Long Refugee Poems
Long Refugee Poems. Below are the most popular long Refugee by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Refugee poems by poem length and keyword.
Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
This is Wyclef, Refugee Camp (L-Boogie up in here)
Praswell (Praswell up in here, haha)
Lil' Base sittin' up here on the bass (Refugees up in here)
While I'm on this, I got my girl L (ah, ah)
One time (one time), one time (one time)
Ayo, L, you know you got the lyrics
I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him, and listen for a while
And there he was, this young boy, stranger to my eyes
Strumming my pain with his fingers (one time, one time)
Singing my life with his words (two times, two times)
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd
I felt he'd found my letters and read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on
Strumming my pain with his fingers (one time, one time)
Singing my life with his words (two times, two times)
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Yo, L-Boog, take me to the bridge
Whoa
Woah-oah-ah-ah-ah uh, uh
La-la-la, la, la, la
Whoa, la
Whoa, la (ha, ha, ha, ha)
La-ah-ah-ah-ah
Strumming my pain with his fingers (yes, he was singing my life)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words (whole life, with his words)
Killing me softly with his song
Yo, put your hands together for L-Boogie (strumming my pain)
From the Refugee Camp (yeah, yeah)
(Singing my life) up in here, you know how we do, L-Boogie up in here
Wyclef, Praswell, said L-Boogie up in here
Wyclef up in here
My man Lil' Base (Praswell up in here)
Jerry one time
T Rocks up in here, we got Warren up in here
This is how we (Warren up, up in here, Outsiders up here)
We got Fallon up in here, Mulaney, Mulaney's up in here
(Refugee Camp, Refugee Camp, yeah)
Everybody got a breakin' point kid
And they'll rat on you
The family niggas will rat on you
That's why we gotta be prepared to take whoever out we need
Unquotable quotes - III
When in Rome, do as the Roman Nero.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the vain and the
insane.
A grenade a day keeps the refugee away.
Cut your coat according to your girth.
The kettle calling the pot back.
Like father, like son; like mother, like neither.
Singing in the rain can get you pain in Spain.
Singing in the rain in Paris can get you chicks who do
the twist with fairies.
A sound heart in a sick body is like a tart groggy with
toddy.
The sun also rises best in the West.
Who said beggars are not choosers: they can choose the
place and moment they beg.
A white tiger abhors orange.
A policeman’s girl always wears handcuffs behind her
back.
A lawyer who licks the back of hands always gets paid
first.
A judge who yells at you tends to reduce the sentence to
a phrase.
Building castles in the air with sand is cheaper by far.
A marathon runner remembers the thighs but not the
laps.
At the end of the day is when you make your greatest
mistake – you go to sleep.
Churn milk to make curd: churn speech to make turd.
Pounding rice as a marriage rite brings no surprise on
the wedding night.
One swallow doesn’t make a drunkard out of a
teetotaller, but it sure signals a dry summer.
Cricketing jargon
The late-cut is the shave you missed out.
The off-cut is the cover drive turned phut.
The leg-pull is the batsman’s bras de fer to the leg
spinner.
The long-stop is the twelth man on the field.
The straight drive pierces the umpire’s reverie.
The full-toss is the fast bowler’s slipped disc.
The ton-up comes after the spin bowlers give up.
The innings defeat is the army beating the retreat.
Test matches end up in ditches for pitches.
A bumper is an un-coded message from the bowler to the
batsman.
A bumper is an overt warning to the inveterate blocker.
Tail-enders get to face the best batsmen all-rounders.
Umpires inspect pitches at the start of a match for coins
dropped by lawn-mowers.
An over-throw is a fielded ball flung by an outfielder at
the umpires and which misses the wickets by miles.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
From mouth to ear across a lifetime lived,
traveling strings tying lives together thread on thread.
Every one word building lifetimes;
bonded mud of bricks to house
our broken bags of trailing flesh.
We will hold each others heart,
we will hold each others head up high.
Better or worse for the word or two that has made,
will forever make, and always is,
the difference.
Speak this word or that, watch the matter of it all unfold,
past lives shaped and shaping now
in crucibles of all our conversations.
Words to bridge and touch this world,
like knives or axes falling,
slicing moments each peeled back,
revealing bullets spent and sailing
on to wounded tearful souls.
Comfort words,
words of love,
different shapes and sizes wrapped
in different voices heard.
Inflections, accents, whispered,
loudly shaped intense of spirit,
colored by emotion to enforce.
Chosen words of purpose:
dispatched, planned,
let fly in haste,
erecting endless layers to our waste.
Tools of our intention common to our time,
reserved and planned, chosen with meticulous care,
whose definitions matter more than when or where.
Piercing silent dreams,
floating on the breath of every God,
making mysteries of all we seem to be.
Mirrors made of silence once,
we soon are made of words that move us
through a doorway, joining into life.
Today, a workshop for the poet. Write about a cup.
Standing empty, purpose unfulfilled.
Imagination startled as I smash the cup inside my head.
A million shards of broken pottery lying on the floor.
Broken poems and promises lying on the floor.
Shards thrown out of context as are we.
Broken souls from out a shattered God.
Each shard, a refugee. You and me.
Metaphors attached to all the brokenness we own.
Cups of purpose seeking our fulfillment.
Joined to make a whole of all we hold;
become a cup our truth will then unfold.
What began as empty, filled with our life’s portion,
sharing, sipping, spilling all along the way.
Losing contents we may label dear
until the final tipping of a cup left upside down.
What words escape our pens that are not truth.
Whose content change the soul from which we bleed
Whether subject cup or love, or other siphoned dalliance,
at our finish will complete a lifetime’s cupping need.
There was man named Garrison,
and he lived the good life,
flush with that big trust-fund money,
he hungered for the night,
for booze and bodies tight,
the finest clubs were his domain,
his bar tabs were truly insane,
his one-night stands were numerous,
the affairs always light.
He was technically a lawyer
in his father’s old firm,
was kept on mostly for his name,
got more money to burn,
deserved not what he ‘earned,’
his condo was a bachelor pad,
wis many friends thought it was rad,
the women came and women went,
an ever-constant churn.
But Garry saw no problem here,
he was ‘living the dream,’
ladies and drugs, mountains of cash,
the dreams of quiet teens,
a hit in every scene…
but his father just sighed and said,
“Keep it up and you’ll end up dead.”
Still Garry saw no issue with
enjoying his own green.
Though as he went through his twenties
he noticed a strange thing,
every time he lived it on up,
less pleasure did it bring,
less fun in every fling,
it was fun but not as intense,
at fist this did not make much sense,
he’d always so enjoyed this life,
now it wasn’t working…
And worse still was the growing pain
that he’d feel the next day,
sometimes it made him stop to ask
if he wanted to play,
Or at home should he stay?
He had achieved what most men want,
a wild life that he could flaunt,
so then why, when being honest,
did he no longer crave?
And then one day at twenty-eight
his friends wanted to drink,
the thought of it made his bones hurt,
so away he did slink,
depressed, needing to think...
looked at his life, what did he see?
Pregnancy scares and STDs,
and a handful of nights he’d slept
off his drunk in the clink.
Nothing to show for all his fun,
nothing that could impress,
the world did not care that he had
dropped many a tight dress,
everything seemed a mess,
and worst of all, he’d no savings,
he’d always blown through everything,
while his brother had made partner,
Garry himself felt less.
He would soon drift far from his friends,
far from the debauchery,
felt like a stranger in his own life,
some sort of refugee,
his path he could not see…
What was life now? He couldn’t say,
what once was clear now seemed so gray,
he wondered if this was adulthood,
searching for what to be…
SYRIAN REFUGEES
I'm watching a programme on telly
About the Syrian refugees
Men and women and children
Humanity brought to its knees
I'm watching the desperate faces
The terror and hunger and fear
They're facing their ultimate nightmare
And me? Well I'm just sitting here
And saying 'Isn't it awful'
'Something needs to be done'
Whilst searching the TV listings
And planning my evening of fun
Then I happen upon the BBC news
Cameron wringing his hands on my screen
Saying Syria is a priority
Then slips into a black limousine
Then Hollande, and Angela Merkel
Echo the prime minister's views
And tell us how hard they are working
Another soundbite for the news
Then shoot off to their heads of state dinner
Which will go on well into the night
While in the camps the tears will continue
No dinner for those folks tonight
At the meeting, an idea from Turkey
Amongst the platitudes and the kind words
The plan that they're putting forward
Is to drop lots of bombs on the Kurds
I flick channels and happen on Tony Blair
Offering the world a solution
I really can't listen to that grinning clown
Spouting his verbal pollution
He's jabbering on about Islam
Trying to give us the wisdom we lack
And hoping the world has forgotten
What Bush and him did in Iraq
Perhaps he's just a bit jealous
That he's not allowed to the feast
After finding Saddam's nuclear weapons!
A doggy bag surely at least.
While another mother loses her children
More slaughter and mayhem we see
And imagine the arms manufacturers
And dealers, jumping with glee
As they make another few billions
And probably a few billions more
Then they'll hide all their dirty old dollars
In their financial laundry offshore
And the politicians turn a blind eye
And I'm sure that they won't be divulging
How some of them came by their fat bank accounts
And why their back pockets are bulging
But then.......success I hear on the news
The EU says all is not black
They've solved the refugee crisis.
When they get here.........we're sending them back.
Job done, EU movers and shakers
So sorry for doubting your cause
You've sorted the Syrian problem
Give yourselves a big round of applause
© Ron James 05/04/2016
In the rocking, rolling surf I picked up a random seashell,
And just listened to the sea storms lullaby, the curling of
Spray urged a hushed soft whispering echo, what an ear
Fulfilling symphony impressed my vivid imagination of
Fertility!
Sweeping this beach combing land locked refugee, to
A distant place beneath fathoms briny deep, an aquatic
Paradise shined in brilliance before my pondering eyes,
I’m beguiled by the opulence emerging, to the life
Surging all around me, this spiritual dreamer on a
Vision quest under the big blue’s sky scape!
Just then I pause to hear all the sounds around me,
The whales trumpeting, the waves crashing against
The rugged, craggy shoreline, and the rushing undertow
Smashing on the coral reef below!
Blending in perfections melodic curve in successive
Musical notes, are the distant sounds beyond human
Comprehension of the unknown, unexplored discovery
Zone, yet what beautiful music this unwater world
Makes, for all the senses to in drink and partake!
Squalling seagulls screech above, as a swelling tornado
Cloud of silver Minnie fish form in twilights shifting
After glow of the mid-afternoons light!
Textures aquatic sound waves lull me in tune
With natures under seas ambiance, giving this
Mystical realm in exotic feeling of transitioning,
I’ve been transported beneath, and dwell as a
Part of this magical sea scape captured in it’s
Vast beauty of light and sound, lost an
Inspirations muse!
Suddenly the tones change as the storm winds
Blow in, the sea orchestra refines unto rages
Thunderous climax shattering the peaceful silence!
It is the sea storms lullaby, rocking the rolling surf,
To destructions ultimate rheum, awakening this
Day dreamer from slumbers awakening shifting
Drift!
Lord Titans waving his mystical trident, lied’s this
Classical chorus of mariner’s tragedy, set to destiny’s
Thunderous overture of aquatic rapture gone airy,
And here I’m standing alone reveling in the musical
Hail storm spell bound, in awes after effect!
Listen to the sounding sea, can’t you hear its sweet
Melody’s lost within the hushed silence of the seashells
Mystical song, in essence spray it awaits thee, come
Along mystic dreamer and know the true essence of the sea!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Envisions of a new world order
Have infected
My ideologies
Concerning political parties.
Apathetic to the suicide bomber
Clutching his holy scripture
As Jesus is turned
Into an aborted fetus.
Starving for liberation,
Feed us.
The refugee diet
Is to die for, try it.
Stomachs bellow
As anxious toes embrace dirt,
The ravenous pride of the nation
Echoes anticipation.
A scrambled breakfast
Governed by corruption
Served with a life time
Supply of fervent AIDS
Lunch smothered in rape
With a free side of abduction
For the main course:
Genocide platter
Mass produced for thousands
Guaranteed to be
The last meal you'll need.
Original recipe
Provided by Chef Hitler
Improved by Africans.
Honor roll,
Honorable
But when you're in the projects
Good grades
Don't stop strays
Or minimum wage
This is a power point;
Bullet points puncture.
Marauder role models
Personal drive
Is micro soft
Where are their goals?
Error: Can Not Find File
Link to ambition missing
No need to excel
Brain is a blank desktop
That's screen saver
Screams for a savior
Poverty striken hompage
Frozen
Black plague virus
No chance at
Socio-economic advance
Now tomorrow you face book
Crash.
A diploma and welfare check,
Makeshift teflon vest,
At best
Yet,
A mic or a round ball
Provides the best bet.
At ease soldier,
No questions vet.
We don't ask
You don't tell.
Afterall,
We don't even know
What your really fighting for
Or whether you aim to please
Or shoot to kill.
America was stolen from natives,
Built by immigrants.
Dear foreigners,
Thank you for making our bed,
Now sleep outside
Where the homeless won't
But beware of dehydration
Land mines
Barbed wires
And snipers.
P.S. Happy Thanksgiving.
Sincerely,
Your friends in America
I see society with my eyes closed
And wade for the truth.
Diving into the obscure
Pits of morality
Searching blindly
For enlightenment,
Butterfly stroke.
Inhaling the souls of slaves
Exhaling the souls of colonists
Civil rights submerged
Drowning at the border
Gasping for freedom.
This oppression is toxic.
Ammonia aroma
Intellectual paralysis
Socially concious coma.
Divided we've stood
United we'll fall.
-Stephen Kofi Opare Obeng
We were once a pair of flying, floating, diving doves
Warming on wintry days under weathered wooden eaves
We swayed and swirled with ecstatic, electric pleasure.
In synchronized steps to the rising and lilting measure,
We meandered down meadows, gathering magnolia flowers
We roamed and rambled, resting under roomy bowers
We watched life’s swirling and twirling ebb and flow
We waited eager to grab life’s evanescent, ethereal glow
We never knew arrows sting or sorrow’s depth
Each merry morn, for us, was love’s lovely rebirth
We walked close to paths celestial and supernal
And lived and dallied in thoughts of love eternal
But how soon I lost the rhyme n’ rhythm of life
Dropped into a weary world with worries rife
Became a bent, broken reed far beyond repair
With no songs sung to be tuned or played ever
I had no clue why you had so hastily and stealthily left me
I found myself drifting and drowning in a dreary sea
I have been under despondent delusion and deep despair
Thought that our love was cracked and wrecked beyond all repair
Until you let me know what had transpired behind the scene
And told, you still love me and look longingly to make me your queen
To make everything a sweet surprise for me and for everyone,
You went to a far forlorn land for a living, but had none
On false charges, got detained and delayed in a refugee camp
Where you had access to none, was taunted and treated like a tramp
Now that you have a decent job and can stand on your feet
You would come to take me as your wife and would soon retreat
Now I count my days and weave dreams on dreams
Of the time you will come to darn the torn and tattered seams
When you proudly proclaim once more in my attentive ear
You are my devout darling, my all time legitimate lover
Each wayside flower brings to me your long lost, lovelorn face
The wind swayed lilacs and lilies reflect your gorgeous grace
On sordid silent nights, as the odor of your body and hair
Comes winging and wafting, for a while, I feel you are near
March.19.2022
~ Placed First~
My Lost and Found Love Poetry Contest
Sponsor- JCB Brul
Resubmitted for Alliteration- Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Joseph May
I recall it was just the other day
Featured in the daily for which we pay
Your blown-up photo splashed across
The front page for all to gloss
Your background and your virtues extolled
For your wedding bells were soon to toll
With a king-in-waiting as the groom
You would wilt or you would bloom
For marriage makes or marriage breaks
And happiness, it gives or takes.
Demure and with dimpled smile
With an innocent heart, free of guile
The press was exuberant, so were we
You were the most charming in the royal family.
Welcomed all across the globe
The royal couple widely roved
Ambassadors of all things good
Displaying virtues like royalty would
You touched hearts wherever you went
Concern and compassion were your strength.
You were blessed in due course
With two sons that God had chose
Then differences with the prince surfaced
And you lost face, where you once graced
And while your marriage began to flounder
Your man, the prince continued to blunder
On the treacherous rocks of marital infidelity
You were shattered – your happiness was the casualty.
You decided to go your separate ways
Those were also the wishes of the palace
The trauma of separation was sheer hell
The ways of royalty were beginning to tell.
Now, hordes of newsmen invaded your privacy
In your land and beyond, you became a refugee
The air was also rife with rumours
Of liaisons and friendships and misdemeanours
Your saddest day though, was the divorce
Of you, whose touch was like the kiss of a rose.
And alone, sweet Princess, you forged along
Your grace, in adversity, inspired many a song
Of worthy causes, you were still a crusader
And you remained ever, a loving mother.
It is said, you had found love at last
And the leech like lensmen went wild with thirst
For photos which augment tabloid sales
They chased you in cars and astride motorcycles.
For you, a Parisian tunnel was the end of the road
You didn’t reap in life, what you had sowed
And while your life ebbed within the wreck
The paparazzi zoomed in, to make hay off the break
Your blood-spattered close-ups drove them to frenzy
As you lay helpless, unattended and in agony.
And later in the night, mercifully all was darkness
The world woke to a tragedy caused by sheer madness
alone inside with me, less than inspirational
so look out for the more interesting folk
momentary excitement, the fiery motivational
beyond the familiar, to stoke and provoke
daydream departure from mundane conversational
adventures cocooned in my warm cosy cloak
cool charismatic characters, charming skills to admire
the wily wheelers, the dubious dealers
the mighty movers, the shuffling shakers, to these I aspire
delvers of science, the body-mind healers
frisky purveyors of seduction spray fuel to the fire
risky game chancers, the common sense stealers
suspenders of disbelief, poetic weavers of word
jovial jugglers of juxtaposition
addicted acquisitors, spinners shifting the absurd
fabulous fakers, deceptive magician
image presenters, dark or backlit, focused or blurred
sculptors of form, instrumental musician
composers of melody, glorious singers of song
whatever the stage, great performers of art
athletic achievers stretching stubbornly strong
rhythmic dynamo dancers moving close or apart
food-feeding salivators, their tasty pleasures prolong
delightful set dishes or delicious a la carte
whether imbibed on its own or in good company enjoyed
the brewer, the vintner, the masters of malt
innovative designers, architects of structure and void
the philosopher's stone, comfort-zone assault
insightful free thinkers, long-held paradigms destroyed
tall storytelling teachers without fear of fault
mathematical manipulators of numbers and code
quantum diving or high-flying to the stars
engineering fabricators, tunnel, bridge, rail and road
crazy drivers and loop-turning avatars
tinkering technicians, ecologists with wisdom bestowed
planners of protest, the remover of scars
inspirational givers, those with just the skill of their bent
empathy crossing over to be by your side
the meek, the afflicted, those who can ill-afford the rent
the refugee fleer from our wars worldwide
safety seekers, brave rational people with lives to augment
as we build indifferent walls... hope denied!