Long March out Poems
Long March out Poems. Below are the most popular long March out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long March out poems by poem length and keyword.
A pendulum swings
Right, left, right, left
A bomb flies out and there is no life left to detect
A pendulum swings
Left, right, left, right
A newborn baby is being delivered tonight
A pendulum swings
Right, left, right, left
The troops march out to this bloodshed dressed
A pendulum swings
Left, right, left, right
The child picks up a toy gun as they start to fight
A pendulum swings
Right, left, right, left
Shots fired as bullets penetrate the chest
A pendulum swings
Left, right, left, right
The child is drafted with a single invite
A pendulum swings
Right, left, right, left
A body dropped, another soldier confessed
A pendulum swings
Left, right, left, right
A body was found with the next daylight
A pendulum swings
Right, left, right, left
A soldier falls into a slumber, severely depressed
A pendulum swings
Left, right, left, right
A body returned with the next noon flight
A pendulum swings
Right, left, right, left
A soldier hung themself with their final tactical belt
A pendulum stops
Both lives are gone
A battle they fought
But neither of them won
It wasn’t their war
But neither could outrun
Now they are just a memory
While the snake takes another for fun
Almost a century ago
Innocent blood was spilt
Almost a century ago
But there remains the guilt
The world must acknowledge
The Armenian genocide
The blood won’t wash away
There is no place to hide
One million and a half
Of Armenians met death
Their hopes and dreams extinguished
Gone out with their last breath
The women brutally raped
And their husbands shot or hung
How many of their songs
To this day remain unsung
The children weak and fragile
Dying for want of some bread
Left in the desert to die
Buzzards flying overhead
The sick and the elderly
Were discarded on the way
No one to weep and mourn
When their bodies saw light of day
The mothers dying slow deaths
Seeing children turn to bone
Wanting to feed them their flesh
Knowing they’ll not see them grown
The young girls flying off cliffs
Rather than suffer disgrace
Others hiding their beauty
By disfiguring their face
The soldiers with stone hearts
Deaf to the moaning sounds
Of the dead and the dying
Strewn on the desert ground
Faceless nameless people
Identity stripped away
Not honored with a number
In this gruesome tragic play
Their blood is crying out
Like faithful Abel of old
Still demanding justice
Their story must be told
The genocide of my people
Was not hidden from God’s eyes
The world may now deny it
May feed naive people lies
But every single blood drop
Will be accounted for one day
The murderers will face judgment
To escape- there’ll be no way
The Judgment day is coming
My people will see the light
They will be vindicated
They will march out of death’s night.
They will be reunited
With loved ones that they have lost
For their souls we now seek justice
We will achieve it at all cost.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Rise for there is a stirring and a calling in the air
Feeling Divinely touched in a moment real and rare
Flooding holiness making every heart and soul aware
Proclaiming to all that this is an answer to prayer
Rise for the Spirit is declaring it is time to wake
Slumbering no more for the battlefield is ours to take
Anointing poured out so thick every soul quivers and quakes
Rallying we march out for the enemy’s camp to break
Rise for Jesus the Christ is standing at the right hand throne
Singing fills the air in a powerfully joyful tone
Forcing the foes to flee as the banner of love is flown
Pushing ever forward for to us victory is known
Rise for God the father is calling to take it all back
Rescuing from the pit those whose heart and soul have turned black
Restoring all whose faith have fallen to despair and lack
Establishing his kingdom as the final great love act
On the count of three we will all stand up.
We will walk out and we will not look back.
They cannot expel all of us, right?
We are convinced it is the smart thing to do.
We agree on it for two weeks before we get there.
Eight of us. They cannot expel us all right?
I am the first to stand. I begin the march out.
The rest are stunned, watching me go.
No one follow me. No one carries our plan through
Except for me, standing and walking alone.
They clearly show their lack of integrity
When I am expelled two of them ask me for
a letter of reference. They are kidding
Right? Acting all smug as they graduate.
Pretending they never knew me at all.
I obviously never knew them….
Without question or words, I am alone tonight with you, writing.
A menial task, at least.
If mine eyes were like the Sparrows', they would march out off and grab you. Today, I fuel these mean, tyrannical things.
If mine eyes have but bought the answer, the answer to Mine own pure heart, I would have sought out refuge in places zero, finding it; zero repeating it.
There are no words for which I can say that echo my thoughts as I read and write about my feelings on this cold, October morning. No words mentioned?
A hollow glass of timer shoots low upon my belly, it is made out of coal, and it believes it knows me.
It is brass and silver; It is my old, long-lost violin, the 'Scarecrow'.
Perhaps there's more to life here than meets the everlasting paths of divine entities. Yiuth being one of them, faith being one of the few.
I cannot reason with my thoughts if I am alone with those other inquiries, only fathom them. May they never sleep at night. May they never fathom...
Refugees came running from Hitlers rule
Save these victims from a death so cruel!
"Never again!" were the words they muttered
"We must defend our land" soon they uttered
Building your home on someone else's land
Planting your flag within Palestine sand
It was your plan, to steal and then expand
From those who reached out and gave you a hand
They said they designated a safe space
Where you won't be attacked. So go! Make haste
Relocate quickly to where it is safe
Unfairly bombed before reaching that place
Many innocent children run and play
While bombs say hi to them every day
Even those in wheel chairs who move with haste
Bombed again before reaching the safe place
Every child who sees his family die
Knows the days of when they were mistreated
They are stricken with heart break as they cry
Grow up to be the next Hamas leader
Social media shows blood that is spilled
Women, children, even newlyweds killed
Babies, prematures and bundles unborn
Never lived their life for they were soon mourned
International courts did not succeed
In saving lives and bringing worldly peace
Lack of love and human rights is portrayed
Through our Society's moral decay
The stale air smells of rubble, blood and fear
As nations march out supporting your side
Oh Palestine! Weep not for peace is near!
And soon there will be no more genocide
Fireworks of death rained on the Gazan sky
Souls journey to heaven saying goodbye
They can try all they want to break your spine
They cannot kill the heart of Palestine!
Timidity ran all over me,
I got frightened for the day
Corpers march out of the camp
Bidding service to their homeland bye
A compulsory year for “ajuwaya”.
Of waste to many
Of hilarious time out to some
Of acculturation to others
Of enslavement in a glorified den.
With the inscription NYSC on white top
Brownish khaki below
Para-force orange boot to march
Ajuwaya’s hope dashed after 365 days
Dream killed for future seeds
Aspirations in korper’s khaki cut off
As they are unleashed to joblessness
Scattered into hopelessness of labour market
Here comes the “korpersion”
In search of future in confusion
Outside the very den after gyration
In a kingdom with no future.
Alayande Stephen. T
2.55pm
17th August 2006
Ajuwaya- a term used for fresh undergraduate who are
Undergoing one year compulsory service to their father land.
Still on my way, but back to IPC from Apagbon in Lagos on
The behest of IPC Chairman, Lanre Arogundade.
Significantly, it was the pass out day for corpers as they don
the streets in their Khakis.
Back in seventeen eighty-one
The revolution hit hard times,
Britain had taken Charlestown
And at Camden had crushed the lines
Of General Horatio Gates,
Leaving nobody to resist,
Except the Swamp Fox Marion
Who alone was able to persist.
South Carolina had fallen,
And Cornwallis was marching north,
The patriots had to stop him,
But could not yet match up with his force.
So they called up Daniel Morgan,
A brawler who had earned his fame
With his actions at Saratoga,
As a soldier he knew the game.
He was sent to march out westwards,
To harass and gain new supplies,
Cornwallis worried about this,
Let Banastre Tarleton fly.
Tarleton was a cavalry fame,
His infamy now widely known,
He’d butchered his foes at Waxhams,
When upwards their hands had been thrown.
The patriots called him Butcher,,
‘Bloody Bann’ was his sobriquet,
Yet many feared the young colonel,
From his legion they would run away.
But General Morgan knew all this,
He was pragmatic in his approach,
Knew what his men could and couldn’t do,
Where they thrived, where they were laid low.
Knowing Tarleton was close by,
He found a spot called ‘Hannah’s Cowpens,’
Nearby the flooded Broad River,
Here all tradition he’d upend.
Knowing militia ended to flee,
And not face a hand-to-hand fight,
He put their backs to the river,
They couldn’t run to escape their plight.
Now they would fight, or they would die,
But he felt this wasn’t enough,
So he split his force into three lines,
Plotting an elaborate bluff.
If the first he put sharp-shooters,
Told them to shoot ‘Epaulet Men,’
Then set up local militias
To form a line just behind them.
And the back were Continentals,
Tried soldiers of many a year,
These he knew didn’t break and run,
They were the few the British feared.
To top it off he arranged them
All on the slopes of a small hill,
Then waited there for Tarleton
Who expected an easy kill.
Tarleton had seen it all before,
At Charlestown and Camden field,
These rebels could talk a good game,
But in a fight they’d run of they’d yield.
So when he spotted Morgan’s force
He did not bother to survey,
Bold and young, he rushed in headlong
Expecting the militia to break...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Two little boys march out of doors to play.
The blue and cloudless sky won’t be denied.
But puddles still remain from yesterday
When crashing thunder caused them both to hide.
The rain has filled the sandbox like a flood
And so they jump and splash and soak their shoes.
Their ankles up past knees covered in mud,
They grin a grin designed to beat the blues.
Then, all across the yard, from house to fence,
They suddenly decide they need to run.
And to their own imagined audience
They dance and sing a song up to the sun.
There’s nothing that can make a heart rejoice
More than the summer play of little boys.
Welcome to Chicago!
Where women march like soldiers
in their tennis shoes, wearing their stuffy suits
Welcome to the windy city.
The women dare not wear full skirts.
Their high heels are in their desk drawer
Welcome to the Magnificent Mile
These women’s children are in the suburbs
With babysitters who do not love them.
Welcome to Chicago!
Tired women march out of the train station
holding a handbag or a lunch box, maybe both
Welcome to the Field Museum of Natural History
A place they could bring their children on weekends
But do not want to, because they do not want to come back.