Long Homeland Poems
Long Homeland Poems. Below are the most popular long Homeland by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Homeland poems by poem length and keyword.
A crystal-clear picture!
The embodiment of courage!
An unsung Warrior, vigorously protecting uprooted,
heart-broken kin, and many shelterless,
After a devastating partition of the homeland!
A man in his prime, giving up
dreams of comfort, luxury, indulgence,
Embraces a life of unimaginable hardships,
a life of never-ending toil,
So others feel safe, after a harrowing experience!
A life of everyday struggle for survival,
A life of torturous self-deprivation,
a life of agonizing separation -
From own loved ones,
so others live with theirs!
I remember the powerful hands,
which symbolized strength, offering a refuge,
I remember the devotion and dedication,
the tenderest care, the soulful empathy!
I remember the determined voice which symbolized
assurance, calming fearful souls.
Partition of a homeland - an unforeseen,
traumatic, curse for millions of sufferers,
Surviving with bare minimum, in an
unknown land, for an unpredictable future!
Leaving behind all cherished memories,
precious and prized possessions.
To me, One man symbolized -
how to climb uphill
Carrying a formidable weight,
on the steepest mountain,
And reach the summit
with sheer determination and indomitable spirit!
He is My Father!
September 8, 2020
Winner In Courage - Premier Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cook
My New Poem, Raw and Uncut
Oh What a day
Oh What a day when black people stop pray
Pause and realize where their horizon lay
Where the pastures are green, yet remains unseen,
What a day when we look in perception
and see the path that lead to today ,
yet we keep reliving the past
the ignominy of a bygone day.
Oh What a day
when we clear the path
of delusional ideologies and alien songs
Home is where the heart is
But in Africa, Humanity began
Oh what a day
when we see our purpose,
That from the cradle, the creator blessed us ,
not conceding to the thought, he cursed us.
Oh what a day
when our leaders
plants the seed of economic sufficiency
than clearing the path to cooperate greed.
When will our leaders in the west indies
Revisit our history and shine a light
To our glorious African history
That’s kept from our sight.
Oh what a day, when we hang our wall
An image of our creator
Blessed with the dark shades of the sun
Telling the truth, of how it began
Not reflecting what its never been
Oh what a day,
when we learn to love,
our African brothers despite what is said.
West Indies may be your homeland
America and others are a part
But if you are a blackman
Jamaica may be your homeland
but keep Africa in your heart
The motherland,
your primary thought.
Oh what a day
When we see the light
And know the meaning of life
That regardless of material things
There is a glorious life
In sharing, caring, preserving life.
Oh what a day
We don’t need no gold or diamonds rings
No motor cars, no air plane, none of these earthly things
For the riches that the earth possess
Even if you are a poor man , they are priceless
And if you are a rich man, they too become useless
Oh what A day, when the angels sings
And cashes not, just to wear the bling
That steals the soul, and corrupts the heart
Costing life at an escalating cost
Oh what a day when we start again
And share the spirit that our ancestors had
The love of our mother, sister and brother
Where dad played his part ,
Getting the harvest, bold and strong
Defending the virtues of the mother and Motherland
Oh what a day,
when the daily propaganda, no longer influence
Because we have taught the youth
Home is where the lesson is learnt
Righteousness the only path
For human coexistence,
We need a kind heart/
berkeley time travels
growing up in Berkeley
in the 70’s
one would be drawn
to Telegraph avenue
down the street from Cal
to a particular corner
Dwight way and Telegraph
catty corner to People’s park
a corner sacred to the hippie
vendors who were always there
down the street from Moe’s bookstore
I would often walk back
occasionally talk to the vendors
about the latest conspiracy theory
about the latest conspiracy theory
and the latest political gossip
as the vendors
loved to talk
as they sat on their seats
selling their t shirts
filled with anarchistic sayings
and political rage
against the machine of hate
they saw all around them
as the man tried to keep them down
that was Berkeley
my sacred homeland
stuck forever in 1969
Israel:
Yo, I’m Israel, the land of the brave,
From ancient times, my roots engrave.
A homeland promised, a dream fulfilled,
In '48, my state was willed.
I built my cities, made deserts bloom,
A beacon of hope, in the region’s gloom.
Security’s tight, I stand my ground,
Against all threats, I won’t back down.
Palestine:
I’m Palestine, with history deep,
My people’s pain, in silence weep.
Nakba came, and lands were lost,
A heavy price, at a human cost.
In '67, occupation’s grip,
My lands controlled, my rights stripped.
Checkpoints, walls, and daily strife,
A struggle for a normal life.
Israel:
Oh, I hear your pain, I see your plight,
But terror’s shadow haunts the night.
Peace requires mutual trust, they say,
Yet my actions speak another way.
Let’s find a way, to coexist,
A future where your voice is dismissed.
Two states, two peoples, side by side,
In peace and justice, let’s abide.
Palestine:
My people suffer, under siege,
Basic needs, a distant dream.
Homes demolished, olive trees burned,
A cycle of pain, where hope is spurned.
I cry for justice, a plea for peace,
For the occupation’s grip to cease.
UN calls, but actions stall,
While my people suffer, through it all.
Israel:
I seek peace, but rockets fly,
From Gaza’s strip, they light the sky.
I defend my people, my sovereign right,
Against all terror, I must fight.
I’ve offered talks, I’ve sought a way,
But trust is broken, day by day.
Security first, I can’t ignore,
The threats that knock upon my door.
Palestine:
Your words are hollow, your promises weak,
My people’s struggle, you refuse to seek.
You talk of peace, but build more walls,
Ignoring the world’s countless calls.
My spirit’s strong, my will unbent,
For justice and peace, my heart is sent.
In this battle of words, I stand tall,
For freedom and rights, I’ll never fall.
Kiss me when the sun sleeps
when the blazing sun doth rise,
hold my trepid skin timorous
with a requited reassurance
we’ve not been broken
of soulmate incarnate
ecstasy within our grasp
of this comes beautiful
hold me tight, my love
Nirvana’s desaturated shade, awaits
soft pink and warming gray, above
behind a burning turmeric glow
under an apocalyptic sky
brawn banished, lips silenced
after every word is spoken
sanctioned skeletal forms
melded are two mortalities
fusing into one metaphor
birth of man, woman, death infinite’s
earth, wind, fire, water embossed
no diener for dystopia
only death lives in destruction
crimson deserts recreated
ashen corpse servant
no hand his bones shall fall
sealed is our eternal love
our homeland a morgue
ossified cartilage caresses
immortalization in
pulverized sand dunes
touched by the flurries
of vaporized gold dust clusters
opportune eyes fell upon
excavating earth organs ripped open
evil befell the resilient relentless
by all that glittered gold
golden buried stones
by the arid drones
our existence erased
no genogram depiction,
not relevant to treatment
ashen of undying souls
are there more lives,
…what do you think?
Going Towards the Unknown
Zabra, a Spanish vessel sailing around Africa to
Yemen by the Red Sea. A sense of
xenophilia was felt among the mainland Yemen people on our arrival. They are
worlds apart in lifestyle from ours, they live in mud homes. Our charter
voyage takes us back home to the fond memories of living there. We have easy sailing
under the right conditions if the tides and wind permit. We’ll stop at
Tanzania and pick up supplies and head back to our homeland, the
Spanish sun of Spain.
Retreating down the companionway to my stateroom and a tranquil
quiet night. Sweet is the night air as the Zabra, rocks and lulls our tired bodies to sleep.
Passing of so many days and nights,
our thoughts are when will this voyage ever end.
Not until we sight shore will our
mind’s forget the terror of being forever
lost at sea.
Knowledge of skillful sailing assures us of a safe voyage.
Just pull the sails up and fill them with wind.
I gaze upon the sea and smell and feel the tease of a cool, crisp breeze against my face.
High tide and we’re off with a full moon navigating by the stars
guiding us into the horizon all the way home
filling us with pride.
Early morning radiant sunrise, shows us a
dealbation heaven opening to the cloud full sky.
Catching the wind in our sails,
beckons me on to embrace
a life of sailing journeys.
10/15/2015
Contest Name: first ever Z Y X contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
zabra : a sailing vessel resembling a small frigate and used chiefly by the Spanish in the 16th and 17th centuries
Xenophily or xenophilia means an affection for unknown/foreign objects or people. xenophilia love of foreigners
dealbation --bleaching; whitening.
You loved and cared,
Cooked and fed,
Never asking for a coin but for the sake of love...
The poet in me writes your praises,
Yet, the Mathematics in me can't even quantify your immense love for us.
Rest well Mami Margaret,
Tell grand mum I am OK but in the midst of another Pure Mathematics survival challenge.
Tell dad we missed him
and that I wish he was here to disprove my countless concepts in physics,
Tell him I still write poems and listen to the BBC,
Tell him I still look forward to have his twin grandsons despite countless failing proposals.
Tell grand-pa I didn't do political science nor joined politics
But from what I see, he for told our happenings-now.
Tell our forefathers, that we have desecrated the shrines, sold out sacred traditional works of arts for greed and money.
Tell them of the arm conflict and how we've soiled the land with blood,
and divided among ourselves our yet to be homeland.
Farewell Mami Mar!
The poet in me pays you tribute,
As the Mathematics in me confirms your convergence in The Lord,
You're now in the abodes of the Father,
Farewell, Farewell
À Dieu Mami Margaret
Until we meet again.
Your son,
#DePoetHaus 2020
Even in a dark world, you think there is light.
Every time I open my eyes, there's nothing but pain in my sight.
People are hurting, bodies deteriorating, minds going crazy.
Every morning, I wake up and ask God why this has to be?
Babies are getting kidnapped, taken from their homes;
Women jumping out of cars because they're being beaten on.
Families are losing their houses because of wildfires;
The government is making plans, taking food out of our mouths.
The African race is trying to go back to slavery days;
Now they want to end all black everything, taking away our pay.
Freedom is getting hard for illegal immigrants,
Being deported and rounded up by ICE back to their homeland.
It's a pain every day to watch social media or the news.
Every day, someone is getting shot and murdered for public views.
Young kids are getting lazier by the minute;
They just want to be on any platform, shaking their asses for pennies.
I’m in between
The darkness and light…how can I make progress?
I’m in distress
The happiness…will never last – will never lead to
Everlasting success...
I’ll never reach
Soaring success…
I’m in between
Land and water
But, the grass on the other side is green
And I’ll remain
Unseen…
Unseen for life
Gobbling up repulsive strife
Invisible like the spirits…
Roaming the earth and haunting people
To the maximum
I’m in between
Merriness and desolation…how can I make progress?
I’m entwined in my mess
The jubilance…will have its end– will never lead to
Sky-high success…
I’ll never attain
Vivacious victory
I’m feeling numb –
I’m in between doubt and hope…
Not sure what shoulder I should lean on…
Not sure what path to take…my life’s at stake
And all I could do at this moment is mope
Trapped in a bewildered state…
Unfasten me out of this seatbelt
Before I melt away…before I subside
Away from your dynamic light
My faith towards Him converts to fright…
Don’t confiscate me from my homeland
Why do I have to depart tonight? I don’t understand…
I’m in between
Giving up and enduring…how can I seek blissfulness?
I’m under pressure…I’m compacted by tons of stress
The exultation…will soon wither away–
Goodbye to success...
Goodbye to my heart’s desire!
Forget about my progress
What does success require of me?
(just so that you know: Am I Close To Success is the 2nd part of this)
So we cross this threshold of war as awful friends in freefall,
and with these trumpets and drums shaking the graves
of ancient days we bring forth instruments of death's call
through our very own homeland where the music of valor plays,
songs, poems and parades are already being written in the pulse of the people,
only the names of the victors and vanquished remain unknown,
yet both will be Roman, both will bleed, and both will reveal their soul's steel,
pallisades, seige towers and ballistas of big stones thrown
from town to town, from Arminium, Corfinium and to the Bay of Brundisium
the Italians of Rome have said to the Legions of Caesar save our home
seek no throne, carry not a crown, show the world that cruelty can be outdone
scourge the vile with the virtue of Clementia, make the Senate atone,
make not widows of Rome's daughters nor orphans of the innocent
bring a heartbeat of holiness back to these halls and hills where peace has been absent,
Bring a heartbeat of holiness back to these halls and hills where peace has been absent,
you've heard these honest entreaties and endearments
from mothers and elders, citizens, priests and from the militant,
we are not men who march on dreams,
we have not marched into Greece to starve and grovel
under the ritual yoke of this pseudo Republican army
headed by an overhyped hothead acting under an upper class spell,
I believe we were born to be on this battlefield's history,
we are inspired by unequalled Evocati leadership
veterans venomous in brute brilliance,
they have a myriad of mercenaries whose cause is only for coin on the hip
they outnumber us 6 to 1 on horse and 2 to 1 in the lines
most of Pompey's Legates have learned warfare from talk and books,
we've been taught the terror of triumph from where the heart looks...
J.A.B.