Long Migrant Poems
Long Migrant Poems. Below are the most popular long Migrant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Migrant poems by poem length and keyword.
Mosque cowed covenant I keep Putin off...
and withheld broadcasting
the following communication
tucked away these many years,
when president number forty five
donned, jump/kick started, and tweeted
thru his musky, albeit flabby mantle,
a rallying cry forewarning onset of Mag(m)a
bubbling, gurgling, lobbing, and spewing lava
against backdrop of his trumpeting vitriolic
political preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation tomb mike -
(make) pence sieve lee clear,
the immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans incendiary fold
drawl (folderol) feigning migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting older than Methuselah),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
adorned, donned with (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent - bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
to flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will laughably petrify
any vigilantes dead cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
gobbledygook communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how I plan to hold
world web electronically hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark wide whirled web
cryptocurrency bitcoin blockchain trolled
under auspices, sans
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten free CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily monitoring
meant to fortify electronic threads
woven into a virtual tapestry
likened to Dickensian chain e-mail
intent to foment pandemonium
at expense to captcha totalitarianism,
whereby democracy imperiled.
South Of The (United States) Border...
(Reigns A Welter Of Disorder)
Caravans comprising multitudinous
peoples plodded a steady course
analogous to iron filings drawn by
strong magnetic force
gravitational pull generated
by North America
an irresistible source,
which tug felt
nearly all the way round
webbed wide world beckoning
for waves of humanity
figuratively donned as spawning fish,
toward which currently dimming
beacon of democracy flickr
Trump might extinguish
though tis quite heart
breaking to experience
vicariously as one collective soul,
these desperate folks
ambitious to seek asylum,
(and eventual citizenship),
while this "FAKE" president
invents many a...holy SMOKES
outrageous, nefarious, and malicious
dagger o type cruel barbed wire
accusing, condemning, and emasculating,
(I could continue),
but ye dear reader would tire
unless individuals
affected by xenophobia
countenance same stance
as Commander in Chief,
or contrariwise some
like minded
thinkers, rack coon sitter
the migrant situation dire,
would effectively serve me
as preaching to
the Unitarian choir,
yet any sensate
person must admit
tis quite upsetting, lamenting,
and agonizing to witness
hordes of persons treated like
some pestilential
eyesore dagnabbit,
yes this chap can
endlessly spout flibbertigibbet,
though thee crux of my opinion,
inspires a poem express
sing supportive emotions
particularly acknowledging,
how these masses (thousands)
of vulnerable individuals
show true grit,
nonetheless yours truly,
would be hard pressed
for an immediate
humane solution to corral
this extensive kit
and caboodle, though this generic guy
with a poetic knack
shakes his noggin
watching armed flack
delivered from border patrol agents/
United States military, lack
restraint, and who outright attack
trespassers at point
blank range that pack,
a deadly (Judge Judy ish
huss) punch smack
king young ones
upside the head forcing
everyone to backtrack
to their homeland of
persecution by crack
headed gang members, which thugs
violently land a deadly whack!
The Cooee-booroo was Irish, a migrant to this land,
who fled his native Galway and the grip of famine's hand.
For fifteen years he'd forged a life 'round Goulburn, New South Wales,
though sought his dream on Coopers Creek, out where the black man hails.
Where native Bootamurra folk for years were known to roam,
the place they called Thullung-gurra - their ancient tribal home.
Kyabra's unspoilt waterhole was home to fish and birds,
though Patsy Durack had in mind to bring his cattle herds.
'Twas here he met young Burrakin, a figure barely clad,
who claimed the man ... Boonari now ... to this young native lad.
Though Patsy called him Pumpkin ... much easier in the end
and like the humble vegetable he proved the bushman's friend.
For that proud Bootamurra youth, a whole new life began,
as Pumpkin loved the Durack folk and claimed them as his clan.
He watched them build their empire through the good times and the bleak;
for sixteen years he helped them build grass castles on the Creek.
When Patsy finally left the run to try the city’s fare,
he left old Pumpkin as head man and thought him better there.
Then Durack planned to build a run up in the Kimberleys:
an empire for his two young sons, a kind of legacy.
But Pumpkin yearned the company of Patsy, his dear friend
and left his old Kyabra home to join him in the end.
He stood by Patsy Durack till the old man passed away,
though stayed to keep the dream alive and rests there to this day.
These two Australian pioneers did leave a legacy-
the meaning of true brotherhood - as you can plainly see.
So whether you be white or black, do copy if you can,
the Cooee-booroo from Ireland and that Bootamurra man.
I have always enjoyed reading the early history of our Australian pioneers and the Durack
family certainly played their part in opening up this vast country. Sometimes the
seemingly minor characters, who become an integral part of that history, tend to fade
into insignificance with the passing of time. Characters such as Burrakin [Pumpkin] of
the Bootamurra people, whose life was completely changed by the coming of the Durack
family to Kyabra Ck. Burrakin's outstanding display of loyalty to his white brother,
Patsy Durack, is well worth remembering. My tribute to both men
Breeze, storm, tempest, tornado, wind,
Typhoon, you are named, yes, whirlwind,
Yet, you have well compressed yourself;
In me, into a gasp, named breathe,
Without which I have a mere death,
Thus commanding terms on myself...
I could hear your voice utter once,
In a debate of unique sense,
Your whisper was serene and sweet;
Admirations on you I poured,
As the plants and trees applauded,
In a richly rhythmic movement...
'Lovely you are, I commented,
Lavishly cute, high spirited,
Gracefully sweet is your murmur;
Yet looking into your movement,
I often tend to calculate,
You are a nomad, wanderer...
It's then lightly and politely,
Talking to me rather freely,
You'd told me many a secret;
Authentic, spiritual, pure,
That makes mortals feel sure secure,
Realistic and innocent...
Just like breathing, indeed, breathe's sigh,
And her loyal philosophy,
Fascinating, enlightening;
Nomad, gypsy, and traveler,
Migrant I am and wanderer,
Enthralling, real enchanting...
Yet, my child, have you realized,
I have you in me imprisoned,
And have kept you prompt permanent;
In my nomadically pure,
safe, perennially secure,
life-giving divine little hand…
It's when I had far away moved,
From the gushy maddening crowd,
And started reflecting calmly;
On the breath's bewildering words,
Dawned on me Gautam the Buddha's,
Renunciation theory...
True as the very Truth itself,
Is breath's unique unerring self,
Does the daylight any lie say?
Who upon this earth so divine,
Or under the gorgeous heaven,
Live without breath a single day?
Breathe is in me; I am in Breath,
It's, indeed dead-sure- till my death,
I can never refute this fact;
Breath utters and breath punctuates,
Breath whispers; breath murmurs and sighs,
Breathing is world's unending act...
I got imprisoned in the breath,
When in my mother's divine depth,
I received charming human form;
Knowingly or unknowingly,
Willingly or unwillingly,
I got surrendered in breath's arm...
Breathe has adopted me wholly,
Affectionately, benignly,
Giving me gifts of the Spirit;
Entering in my every nerve,
And my physique's each muscle curve,
Made me melodious flute, lute...
I play on
I am played on
04/27/2021
Writing Prompt - Breathe - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
I admit tubby distracted by a modeling
female physique when attempting to write,
an aching agony rips thru this son,
gripping with hard on – tight -
by Dickens constricting sensation,
who orbited the sun LX times
coon sitters himself heterosexual male,
where slumbering testosterone forces unite,
no matter my libido feels
deadened, this despite
the above mentioned
asthma ordinary devoid sexual drive,
when these eyes (brown and myopic) sight
even just a picture
oven an attractive gal fanciful flight
evokes dormant longings
crashing thru concentration
without any invite
sparring dueling animal urge,
I know ain't right
since being married,
and all (witches nothing to celibate)
boot even if aye hapt tubby
dim witted with cerebral blight
prurient predilections, would
nonetheless prevail causing affright,
whereby the photographed lovely lady
dashes out like shuttered image,
though only so few inches in height,
would make a bee line into an
unreachable cubbyhole,
not totally airtight
just enough breathing room
to await darkening hour of night
than with lightspeed akin to meteorite
off into the farther reaches with a blink quite
invisible this quasi
holographic like pseudo sprite
leaves yours truly in the lurch ignite
ting a supposed sexual propensity gone cold
nay, no can do, cuz
untethered high as a kite
electrifying animal desire forced to bite
the dust, though thankfully concupiscent pang
ordinarily not the least bit aroused, aye attest
nope, not lascivious provocative
Barenaked Ladies can NOT excite
an older fellow, whose adolescent body
seethed with hormonal secretion,
and any pretty young thang did alight
a stick up between still skinny legs,
hence people watching
(particularly gals), a birthright
even migrant and/or
teenage mutant ninja turtle doth delight
tool hook, but NOT touch
most times an effortless fight,
yet every once in a while atavistic
pulsations, asper call
of the wild bobwhite
overrides instagramming, snapchatting,
and twittering uber with such might
even erupting sexless interludes of eunuch
or "FAKE" shining knight
chess moonlighting also as “FAKE” playwright,
hence if perchance a beauty catches me sight
lack of youth in your favor
from my penitent penile plight!
An evanescent bouquet of skewed briars,
is how a tinsel laden tawdry essence wickedly unfolds ,
scuppered signpost to a fetid human compost,
faint light pendant on soul crushed quantum migrant,
who might chortle at vivid veil flimsy vacuum,
skirt recklessly around bogus symbols,
peer behind the squalid limp sodden hedge,
mock myopic moribund mist upon boundary busting dawn chimera,
sneer at synthetic spectrum elastic in its irritating tidal wave surfeit,
cerulean fabric‘s milky way escape plot,
in a perilous quest for that eternal tape loop mantra,
the synaptic heart of that vainglorious horizon,
self-knowledge under charcoal moon and silver cloud veneer,
or feral waste rapid fire contagion,
the indecisive day glow dither on the margins ,
of fly weight feeble frantic dash,
that velvet shadow treason daubed pettifog,
known as tangential wanton cobweb fester creed,
the mind a bloated ripple vortex numbing in its scope,
golden mirage but faux fur real concoction,
against the banal backdrop of complex-ridden superficial eddy,
from floral garland poseur stricken en train,
some vox pop indignation mere shrinking violet showcase waver,
the gleam-hued truth has this dastardly demonic derailment,
that I brush aside as spiteful oxalic sting repost,
that deceptive mint green forest of chameleon cant,
sly nuanced molten maple syrup hint,
from out of kilter tree pierce otherworld,
unseen yet bliss-edged virtual garden of firm conviction,
not just from isolated enigmatic individual script,
such as torrid turbulence or mindless scattered rim shot,
when conventions can be altered in exotic prose,
human zeitgeist has this far too often penchant,
for silkworm rapt effervescent double speak,
whilst plain unvarnished uplifting utterance,
resides within the deep crystal spring well,
of us torch aloft emerald earthling sages,
please augment the rock buttress stark phrase,
whose bluntness is a carrier pigeon of candor,
devoid of muted gray cloud blind waffle,
aromatic sprig to giant spasm of bold pluck,
quandary of human race at hearth,
frightened cliques, hidebound yes men who yen,
to swim the azure gulf of august freedom,
to the Eden where lucid tongues herald pristine witness.
where values at the centre of our being should blossom
La Historia-101, 2011
Vickie M. Ortiz Vazquez
Imagine, I cannot
To feel their lost
Longing for the return home
Rejoicing behind closed doors
Criminal act
Propagate servitude with miserable pay
Runaway between breaths
Hunted
Capture, captive
Criminal act
Rape once again, over again
White women turned the other way
Power instilled by any means necessary
Emancipated January first 1863
Imagine, I cannot
Overseas journey, long nights
Not knowing what awaits
The other side
Driven by hate, broadcast faith
Golden Goose displays false imageries
Selective stay, citizenship
Manipulations to project extreme dislike
Plant self loathe
All in the name of supremacist tendencies
Reached land
Meenay, miny, mo
Criminal act
Los Marielitos, 1970’s
Imagine, I cannot
Under the hot sun
Vast land of sand, predetermined path
Self-sacrifice in the name of family prosperity
Uncertainty
Dreams fuel by promises
Human trafficking, lottery
Slavery
Death
Destiny
Either way, criminal act
Imagine, I cannot
Whispers of sterilization
Population control
Blinded by land’s riches
“I must have” translated to ‘let me help you prosper”
Fed ideas of growth
Second guessing labor intensive industry
Rise of unemployment, 1960’s
Restless machetes stored away
Land’s fruits stolen
Justify
Criminal act
Under false pretences, little you give lots you take
Migrant float picture of your lies
Grasp in the hand of the devil
Imagine, I can
Two thousand eleven is the year
Headlines a fluke, mostly ignore by news
Recent voices speak of fear
Fear to seek an education
Fear to seek shelter
Fear to seek food
Fear to roam about
Inhale life’s smells
Capture life’s colors
Tattoo life’s experiences
Criminal act
Imagine, I can
Flickering lights getting closer
Fused back light
Finger print attempt for a burned out back light
Tif for Tat between Blue and Morena
Unnoticed the color of his skin
Minutes after, does it really matter?
Blue soldier with a license to destroy
Destroy without questioning lives of those tricked
Brought under false pretenses; full of hope
Penniless
Left to die
Wrongfully accused
Dreams shattered
Hopeless
I was born in a banana republic,
Between the carnivorous chains of Françafrique,
In an open-air dumpster,
Where tyranny, barbarity, and savagery speak with arrogance.
I am perfumed with all the nauseating scents of misery.
I grew up under the honeyed speeches of necktied oppressors,
Their swollen pockets vomiting development aid.
They painted the walls of despair UN blue,
While our starving bellies served as ballot boxes.
My tongue is a battlefield
It was cut, stitched back, trained to sing the masters’ symphonies.
I speak French like a trauma articulated,
With the pain of my color since the first slave trades.
My struggle, a reminder of the invasion, an inheritance of batons from the Caribbean plantations.
I saw dictators blessed by chancelleries,
Oil traded for diplomatic silence,
Mines bled dry by hands gloved in elegance,
And mass graves hidden beneath bilateral agreements.
I am what they call human resource,
Exportable, exploitable, erasable at will.
I was born where dignity is sold by the kilo,
And where the future fits in a punctured boat at dawn on the Mediterranean.
I was born where the future fits in a punctured boat at dawn on the Mediterranean.
Where a passport is a burden, not a key.
Where one sells their skin to organ merchants
To buy a pixelated mirage of Europe.
I saw my mother weep silently over deportation slips,
My father break his back in open-pit mines of the cradle of humanity,
I learned to read in the pamphlets of the defiant,
To count on my fingers the promises unkept.
School, a factory of stillborn dreams.
Healthcare, a market where cancer is sold in tainted doses.
Justice, a rumor, an insult whispered
Between two power cuts and three police blunders.
I am the child of fake independences,
Of tailor-made constitutions stitched for insatiable gluttons.
I was born without inheritance, save for
This rage accumulating like sand under the skin.
They called me delinquent, migrant, underdeveloped,
But I am the living archive of their beautified crimes.
I am the raw product of their refined markets,
The shattered mirror they flee, for fear of seeing their own barbarity within.
Despite the climate challenge with traffic congestion on the road,
there’s still a driving urge to go out and celebrate the Eucharist;
it’s a great deal of commitment to God who’s the source of life,
his language connotes an embodiment of love for our salvation.
Braving the difficulties in coping with the details of missionary life,
such as culture, language, climate, food and many others in foreign lands;
our faith gets tested, our humility gets challenged, and our identity revealed
and these comprise the foundation of being a missionary to other people.
In places where we learned to love the people of different cultures,
the need to adopt, acculturate, and realign to the mysteries of being a migrant,
continues to witness the movements and other signs of the times;
a world replete with endless search drawn from different human experiences.
It’s pretty common as a pervading theme across the passages in the bible;
the word migration that has a powerful connotation and rich in literature,
oh, as the holy scriptures say: “you shall not oppress an alien; you well know
how it feels to be an alien, since you were once aliens yourselves in the land of Egypt.”
The advent of a wide range of issues about the struggles in today’s migration,
with varying reactions characterized by principles, ethnic and religious devotion;
a certain perspective is formed according to Christian beliefs and aspirations
that migrants no matter who they are, deserve respect and societal insertion.
Lured by the promise of work and better opportunities that await somewhere,
people across the globe try their luck and take the risk to cross the land,
it’s viewed with deeper reflections like those of mostly Catholic Irish who came by,
their large influx in this country of America during the height of potato blight.
True to form, this parallels the new waves of Hispanic immigration
along with Asians, Africans, and other migrant groups with their history and cultures
truly, it’s a cycle that brings out the commonality of human quest and ambition;
with assimilation and determination to maintain and improve their life situations.
Despite the climate challenge with traffic congestion on the road,
there’s still a driving urge to go out and celebrate the Eucharist;
it’s a great deal of commitment to God who’s the source of life,
his language connotes an embodiment of love for our salvation.
Braving the difficulties in coping with the details of missionary life,
such as culture, language, climate, food and many others in foreign lands;
our faith gets tested, our humility gets challenged, and our identity revealed
and these comprise the foundation of being a missionary to other people.
In places where we learned to love the people of different cultures,
the need to adopt, acculturate, and realign to the mysteries of being a migrant,
continues to witness the movements and other signs of the times;
a world replete with endless search drawn from different human experiences.
It’s pretty common as a pervading theme across the passages in the bible;
the word migration that has a powerful connotation and rich in literature,
oh, as the holy scriptures say: “you shall not oppress an alien; you well know
how it feels to be an alien, since you were once aliens yourselves in the land of Egypt.”
The advent of a wide range of issues about the struggles in today’s migration,
with varying reactions characterized by principles, ethnic and religious devotion;
a certain perspective is formed according to Christian beliefs and aspirations
that migrants no matter who they are, deserve respect and societal insertion.
Lured by the promise of work and better opportunities that await somewhere,
people across the globe try their luck and take the risk to cross the land,
it’s viewed with deeper reflections like those of mostly Catholic Irish who came by,
their large influx in this country of America during the height of potato blight.
True to form, this parallels the new waves of Hispanic immigration
along with Asians, Africans, and other migrant groups with their history and cultures
truly, it’s a cycle that brings out the commonality of human quest and ambition;
with assimilation and determination to maintain and improve their life situations.