Long Patriotic Poems
Long Patriotic Poems. Below are the most popular long Patriotic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Patriotic poems by poem length and keyword.
*My beloved Oval, I fear that my words fall short of what I am feeling in my heart. May you accept these few lines of love as my best effort of expressing my concern for you. I have heard much about you, but I have yet to visit and meet you in person. The pictures of you are rather striking and stunning.
It was during the 90's that I first became gravely concerned about what seemed to me, 'a tarnishing' of your office. Circumstances surrounding your occupants caused a great deal of weeping in my soul. It appeared as if the dark clouds of contamination were setting over you, and determined to drive out the awe and aromatic presence of your enduring reverence. Nevertheless, like the giant I always believed you to be, you came roaring back to a place of renown in the early 2000's. And Oval, it was so good to have you back. A new leader so deserving of your atmosphere took great lengths to restore the sacredness that was so rightfully due. I tell you Oval, the reality of your presence and power is so pervasive that it extends far beyond your palatial walls. For centuries you have adorned the shoulders of presidents in attire befitting their sacred trust.
Again, I stand aghast that I am observing a cloud of low regard for your office. Oval, this concern is not about presidents. More than 40 presidents have sat in your room, but you are still here. Presently, you are the one I am concerned about. It's my duty to speak up for you at this "high tide" of divisiveness.
Oval, in closing, there are many forces parading through our country; and it appears that these opposing forces are conspiring for a 'perfect storm'. Be advised and encouraged that much prayer is also invading the air waves. I see indications that not only shall we prevail and survive, but we shall also thrive because of God's Good Graces and His magnanimous mercies.
09292017 PS Contest, Early October Standard, Brain Strand Personification Form *Oval: The Oval Office in The White House
The soldier, he looked down at me
While I protested vociferously.
He seemed to be but twenty-five
An age that weathered eyes belied.
And as I turned to walk away,
I heard the soldier up and say:
“It seems that you don’t understand,
What it takes to protect this land.
The price we pay for what we do,
What we suffer for folks like you.
The cost of keeping people free
Is letting go of the fantasies.
The stories all you people tell,
Burn away in war’s fiery hell.
The illusions that most people hold,
They Sink away to depths untold.
To keep you safe we confront truth,
And force along the end of youth.
You chant and say ‘Let’s end all war,’
It’s understandable deplored.
But you never seem able to derive,
That the end of war is the end of life.
As long as folks can think on their own,
Conflict will exist, and war will be close.
To end it all, the cost would be
All trace of individuality.
A price too great for man to know,
Better the chance of trading blows,
Than giving up what is our essence.
It’s a bloody but important lesson.
And since the battle can never end,
You’ll always have need of warrior men,
To fight against chaotic tides,
To hold a line against the night.
And as for seeing an end to war,
Only dead folks will see no more.
We don’t as much for what we do,
In money I make less than you!
We ask no power, small or large,
We don’t demand to be in charge.
We don’t need swoons or genuflects,
We ask only that you show respect.
And though it makes bleeding hearts burn,
It’s a respect we’ve dearly earned.
By watching buddies die and scream,
By hearing them in haunted dreams,
By seeing our peace-time lives crimped
By missing limbs and nagging limps.
We just want you to understand
What such a life does to a man.
To keep peace for this country, wide
A piece of all of us must die.
And even if we survive steel rain,
What comes home will never be the same.
We do it ‘cause it must be done,
To those for fear no law but guns.
We stand up strong and take the blast,
So common folks, the rage will pass.
And had we not chosen this life
You’d all feel the weight of death-run-rife.”
And then the soldier walked on by,
I could not believe he’d bought the lies!
The fool, he probably stayed up late,
Thinking up new folks to hate!
If he’d only go to college, he’d see
The real heroes are protesting…
There once was a much-desired piece of real estate nearby the estate of a king.
The property was coveted by the king and owned by a subject in his domain.
The king offered the above mentioned landowner a fair price, but he promptly refused to sell.
The use of eminent domain laws is said to have originated in the early 1700’s;
but this story took place hundreds of years before Christ. It refers to an evil king of a Middle Eastern country.
In a democratic republic, many properties are often secured by eminent domain.
In the above mentioned kingdom, the citizens also had rights to be honored.
The king was known to be evil, but even he deferred to the citizen’s property rights.
Though a king may be evil, he need not seek to do everything evil. So the king went home very sad, because he sincerely wanted that property. He said it was close to his estate, and owning it would allow him to expand his garden.
Nevertheless, it was not to be. That is, until the king’s wife got word of it.
The queen soon noticed the dejected and disappointing demeanor of the king.
Upon learning about her husband’s dilemma, the queen promptly resolved the king’s problem without further questions. The queen devised a lying and evil plot, and in short order, she had the man killed. She then confiscated his property and handed it over to her husband the king. The property owner had bravely exercised his right to sell or not sell to the king; but it cost him his life. Yes, the king had a reputation for being evil; but his wife the queen was far more evil than the king.
The exercise of our rights can be costly, and may even demand the ultimate price. However, the pain is greater, and the wounds are deeper, whether inflicted by the state government or by people, if rights are ignored. The evils of a State, whether it be a kingdom or republic, can only persist if the good people of the state do nothing. When good people are silent, the state is at great risks of doing evil. But when good people are vocal and prayerful, the state does good and serves them, because they exercise their rights. ‘The Good’ can only be realized as good people rise from their seats of apathy. Good people can only see and combat evils as they raise their heads from the sands of indifference.
cj 07232015 PS
More free advice to those* who would be King from the THIRUK-KURAL with notes
[*like presidents, prime ministers, dictators of declining (falling or fallen) nations]
K386: kaadchikku eliyan kaduñchollan allanaal
miikkuurum mannan nilam
Where king is easy of access, where no harsh word repels,
That land's high praises every subject swells. (Transl. G.U. Pope)
The whole world will exalt the country of the king who is easy of access, and whose words are without harshness. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
Where at royal audience all may attend a king gentle of voice and mien*,
That kingdom's praises all will sing. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
[* recourse to threats and reprisals can only undermine the good name of the land]
K429: viyavatka eññaantrum thannai
nayavatka nantri payavaa vinai
Never indulge in self-complaisant mood,
Nor deed desire that yields no gain of good. (Transl. G.U. Pope)
Let not a king praise himself, at any time;
let him not desire to do useless things. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
(The king) should neither blow his own horn
Nor occupy himself with acts* that bring in no corn. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
[* like building a porous wall on borrowed cash while tens of millions of the poor sick die in pain, EVEN IF AMERICA will wake up some day to realize that he was after all right about the measures he's wanting to take over IMMIGRATION, unless everybody wants the kind of irreversible situation FRANCE and GERMANY are going through.]
K454: manaththu ulathupOlak kaadti oruvat
inaththula thaakum arivu
Man's wisdom seems the offspring of his mind;
'Tis outcome of companionship we find. (Tranls. G.U. Pope)
The knowledge of a man, while it appears to be from his mind is (really) from his associates. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
[(The king) who makes as if his words (and ideas)* emanate from within himself, (the contrary being the case) will find it difficult to conceal their true source(s). (Transl T. Wignesan)]
[* A king who has difficulty expressing himself in the "King's English" and whose repertoire of epithets is mostly limited to: "terrific", "terrible", "horrible", "horrific", "wonderful", "tremendous" along with threatening phrases like "watch my words" would do well to ask the ghost-writers to step forward and take a bow.]
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Free advice to those* who would be King from the THIRUK-KURAL with notes
[*like presidents and prime ministers of declining (falling or fallen) nations]
K381: padaikudi kuulamaiccu nadpuaran aarum
yudaiyaan arasarul eeru
An army, people, wealth, a minister, friends, fort:
Who owns them all, a lion lives amid the kings. (Transl. G.U.Pope)
[army= the most formidable air, sea and land forces; wealth= minus the eighteen (?) trillion debt and not counting his own well-earned piddling billions; a minister=read as Prime Minister (V.P. or Sec. of State?); people=less by three million-odd democratic votes; friends=dwindling, save for staunch Israel by marriage; fort=impenetrable nuclear shield. ]
K448: idippaarai illaatha eemaraa mannan
keduppaar ilaanum kedum
The king, who is without the guard of men who can rebuke him, will perish, even though there be no one to destroy him. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
K444: thammit periyaar thamaraa olukuthal
vanmaiyul ellaam thalai
So to act as to make those men, his own, who are greater than himself, is of all power the highest. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
K447: idikkum thunaiyarai aalvaarai yaaree
kedukkum thakaimai yavar
Which king who (encourages and) heeds the criticisms* of his henchmen fears conspirators? (Transl. T. Wignesan)
[*not-heeding the advice of Ivanka and son-in-law on climate change commitment in Paris, even if the polls show a majority in favour of polluting the planet.]
K448: iduppaarai illaatha eemaraa mannan
keduppaar ilaanum kedum
The king who insulates himself from his helpers'* critiques will perish even if his enemies left him alone. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
[*the role of the media in keeping the WH incumbents in check, for without the journalists working over-time to whet and wet-blanket the language and blunders, the King would have perished by now.]
K450: pallaar pakaikollin paththaduttha thiimaiththee
nallaar thodarkai vidal
Having to put up with the enmity of legions* is ten times less harmful than forsaking the support of good (impartial) people*.
[*legions= Hillary Clinton and the NDP; *good (impartial) people= like FBI Dir. Comey for one, even if he has an eye (twenty-twenty vision) on the presidency in 2020]
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
(I'm
an
Indian
lassie,
was
born
in
West
Africa,
(Nigeria),
Grew
up
in
South
Africa
(Swaziland)
and
currently
live
in
East
Africa.
(Tanzania).
So
I
live
in
Daresalam,
near
the
Indian
Ocean.)
I
might
be
like
any
other
expatriate,
desirous
of
their
homeland
Upon
my
country's
soil
fervently
wishing
to
stand.
I
can't
help
feeling
profusely
foreigner
in
this
highly
foreign
land
I'd
give
anything
to
go
back,
say
even
be
a
mariner
for
there's
an
ocean
to
cross
before
familiar
sand.
An
ocean
with
dear
motherland's
name
greets
me
all
the
way
here
with
tantalizing
lure
Tiring
me
of
nostalgia's
seemingly
endless
game,
reminding
the
distance
between
the
shores
is
galore!
Everything
here
seems
just
too
alien
and
foreign
The
air
seems
foreign
punctuated
by
exotic
birds
In
this
land
I
still
feel
as
if
lost
in
some
warren
and
the
foreign
language
-
I'm
at
a
loss
for
words!
I
feel
estranged
and
disoriented,
struck
with
nostalgia
though
I
might
not
be
such
a
patriot
any
more
The
awaited
journey
to
India
from
Tanzania
to
reach
familiar
ground
of
lakhs
and
crore.
Ah,
the
welcoming
scenes
of
my
homeland
always
so
enticing
and
inviting
It
might
seem
surprising
that
for
me
she's
a
dreamland
but
a
desire
to
go
back,
since
ages
I've
been
fighting.
I'm
home-
sick,
waiting
so
long
to
be
back
home
There's
no
place
like
home-
sweet-
home
Here
I
feel
I've
lost
my
tracks
Like
a
homeless
wanderer
do
I
roam.
As
here
I
feel
no
less
like
a
Gulliver
on
his
travels
yet
to
rehabilitate
from
homesickness
might
take
a
lifetime
For now, I can merely
sing of motherland's
marvels
and wait soberly for fate
and destiny's chime.
But an underlying truth
here: I feel alienated
everywhere
as if I hailed from No-
man's-land
They think I neither
blend with the Indian
nor
the african
but hope they respect
my very individual brand.
A tale of two twins ...
Kit: That sure was a mean swing, Dottie. You knocked it out of the park. You’re the Sultana of Swat. I love the way you ‘round the bases doing your cute duckie trot. I love how you stand on home plate, kissing off the booing fans with your sour whispering asinine talk. You sho’ can swat high nonsense spitballs a lot.
Dot: Aw shucks, Kit, you Putin a smile on my face. But it ain’t me really. I just do what you coached me to do. Follow your lead like a good sibling pup pet is suppose to. I can’t help but wag the pig tale. Everybody knows that bare bosom greed sells. Now sis, you know I never vote swing and miss. I just love lip-crushing abetted ayes. Sending those lying spitball kisses flying high. But half-truthfully, girl I love the wet way you dry hurl. Such vomit velocity ... sending that propaganda puke spinning thru the air with such speed. You’re so lassie Vladdie bad amazing.
Kit: Yeah, twin ... we in a beleagued of our own. We don’t never do no wrong, at least none that we personally have to disown. And the Lady Bolshevik tag-team pocket profits are gonna stay kompromat strong. As long as the I-scream flag vendors keep selling the popular patriotic yellow snow cones. I love hearing the synthesized, trumpy anthem blaring sound, when the seventh-inning ruble donation rally hats are being passed around. It jacks me up, to the Nth lobby Molotov degree. My oligarch strong arm do a Siberian burn meddle poll vault sales pitch; delivered decibel stealth low, and so slow curve icily.
Dot: Serve ‘em up good, twin. Twist the grin like Papa Lenin said: “Never let a capitalist sucker get a free lick. Always snatch the purse from a paper chasing hick. Always foxy scoop the golden laid eggs from a sleeping, loose-liberty chick.” All bad things come in good corrupt Communist time. This czar fate injustice demands. I love the smell of democracy peanuts roasting in the ballot stands. I love hot, dog day debate fry cries doing the mustard squirt dance. So beleaguered and bland. I love the pretzel, fixed victory feel of cash register chance. I love being the pink champagne torch lady wearing no morality pants. Slyly, safely sliding home, skirt up ... silver tongue tush fanning kicked diamond sand. Giving a darkside-of-the-moon kiss to the loser Americans.
Monah Kaur and Robert Kumar fled from London, came to ‘Hindustan’; tied the knot
The 'Singhs' stopped their songs and 'Kumars at no. 42' burnt their studio; this rebellion; they will forget not
A petite piece of land was gifted by Uncle Prem to mark their freedom
With much thought the newly wed called it Garden of Eden
They cleared the plot from crawling matters and built a woody farm house
Within a year, Monah gave birth to twins; Lisa died; Minnie who survived became quiet as a mouse
The air around still polluted in invasion and many cuffed in iron
The sun and moon fairer than in London but nothing seemed fine
The couple laboured and fostered peaches for Mr. Big Ben; returned home clad in blisters
Minnie cried; and cried; her parents had no time and she desired a couple of sisters
In financial distress the duo approached the heroic Farmer Bachan to assist his flock
Pleased with their dedication he gifted them a Peacock.
Minnie cried louder now, seeing this English present; she wasn’t a fan
Bachan who was fond of the child, sent her way, a young Indian Peahen
Minnie’s tears lost its way in the Ganges as the new birds found their click
Around Christmas added to the family was a cute hybrid Pea-chick
What adorable ‘chana’ like eyes had she!
Without delay, Minnie named her Chick pea
Eden now a 'Rangoli'; 'Ranisas' and 'Nawabs' soothed in ‘Masala’ tea
All engrossed in the lights and sweetness of Diwali; no attention paid to the growth of The Serpent on that Apple tree.
Those daffodils patented to Wordsworth, danced in the air
In its abode, the serpent watched Eden, what a scare!
One morning, Minnie fetched a Brown ladder to reach the tree which dazzled with rounds of juicy red
The ladder attacked and killed; the child returned home badly bitten, almost to eternal slumber she bled
Bachan’s sheep strayed to the road that was not to be taken, decreased from many to few
Eden cried for The Good Shepard; The Foreign Raj ruthlessly bottled native stew
Prayers were answered and on a Tiger came a Flying sheriff called ‘Shroff’
Bedecked in turfy ‘ceps’ and ‘pecs’; this essence fought in ‘huff & puoff’
Over time; in years almost equal to Tendulkar's century; the Serpent grew wicked miles
The gladiator fought till his last breath, excreting the treacherous reptile back to the British Isles
The village head Pymy Gruzz was hundred years old
He had no daring self neither a piece of gold
Only a daughter had he she was a foster child
She was fifteen years old Kiki– sweet, gentle and mild
She gave him comfort with a docile, obedient smile
“No worry, father”, we are all together in our Lyle.
Night was perilous, hazy, and yellow as a ghost
A chill crossed the craven moon and a platter of duck roast
Kiki awoke and stepped out, in the dark the dragon queen snored
She crossed the lake Obenjinn and mounted the hill of sword
She felt the pricks of crusty prickles but she was climbing on
She must save the village Lyle where she was born
The dawn showed her chubby face happy on the child
Kiki made her journey’s end the day was sweet and mild
She found a man with sunny face god showed her in a dream
She went to him with folded hands and made a pleading to him.
Sire, I am Kiki from village Lyle bleeding in my heart
My village folks have turned to rocks in fear of Kunnegert
She is a dragon fire breather, keeper of skull on pyre
She must be killed by a happy man I want your sword on hire.
My blood my sweat and all I have will go to you my sire
I cannot delay; my folks are locked and human skull on pyre.
The sunny man stood up straight with a radiant face
“Little kid my Kiki sweet you will not fall from grace.
I will go with you my little moon and kill the dragon sure
I say you clean in voice plain what a happy man can endure
A happy man is happy because he lives with his lord
A happy man is happy because he keeps all love on hoard
He gives it free to every creature lord had made on earth
Lord made him his best seraphim to take a human birth
He is born for others and dies for all and in compassion he is tall
A dragon’s vice in valley of Lyle he must have to forestall
So Said he and took her hand and sword shone in golden orb
They climbed down the narrow gorge in finest pace the earth can absorb
Kiki, the daring daughter of the village stepped along the happy man
The golden sword the golden orb reached the final lane
The misty valley still in spell
the misty opiate dulled the souls and spurred the hell
The poet stopped his pen, slept a little, the stories told he had to retell*.
*This is the second part
(c) RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
14 September, 2014
“Oh, not in my town,” you doth so loudly protest.
But I tell you, they are even in your governments!
The first sign is~ suppression of your free speech.
We let them, outlaw words, while leaders sun at the beach?
You will find that your country,is really no longer your own,
All your taxes go to others from other countries, unknown.
Your country’s flag is burnt in the streets with livid hate and glee?
By masked protestors, filling the streets with grand superiority.
The USA policemen and women are killed with joy and glee?
And people run for President, supporting this inhumane tragedy?
When, in your country, your rights are out the patriotic window.
Be afraid, be very afraid……of this Communistic horror show.
You will be jailed for words that you wrote a friend online?
In free countiries, you write as you choose, and all is fine…
I watch, news from international servers and stations.
Powerful nations are stealing your rights, its citizens,given a ration.
The Nazis march in your streets, to destroy another nation.
Their hate so obvious and ill, that it is a cause for celebration?
These same people, would have gladly cheered on…the Holocaust?
Today, wear masks and scream for death~indeed their souls are lost!
Their heroes killed babies, youngsters, parents in their own homes.
And butchered the young at a dance..as the daybreak’s sun has shown.
A butcher shop of dead, young people unidentifiable, they were in parts.
These monsters then killed their families, and destroyed homes and farms.
So the friends of this bloody mayhem, do march in your “free”streets.
Supported by the UN and all of them, Satan’s souls, a most delicious treats.
Most nations want this nation,wiped off the face of this now maliciciuos earth.
Satan will welcome them, that Fallen Angel, with his evil smile of dirth.
God bless the thousands of innocents murdered a year ago today..
I have grieved for them all, each day nonstop without allay.
The media has largely ignored this most tragic event of my life.
I hope I awaken some souls to this horror and world strife.
Bless and release the starving, lonely, abused and dead hostages!
The 10/7/2024
In Honor of the fallen during the Nova Massacre.
November 7th, 2023! I will never forget!