Long Fatherland Poems
Long Fatherland Poems. Below are the most popular long Fatherland by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fatherland poems by poem length and keyword.
Break the fire that burns the soul
Never couple the blood unless it is hot,
The scented motion are fire proof in the oceans
Where the weeds are the king of the grasses.
Days of unholy beast of lust and lost are here,
Drop your ears, drop your tongue of justice;
Let's tell tomorrow that seperation is gone,
Gone to the fading psalms of sorrow.
Split the heart of agony without a second eyes,
Make the tears that bleed in their seasons cease.
The music that plays from Nkporo to Edda,
The dancers that swing from Abiriba to Ohafia,
The voiceless that are seated from Item to Ozuakoli,
The hands that are busy from Igbere to ugwueke,
The eyes that sees from Mbaise to Mbano,
Remember and cherish us at the sight of
The spirits that queue in Isikwuato and Abiam;
The masquarades that sing from Arochukwu are
Not only for the mouth to clap in sorrow, but it
Is for the legs to walk no more without a step.
Who says black men are stupid? Let him come home;
Come to fatherland and see that the blood that runs in our veins are truth for wisdom and intelligence.
Listen to the faith of the lovers in the African soil,
Sound the drum louder from Aba to Umuahia,
We bake poetry and tradition that live for thousand
Years, we are what the tourist seek in the west.
Who says Africans are beast of burden from womb?
Who says we are monkeys rather than humans?
We connect borders that testify of tomorrow,
We are the unsung song that singers clamour for,
We are the artifact of the moon and the sun.
Leave me, leave me alone; let my pen bleed blood!
Let my inking biro tell the world of her injustice
Against the sons and daughters of African.
Soon, soon; they shall watch us like a movie of love.
Africa is with hope and tomorrow,
We are not in sadness and trouble.
We have men unuttered by immorality,
We have children that never kill but look
With a hopeful face to see the world change.
I ask you again, 'who says Africans are fools?'
We are not, we are not like they think we are.
We are made of shade of tradition and cutures,
Africans are the sons that sun the sun of the world.
We head the head that head tomorrow's head,
We legs with the legs that searches future legs,
We are Africans, proudly African we are.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved
The Caricature
You like to label it as a nefarious empire
brought to power by an unpropitious circumstance
paint a picture of evil and malfeasance
blood soaked canvas is the final image
mass murderers, the greatest genocide
no good they have done, just vile and hate
inspired by the dynamism of the leader
black and white, no shades of gray
just a rancorous order
the caricature, of evil
the caricature, of misery
black or white, no shades of gray
don't ask, just swallow what they say
the caricature, cartoon villain
black and white, no shades of gray
from what I have seen, not as heinous as they say
from elimination of unemployment
to the strength through joy program
workers rights protected by a benevolent union
clean streets and nonexistent crime
pride in Fatherland at an all time high
health and prosperity never before seen
a million strong salute at the Nuremberg rallies
black and white, no shades of gray
tyrannical order
the caricature, of evil
the caricature, of the maleficent
black and white, no shades of gray
don't ask, just swallow what they say
the caricature, what Hollywood portrays
black and white, no shades of gray
You talk of atrocities and monstrous acts
but for once lets exam the facts
ever question if the victor lacked on an ethical standpoint?
ever committed presumptuous acts that are odious?
Examining rudiment facts, they had death camps
where the Soviets murdered 28 million in Gulags
innocents witnessed terror raids night after night
where The Royal Air Force murdered 300,000 in Dresden
so I ask who is really the hero and who is the Villain?
Black and white, no shades of gray
the caricature, portrait of infamy
the caricature, video game mad men,
black and white, no shades of gray
don't ask, swallow what they say
the caricature, almighty evil
black and white, no shades of gray
they say don't question the official history
yet I want to know why they ensconce the truth
why do they fear us finding out what really happened?
It seems we have a dichotomy between fact and fiction
suppression of truth
history written by the victors
villainize the losers
gain their sympathy
money for your industry
spread the big lie
Sophie Scholl was raised a Christian in a Lutheran family
Born in the town of Forchtenberg in south west Germany
For standing defiant against evil with her young life she'd pay
In a country that was in deep turmoil and had lost its way.
She was a young teenager in nineteen thirty three
When a new leader offering hope, emerged in Germany
Adolf Hitler was an Austrian, who came to power
And for many it was the start of their darkest hour.
To unite the German people the Nazis held rallies
In some of the larger towns and all the big cities
But something dark and sinister was taking place
The evil Nazis were plotting to create a master race.
All the youth were encouraged to join an organisation
Hitler youth they were known all over the nation
Sophie and her brother together, with some of their friends
Turned their backs on the movement and vowed to make amends.
Word was getting around about death camps and persecution
Together they decided to form, a small non violent organisation
Known as the 'White Rose' who urged the people to renounce Hitler
They handed out leaflets telling the truth, about the Nazis slaughter.
One day at Munich University where Sophie studied as a student
She was seen distributing leaflets on what Nazi ideology meant
A janitor intervened and confronted her, and wouldn't let her go
She was arrested and then handed over to the notorious Gestapo.
They interrogated her to find out, who her accomplices were
But she wouldn't give them their names, as they tortured her
They charged her with high treason and sentenced her to death
To die by the guillotine and the date of execution was set.
They executed twenty one year old Sophie for making a stand
And they had accused her of being a traitor, to the fatherland
They eventually captured the others, five of them in all
And they too walked to their deaths standing proud and tall.
It’s people like Sophie who want to make the world a better place
And not supporting some twisted ideology like a master race
The Nazis were eventually defeated and their leaders tried
But not before Sophie and millions of other innocents had died.
Written 15th May 2021.
Attorney General William
Barr black marker in hand
kept promise to censor vital
details of Mueller Report
swift as Usain Bolt candidly,
grandly, lustrously, roundly
youthfully blocked out more
rapid than an elegant eland
vibrantly, regally, magically,
and gracefully skirts borderland
which favored topography
constitutes grassland or woodland,
far more pleasing to observe,
than reading adulterated brand
of aforementioned compilation,
distillation, edification, fortification
zeroing questionable activity
upon head of trumpeting brigand,
whose arrivistic, bombastic, caustic,
demonic, electric broadband
outsize ego still convinces
me, thee commander in chief
delegated one or more chargehand
perhaps while delighting as
gourmand savoring chateaubriand,
where his best buddies imagined
themselves in seventh heaven cloudland
every so often taking siesta sans repast
or golfing with grisly handicapped clubhand
non verbally communicating,
in viz sub bully taking a peas zing
cues from presidential high command,
which coterie (i.e. den of thieves)
manipulated social media with nefarious,
insidious, deleterious, et cetera
analogous to "FAKE" contraband,
maybe even milking innocent cowhand
unwittingly planting GMO electronic
bugs amidst future bovine fodder cropland
to allow, enable, and jackknife demand
that moost every eligible voter tricked
induced by virtual reality dreamland
with sinister motive for thee "Apprentice"
rule his kingdom, and expand,
realm asper Medieval days
declaring himself chieftain of fatherland
and/ or North American motherland
where naysayers guillotined
by uncontested firebrand,
who without provocation
very likely bomb into Stone Age
formerly edenic, lush, verdant
geography into flatland
rendered hostile, poisonous and uninhabitable
nonetheless radiating for miles with gangland
forced labor tilling barren, desolate, fissured
landscape erecting unsightly grand
standing room only (cause he know Shylock)
terrain (reign) vast highland
manor as poobah, and husband
to his only heiress, the former
a kooky monster from foggy bottom marshland.
GOD BLESS NIGERIA
Over 170 million spread mighty blacks
Greatest black nation on earth----- Nigeria
Biggest economy in Africa and beyond.
Greatest available work force and talents
Birther of indomitable super eagles.
Home, the noun that invokes a plethora of
Emotions within me and makes me happy
Nigeria is my home, a nation of ours
We still believe in you, mother Nigeria.
Here we lay to write our own Nigerian story.
God bless Nigeria my fatherland
The land which my mother sworn upon
To abide in day in and take charge
The Land which my father fought. Bravely
For her freedom and liberty on the seas
As my pen bleeds in joy in your love
It echoes out it love for my fatherland.
God bless mother Nigeria
Whose umbrella covers her children.
Even though she bleeds profoundly
She Still care about us the princes and princess
Her succulent breast we once sucked
Bitting her nipples But she never complain
To anyone but endured and pat us on the back
Even when we go astray and sin against her
She is ever ready to beat us with her right hand
Then reconcil with us through the left.
Oh! Mother of many talents whose leaves blosom
All round the world, your sweet tendacy drive
Home the joy of motherhood and what mother
Stand for in this ever changing universe.
Mother Nigeria, I hail you for your love
The sweetest of them all, your children will ever
Make you proud all round the world
In your heart shall we paint love and kisses
Your face shall we breed humbleness
Mother, thousand years to come shall we praise
Your loyality and loving kindness
We shall gather the birds to sing and dance
While the trees weave in gladness for your love
God protect mother Nigeria
Mother, whose smiles awake brave
Gladiators from west to south and east
Mother, whose beauty radiate with smile
Cheer to a mother of perfection and peace
Cheer to Mother Nigeria, the good mother
We would be forever grateful to you mother
for given birth To us in this black soil of Africa.
They’re entering my place
And they will ask no question
I’ll understand through days
They took my world with action
Of thousands high-boots
Of coloures of the martial
The God won’t help they’re rude
And everybody’s marshal.
They step with bayonets
They say they carry freedom
Their hearts are full of weeds
And only blood can feed’em.
There’s madness nothing more
In their eyes of bastards
Oh misers, but what for
Their freedom? They are masters.
There’s freedom in their hands
That goal of any soldier
The battle never ends
Give them Satrap – the Holder.
But I can’t understand
When you destroy all tyrants
Where will you send my friend
Your liberty with violence?
The snow will fall again
The faith will die tomorrow
Nero has brought the pain,
But Robespierre – the horror.
Ivan is not so bad
And terrible and risking
As Hitler with his herd
In Forty One, say, is he?
The Wise has said that we
Get knowledge in comparison
The fire runs you see
The tyrant fell, just listen
The Fatherland is cried
Hang cruel tyrant! Hit him!
Hey people see he’s dead
For better goal for freedom.
And soldier washed his hands
The page has turned it’s boring
The battle never end
Oh soldier where you’re going?
TV will give you fame
The Press will not be silent,
But who deserves this name
The name of cruel tyrant?
The One whose different ways
Are hard and complicated
Who gave us the sun rays
The stars these are so splendid.
Who doesn’t let to kill
So what if we have reason
Who’s making us to feel
To love in any season.
Let’s cast Him out from throne
His bondage of the tyrant
We’re lucky He has gone,
Of course, He was so silent.
I think we will destroy
His buildings to the ground
No words just shoot for joy
Rise flag we won this round.
We won we won again
The peace is reached forever
We have love of the gain
We have it we are clever.
The wounds are healed, the debt
Is paid we are just hit Him
Don’t ask me what is left? –
The tyrant naming Freedom!
When the sky shall cry soon,
your head shall be the dwelling place
of its tears of shame and lame.
I will help to sing this cracking song,
an unbelievable old fashioned tone,
a jazz tone of Fela Anikulapo,
Nigeria shall be the theme of my tone,
we will not clothe corruption again.
My poem, our poems shall stand
to unveil those political animals
with palms written with greed.
In the basket of illusion have they
deceived us and made us insane,
our eyes, a beach of salty pains,
tears comes to play randomly.
My poem, our poems shall have
hands to get this uneased land rest.
Poets are not myopic in nature!
Do not trade with our senses!
Whole Soyinka dreamed of conquering
but failed at his teething words.
For boys of tomorrow we taught
how to guide their tomorrow.
My brothers in arms and words,
My sisters in wordwar three,
be armed with your armours.
Freedom one day shall be ours!
From political imposition we'll rise,
Poetry a mightier weapon of warfare.
Man up men and women of words!
Man up sisters and brothers in wordwar!
A triumphal medal is in front!
Of womanhood, we'll journey,
Of manhood, we'll stand firm.
Advance towards corruption!
Man your words and kill!
War for human right
War for tomorrow,
War for freedom from bad leaders!
We are not cattle to be slaughtered,
let them know we have blood flowing,
a speaking blood than Abel's.
Tomorrow we shall not hang our towls
on the surface of the sea to dry quick.
We have a dream to rewrite Nigeria,
so, man up brothers and sisters of wordwar
let's save Nigeria and purge her sins away.
A saint is not without a sin, a saint
is one with a sin and knew he has a sin.
Man up let's save our fatherland.
Nigeria died yesterday when we stopped
sounding the drums with our mouths.
Nigeria is gone into abyss
we could take another route to
resurrect our land-
Man up brothers and sisters of words
tomorrow is in our hands.
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustration
Slowly our pride fades away
Like a smoke entwined with the air
Rots and decaying dreams
Sends waves of pity upon our soul.
We were drafted like soldiers-
Into the four walls of a classroom
Watching as our destiny was being decided by a system filled with avarice.
Oh! I would like to be a teacher
Or simply be a doctor.
I would like to be a lawyer
Or simply a farmer.
So we learnt the abc
And meant to see what failing could be.
Up the chain we moved
As time moved along with our being.
Then as we grew, reality wagged its tail at us.
And struggle called a bluff of our person.
How do we move along?
What if all we laboured for went wrong?
In this land the veil was lifted from our faces
As we watch the same system
Which has been the sole determiner of our fate
And our dreams became steam of vapour as we-
Take over the baton from where our parents left,
Running a race which we knew not the number of laps left.
We pledged our allegiance
To serve this great nation,
And give from our ration-
Those whom we can help survive this oppression.
As daylight turns night
And days matured into years
We watch as souls drift to a world beyond
And dreams die before the call of dawn.
We watch as our friends leave the shores of their fatherland-
And drop their allegiance for alien ones.
Now that we have grown
And ready to reap all we have sown,
Only to learn that all we laboured for really wasn't our own.
We have to serve a system
Filled with corrupt leaders
We were locked-up in class all these years
Only to be subdued with fear.
In a land of concocted dreams
Is just where we have been all along,
Singing ourselves sullen song
Watching thieves became heroes
And innocent men languish in jail.
In a land of concocted dreams
Hopelessness is just a plague
Ready to consume all elements of hope.
Chaos, murder and tribalism ransack our being
Stealing and oppression is an everyday thing.
The Private caressed his balls out of action during the short ceasefire
the Army had scanned him for testosterone because they needed a killer
He bit into a Milky Way as he cradled his crotch to get ready for the fight
his Universe had become conquest for a medal or a bow to his member
he was an intelligent man and knew that Thanatos and Eros were close
he was bored with war as his days were filled with one kill after another
a bit of rape pillage and outright murder strewn in for diversity training
nothing out of the ordinary just protecting family dogma and fatherland
But wait today he had been given a Galaxy chocolate bar in his rat pack
mouth-wateringly smooth it ran down his sticky fingers in the battle heat
Divine comedy called as he slipped from the trigger to miss the target
oiling his gun had been his forte but sweets and retribution don’t mix
When he reached for the hand-grenade on his ammunition belt he stalled
because he held a flaccid apple and dreamt of virgins and paradise’s snake
gripped his resolve and temptation firmly and waved a whitewashed flag
But he had enlisted for glory so when duty called again he felt like a Smartie
and an Oreo biscuit creamy on the inside sheltered and crisp on the outside
He had once read Nabokov but this moment was reserved for Nabisco and
Lolita approached in hot pants on the horizon in between ruins and dust
Where there’s smoke there is light he concluded and happiness is a warm gun
He had to get collateral damage out of his mind and face mostly friendly fire
so he delayed retrograde action for there is a time for every pulsating feast
and therefore he loaded his kind weapon and aimed straight at bull’s eye lids
dreamt of his wife and his mistress he had to guard with all his body and soul
Just then he exploded in a mine field and became a eunuch in Dad’s Army
14th September 2020
The Champion
Controlled by remote desires I trip the laurel fuse of longing ancestry
My Mom had been chosen to compete diving from the high platform of
Hitler’s mania for ‘Kraft’ ‘Freude’ living space terror raised arms and all in
guns blazing a misplaced childhood offered on the altar of manic delusion
Wreaths gathered dust on unmarked graves white crossed monuments
administered torches blazed parades marched lined the ‘Higher Faster
Longer’ ‘More Ideologically Corrupt’ abuse of innocent festival of youth
Replaced demounted sacred Mount Olympus for Auschwitz and Stalingrad
My mother was no Jesse Owens who blackened Nazi dreams of whiter than
white no ‘Black Consciousness Runner’ shoving gloves to the sky in post-fascist
Munich 1972 quite close to Dachau where Jews Sinti and Roma vanished
at the hand of Swastika’s psychopathology for denial distanced denied memory
A colour TV to watch remote from a distance was the closest she ever got to
her dream of honour and glory disgraced by politics assassinated like Israeli
athletes in a continuation and preview of fanatical devilish monsters high and
low jacking innocent sports for propaganda politics malignant ideas and ideals
In 1944 there were no Olympics titanic battles were scrambled instead in
General’s Admiral’s chessboards and tactical blood baths no dives into chlorine
and water just rotting gassed trenches exploding the dreams pawns in the Games
crushing to bone meal the Peace with their tanks and grenades fusing demise
1948 came to London awaking from ruins and rubble and the brain washed
German Olympians were banned from all sports had they not spread eagled
their passion prostituted their vigour for eugenics death Fuehrer and Fatherland
My mother tainted blemished in blood and in water a fallen hero on her sword
09th August
Written for Healing Peace and for the contest 'Olympic Mania'