good intent and should
Say, Trump, post troops on the Island, the EU
will wring their hands and do nothing
We know this when Gaza suffered a mini holocaust it lamented, but otherwise, did nothing, even Germany in her misguided sense
of guilt lasting for generations sent weapons to Israel
So, we tell Denmark you are on your own to deal
with this new situation, but to give more money for the defense of Greenland is futile
Perhaps the Danish “hygge” might help
The mountains wept.
The skies moaned.
The soil trembled.
The trees whispered their last green prayers—
"Man has destroyed us... alone."
He who adds no value
takes all,
then leaves nothing—
just wastelands where rivers once sang.
The year was 2100.
Half of Britain—gone beneath the Atlantic.
Japan—smaller than a dot on a map.
American states—flooded into memory.
Europe—erased.
Russia’s frost—melted into pestilence.
Africa— Famine became the air.
Children born on rafts,
fields drowned or cracked open in grief.
China— Cities sleep beneath the sea,
towers weep salt into silence.
We were warned.
But greed was louder than science,
stronger than truth,
crueler than time.
Now the Earth writes back
in flood, famine, fire—
her final signature: sorrow.
Let this not be prophecy.
Let this be the scream
that wakes the world.
Acquiescence begets hegemony...
Think Putin whose forename
Vladimir translates as great power,
whose singular minded aim
after lobbing bombs into
second-largest country
by area in Europe after Russia
incurring voodoo spells
foisted upon president of Ukraine
forced neophyte politician
Volodymyr Oleksandrovych Zelenskyy
to buckle and cower.
Meanwhile many another leader
cherishing their slice of freedom
quakes in their boots
dumbfounded, horrified, tight lipped
as Russian bird of prey
swoops down analogous as buzzfeeder
to seize global totalitarian power.
Not far fetched dystopian nightmare
to envision every country
spanning webbed wide web
subservient to his majesty
where pay obeisance
to his honorable premier
who issues commands
at his Kremlin headquarters.
Aforementioned worse case scenario,
whereby every waking
and sleeping second
under watchful eye
all social media platforms
under henchmen of Putin regime
monitored, governed, controlled...
by self anointed unnameable nemesis
their doomed fate constituting
penalty of death wasting away
amidst Gulag Archipelago
(happy haunting ground
of many a dissident)
if anyone among bajillions of serfs
heard to badmouth, denounce, find fault...
with despotic, cruel, bristling, autocrat...
Meanwhile, these remaining cherished
hours, minutes, and seconds
before United States of America
forcibly plundered, usurped, yanked...
(at threat of nuclear bombardment
courtesy you know who)
might choose to swallow
either cyanide, hemlock,
overdose on anti anxiety medication...
versus forced to become submissive
toward our "benevolent" leader.
Truth be told even Trump
yours truly would prefer
yet fat/slim chance
such a golden opportunity will occur,
though rumor abounds were
pee you tee eye en able to clamor
access and excel at supremacy
(as seen in a powerpoint presentation)
there would prevail nary a murmur,
nor peep among the human league
only dogs and cats would be privileged
to express themselves,
viz courtesy to bark and purr
and actually be treated as royalty.
Contest: The Power of Fiction
Sponsor: Natasha Scaagg
Written: 091026 2:35PMCST
I am not a fan of novels, but there
Are two that arrested, held, and compelled
Me to ride along and feel the thoughts and
emotions that the writer portrayed in the book.
One novel was about the French Revolution.
This second novel was about the westward
movement. It painted the portrait of the settlers
And their bold treak across what would become
America. It was dangerous and all consuming.
I could feel their determination to succeed.
I could sense within my own heart that
They felt that failure was not an option;
Not just because of them and their cause,
But for the generations that were to follow.
Their story was filled with intrigue and hope.
Their story was also my story; one of just
enough success to keep them moving forward.
Foes like weather, landscape, and indians were
Plentiful. Courage was the only friend that
I saw and felt inside of those trail blazers.
It's as if the newly discovered world
That Columbus saw was not large
Enough for the new settlers from Europe.
So, they sought survival and a new life by
Heading west, seeking new settlements in a
Foreign land; a land that could be hell; Or it
Could be heaven, depending on who survived
And how. This quest drove them clear across
To the Pacific Ocean.
But as I continued to read, I felt the pain;
The pain as if a never ending story of
Sickness, death, diseases, and wars;
Of Church corruption, Government overkill.
Romance, and interpersonal relationships.
As I continued to read, through an imaginary
Window, I could see their story, alive and filled
With passion such as the kind that thrives in me.
As I continued to read, through an imaginary
Mirror, I could see images of me, the trail
Blazer in me, taking the road less travelled by.
I felt the emotions in choices of evil.
I felt the pain of mankind's inabilities,
Not to see eye to eye, but to coexist.
I tell you; It felt like I was there. It was by far
the most unforgettable nvel that I have ever
experienced. I ...
Russia among us
Dagestan must not be confused with Londonstan
where Islamists stop traffic to pray in the streets
trying to alter the British way of life, they fled
from when living in Pakistan
In Dagestan, the Islamists went amock burning
churches, synagogues and killing many Russians
When the Western media press and TV reported
they concentrated on the murder of a priest
who was not a Russian, the fact that many
Russians too were killed was hastily read, with them
being our eternal enemy, the thought is
a dead Russian is a good one.
Come to think of it, the Russian army freed
Europe of the Nazis, not the overhyped USA
landing on the beaches, or the British bombing
of Dresden, if we say this, we get a blank stare
When Russia's Putin invaded Ukraine, they had
no plans to stay there still has no plan
they wanted to stop NATO (usa) from having bases
close to the Russian borders
With a document signed by a new Ukrainian
leaders, the Russians like to go home again
No, that's easy, lots of money to make in dead
soldiers and new fancy weapons tried
thus, the conflict escalates and escalates, we dare
not think how far this will go
I am going on an expedition I told my family sweet.
I might FaceTime, Zoom, Twitter or maybe tweet.
But I have to seek my fortune, so backpacking I will do.
I plan to go to Europe, Scotland, Ireland and maybe Timbuktu.
Can we send you with some food? My mother asked, alarmed.
It might get moldy, I replied, but with her offer I was charmed.
I finally agreed to ice cream bars which did not last the day.
I ate six of them in the bus station before I made my get-a-way.
My baby cousin tried to sneak into my knapsack, so he could go.
I told him I would videotape myself, and give him a weekly show.
I may ride an elephant in India, I will bring you a jewel doll.
I plan to stop by the shrines, especially the Taj-ma-hall.
I may stop in Florida and dance with glee
I said to my sister, and swim with a manatee
Don’t’ worry; I will send you a postcard,
Before I dance with a London guard.
Do you have time for lunch? My mother asked.
She wants me fed good and hard, it’s her ut-most task.
I can down a bit of soup, but then I have to get to Donner’s pass.
And Stonehenge and Shangri-La, before I fish some Scottish bass.
Will you be stopping in Rome? Asked my cousin Shasta.
Oh, definitely, I said, and I will see some igloos in Alaska.
Is there any continent you will not visit or be?
I hope not, I told them. And I was off toward the sea….
Handy dandy blues clues plain
all purpose favorite refrain
i.e. "impossible mission"
courtesy complimentary doppelganger
G.I. ("Government Issue", "General Issue",
or "Ground Infantry") Jane
in tandem with Alyson Chain
comes to the rescue attempting
to describe entrenched nonproductive
crippling psychological mindset ascertain
most any reader would consider insane
embedded deep within
genetic code possibly
inherited maternal grandfather,
who emigrated nineteenth century Ukraine,
he (purportedly tailor by trade)
only spoke Yiddish,
language used by Jews
in central and eastern Europe
before the Holocaust.
Originally German dialect with
words from Hebrew, and
several modern languages and
today spoken mainly in US, Israel, and Russia.
Mental illness, (or predisposition thereof)
linkedin courtesy heredity,
supposition nuts so crazy nor insane,
yet nothing further about biology
Iberia lee kant hex Spain
emotional status concomitantly
intertwined with possible causes
such as: Autoimmune, Behavioral,
Cognitive, Neurological,
Environmental - inextricably lodged
within cerebral domain
manifesting as countless
fixations, I disdain
(in retrospect) precious time forsaken,
and absolute zero benefits to gain,
and inflicted severe strain
father and mother felt helpless,
especially when anorexia nervosa
nearly imperiled life source villain
rent asunder body electric drivetrain
brought corporeal standstill
loosed maniac running
rampant within brain
emaciation delivered me
at death's door
prescribed medications Mellaril and Elavil
nsync with psychiatric intervention plus
mother as licensed practical nurse wayne
wright me malnourished body
nutrient fortified drinks,
I passively did abstain
eventually grudgingly gained weight
buffering scrawny skeletal
skein knee membrane
definitely stunted growth plus chain
reaction impacted livingsocial
courtesy thank you me private Charlemagne
promoted cultural revival known
as Matthew Scott Harris'
Carolingian Renaissance.
I walked through Asia.
Through Africa.
Through Europe.
Through America.
And I saw
what poverty does
to a human soul.
Some live
on less than a dollar.
Some survive
on less than a dream.
Over a billion
on scraps of life
in a world overflowing
with food and wealth.
How?
How can this be?
How can poverty grow
in a world
so rich in resources?
Because the rich
devour the weak.
Because powerful nations
feed on the fragile.
Because greed
has become
the true religion
of our age.
How can we end poverty
when military budgets rise
like angry gods
while agriculture
dies in silence?
Food should be sacred.
Shelter
should be a birthright.
But we made both
a privilege.
And called it progress.
Why should one man
hold a million acres
while another
sleeps under the open sky?
This is not fate.
This is design.
Poverty
was created.
Crafted.
Maintained.
Corporations hoard
the people’s wealth.
Institutions steal
in the name of order.
And billionaires rise
like false kings
in a sea
of hunger and despair.
As long as the gap
between rich and poor
widens like a wound,
the world
will never know peace.
Nor stability.
Nor dignity.
Material poverty
is a crime
against human evolution.
A shame
to our century.
A curse
on our humanity.
No one
should die of hunger
in an age
of abundance.
No child
should beg
beneath towers of gold.
Heaven on Earth
is possible.
But only
when every citizen
can live.
Eat.
Sleep.
Dream.
And stand
as a human being
with dignity.