Migrated Poems | Examples

Retired Traveller

I’ve finished with travels, for I can’t agree
With the reasons I’m discriminated
Won’t pay for the visa a notable fee 
Won’t wait in the queue of migrated
I’m blamed for the crimes which I didn’t commit
Stigmatized for a thing they call “nation” 
I’ve nowhere to go and I’ve no one to meet
My train doesn’t stop at your station
I may not be happy about it, but such
Is the case that I’ve to comprehend 
My dear foreign friend, I don’t know you that much
As you seem to know who I am
I’m lazy, incurious, spoiled and defiant
I live in the land of the snow
I’m a parallel world to political giants
That all of you are, as I know
Think better of me, if you can, for I’m not
Your enemy or cater cousin
Who dreams to come over with problems he’s got
To share at least half a dozen.

Seasonal Dreams

I was hoping that you could come so that we could pack our bags and run, the plane is on the tarmac and the  crew is waiting to close the boarding gate, you have got to get on the tracks before it’s too late. It is the final plane to leave so that the journey can complete, nothing more will be landing here and the island will turn into a mountain of despair. The seas are closing in and the birds have migrated to East and the west, leaving the North and the south to shout and the naked wind to twirl about. That people that are still here they are mountain pioneers, their ancestors survived trough the heat and the cold with firewood bundled together to keep them warm and portion made from bush to heal their raw wounds. The winter is coming and the ground doves are singing, we must leave this place before destiny ties us to the tree and leaves us to face the decree, grab the bags and run with me to the tarmac to board the plane before the heavens announce the final decree.

Bold Strokes

In October, I feel a nip in the air,
that frosts my breath like contrails of smoke;
as gilded leaves start falling from the trees.
Overhead, a gaggle of honking geese
are fleeing Winter's approach; 
joining the songbirds that have migrated south. 
The leaves are painted in thick, bold strokes
of yellow, scarlet, fuchsia, gold and orange;
inked by Jack Frost,
and sprinkled on the ground like confetti.
Amber and vermilion drip from the trees;
pooling into a crunchy sea
of colorful leaves that the wind weaves,
into shifting swirls of abstract art.
One of Nature's boldest paintings,
Autumn steals one's breath away, instilling awe;
infusing Summer's death with Winter's birth,
it is a magical transformation to behold.

Hiver

It was finally September
All the kids went back to school
Summer was over
And today
My father brought us
The hiver
For us
Now the hot weather is over
And we started to wear our
Clothes for the cold weather
We had on our flannel shirt
It was also very warm
For the hiver
The birds finally migrated south
For the hiver
And we are going to see then
Back next Spring
The kids can't wait
For the first snow fall
So they can play hockey
The kids love to play hockey
With other kids
That lives in their community

Hiver

It was finally September
All the kids went back to school
Summer was over
And today
My father brought us
The hiver
For us
Now the hot weather is over
And we started to wear our
Clothes for the cold weather
We had on our flannel shirt
It was also very warm
For the hiver
The birds finally migrated south
For the hiver
And we are going to see then
Back next Spring
The kids can't wait
For the first snow fall
So they can play hockey
The kids love to play hockey
With other kids
That lives in their community

Un-Feathered Nests

The geese have migrated
taking many songbirds with them.

Some Canada Geese
have chosen to stay in the parking lots
by the busy shops, ensconced
within their un-feathered nests.

All day they direct the traffic,
attack cars if they come too near.

Night and day we Ohioans
try to ignore them,
but the geese
have fluffed up their goosy egos,
and will bar the way
of weary travelers
until they choose to waddle
disdainfully away.
Honk at them
and they honk back.

In Florida the songbirds
party-on
giving not a thought
to the still migrating,
still honking.

Air

The space animated. The place migrated. 
          The taste of possibility, pigmented, 
          invisibly, orientated by shifting atmosphere, 
          arousal, of fickled nothingness'?
          impregnated?

Unwritten Absence

Sunday morning sunshine in your absence
adrifts my yearning in winter breeze cool
I sink or swim, doesn't make a difference
the white swan ponders in a shallow pool

Incomplete journey, some for no reason,
You moved on, perhaps migrated like birds
my blank canvas of pallid spring season
calligraphy strokes of unwritten words.

in chorus of wind, air is thick and dense
lyrics forgotten for a song composed
evergreen pine tree holds in abeyance
plethora of feelings, all undisclosed

Your lingering presence...all my ink spills
no words on your tombstone, engraved love fills.

Another World

Death has separated
A mother
From her son
 
My mother
Who was
Always beside me
In all my trials
And tribulations
In my success
And my triumphs
Suddenly got up
And walked away
Leaving the family behind
 
My mother
Has permanently
Migrated to
A distant land
She has
Moved to
Another world…
She might be
So far away
Yet,
We feel her presence
In our midst
 
She has 
Left for her
Heavenly abode
But a mother 
Is always a mother
And, she still peeps out
Of a wooden frame
That hangs on the wall
Of our Living Room
To ensure
That all is well
And, to shower her blessings
Upon all of us

Pandemonium In Paradise

Of parrots and parakeets, no one knows
now numbering in the thousands
no longer Mexico's bucolic birds
new urbanized citizens migrated 
to the suburbs. 

If you travel to Los Angeles and county
where hobo avians flock to Pepperdine
hoping to matriculate to paradise..
Pasadenans know the raucous calls from palms
festooned in bright feathers and pheromones.

Should you wish to elicit a response
from a Red-crowned Amazon.. 
just ask any witch cat which hungers 
with an acute accessory olfactory
rife in feline grin and purpose
eye'n the skies cheerfully.

And somewhere Marianne Faithfull warbles
'this little bird who lives on the wind,
this little bird that somebody sends.'
they're listening too, with a coo and squawk
o'er the skies of Silverlake
and Eagle Rock. 

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    This Little Bird sung by Marianne Faithfull - Lyrics by J.D. Loudermilk 1965

They Fly Back In March

Seagulls from Ontario, Canada migrate to Brazil and Uruguay
They want to survive the winter, in a warm, comfy way.
European gulls migrate to Africa or the Middle East.
Enjoying litterbug’s garbage, a glorious feast.

Seagulls head home, when they feel spring is on her way.
I passed ten of them flying north, just the other day.
United States gulls who migrated to Argentina,
Fly back there in March, without a subpoena

The Man From Eritrea

Around one hundred millennia ago
there was a man from Eritrea.
“I run like gazelle and can throw,
a spear to kill was my idea”.

Feed my family, develop a tribe,
with teamwork hunger satiated.
But now too many subscribe,
so it's time we migrated.

No more can we sustain here,
we must find pastures new.
Sadly my time is drawing near,
so son it is up to you.

Wandering north meet Neanderthal
interact with a white skin wonder.
Ice advance, again home we must haul,
and our peace is blown asunder.

Head west we must choose a road,
one way Roman another Viking.
Just another human episode,
to verdant island of our liking.

Ancestral history investigations,
I come across a heritage stat.
67 million in just 25 generations.
I could hardly believe that.

But its true check it out,
two parents and keep doubling.
It soon hits 67 million no doubt,
in just 500 years, could this be troubling?

Well maybe a concern to some,
but when it is all translated.
The probability has become
that we must all be related.

So I book a DNA test place
to investigate my genetic area.
It tells me that there is a trace,
of a man from Eritrea.

The Winds of Change

A cold wind is briskly blowing
and the last leaf has finally fallen.
You can smell it in the frigid air,
Winter has come knocking once again.

Lazy grey clouds laugh at the sun
and the odor of chimney smoke prevails.
Heavy coats are clutched even tighter,
as the days gradually grow shorter.

The birds have just migrated South
on stiff wings to warmer climes.
Squirrels have been hard at work
stocking their nests with oaken gifts.

The mighty bears have been fattened
for the annual slumber so badly needed.
Wolves are packed tightly in dens,
or searching for meat to feed their young.

Children eagerly await the first heavy snow,
with the anticipation of schools closing.
Mothers must now purchase soft tissues
for the runny noses that will surely follow.

All around, anxious shoppers are preparing
for the coming of the frantic holiday season.
Quickly and quietly going about their day,
while weathering the winds of change.

Land and Ownership

His forefather migrated,
He left his kinsmen, 
He left his clan,
He went in search of a home,
He journeyed far from his homeland,  
He traversed territories,
None was befitting to settle,
Some were private properties,
Others lacked the serenity he desired, 
He journeyed further until he found a place,   
A place that embraced him, 
A place of pristine beauty,
A place where the river 
goes in a tranquil flow,
He grew and became great,
From a few people to a great nation.



October 28, 2022.

Rape of the Earth

ages past
     the earth was young,
          vibrant
               with untold wealth,
                    mostly unexplored
                         virgin land
                              untouched.

humankind,
     restless
          and searching,
               migrated
                    claiming the riches
                         greedily, and envy
                              stole …

the earth’s innocence. 

Written March 26, 2022
[Yalto, a poetry form invented
By Edward Ibeh, with syllables
3,4,2,4,5,3,2,3,2,3,3,5,6,1,5]

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