I Am (Unraveled)
i am, become...
i am the fallen tree,
the broken lamp, the axe,
the message never received.
i am the flag draped
over the casket in the silent room.
i am second hand clothes,
and hand-me-down hearts...
i am your grandmother's quilt,
and your son's grave...
i am the song of the whipporwill,
and the porcupine's quill.
i am the child dreaming of a grownup world.
i am the last letter written
by the soldier far from home...
i am your father's pipe,
and your mother's favorite pot...
i am memory and woodgrain,
the fire and the hollow.
i am the smell of Jesus
in the Sunday morning sun...
i am Kentucky whiskey,
and charcoal on the grill.
i am a Chevy, a Ford, a Dodge,
and an old Rambler....
i am a fishing pole,
laying out of school...
i am the sap of America
on the very last pine.
sap, and memory,
i am America unraveled,
i am, become...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
America
(Francis Scott Key)
Oh, say, can you see
By the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed
At the twilight's last gleaming
Whose broad stripes and bright stars
Through the perilous fight
O'er the ramparts we watched were so
Gallantly streaming?
America, America, America
America, America, America
And the rocket's red glare
The bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night
That our flag was still there
Oh, say, does that star
Spangled banner yet wave
Over the land of the free
And the home of the brave!
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America, America
America, America
ooohhh
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Part Of America Died
Part Of America Died
Somebody killed a soldier today
And part of America died
The child who shot him won't even be punished
After counsel asks his record not be tarnished
The flag of our country he swore to protect
Will be buried, with him, at his side
Today more of America died
The truck that he rode, was a battlefield too
A respite from a hard day at war
The flag of our nation won't fly at half staff
The purple heart they gave on his behalf
Won't change that a part of America died
Yes, Somebody killed a brave soldier today
It happened this day in a land, far away
While some slept in comfort, at home
A soldier put his life on the line
He answered the call then gave it his all
And on this day much of America died
Jim 1972
poem by James Casey
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Sunday Father
Hand in his hand though the park
All afternoon
A fine day to fly balloons or tell him a story
Hand in his hand to wonder
Till day is done
Sunday father and son
Sundays are theres to explore
Alone by law
One day to keep the two from turning to strangers
One day to know the answers
Be firm , be fun
Sunday father and son
The father weaves though the weekend streets
Sunday done, monday comin' on
He leaves the child by a modest home
That they share no more
With the woman who waits indoors
Till she knows he's gone
Where are the words or the games
A place to go
Someway to let him know you want to be with him
Somehow it's always ending
Just half begun
Sunday father and son
Sunday father and son
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Every Fallen Soldier
-- * TO EVERY FALLEN SOLDIER * --
The honor of the Country
Given to a Hero true.
This honorable young soldier
Who died for me and you.
To every fallen soldier
No matter, heritage or creed,
Who fought bravely for country
Due to someone else's greed.
Returned in flag draped coffin
No more laughter or joy to share.
A solemn trip into the prairie.....
A Spirit Crossing, there......
As Mothers weep in sorrow
Wives crying out in pain,
The earthly presence of this child
In life, we can't retain.
This honor, we do give you.
It's not enough, we know.
But to all these sons and daughters,
This Honor, now, we bestow.
Author: Carolyn Ford Witt
Ms. Caroline
3-13-06
poem by Carolyn Ford Witt
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Alone the soldier is....
Alone the soldier is...
lying on his bunk
in a unfamiliar land
thousands of miles from home
her picture at hand
his thoughts...
reliving old memories of home
his thoughts...
wondering, thinking of her
Alone the soldier is...
standing in the hot sun
in a unfamiliar land
thousands of miles from home
his rifle at hand
his eyes...
looking all around
his thoughts...
memories of home
Alone the soldier is....
at heart, at thought
thousands of miles from home
the 'Dear John' letter at hand
his eyes...
filled with watery tears
his thoughts...
wishing it were a nightmare
Alone the soldier is...
lying in his grave
in a dark cold casket
her picture at hand
his eyes....
see no more pain
his heart...
feels no more grief
poem by Anthony Scott
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The Old Soldiers Grave
I sit near an old soldier's grave
Reading the words upon his tombstone,
Brushing away the dirt and moss
To see: 'Died 1944 - In Battle at Bastogne'.
I wonder when, and how, his folks received the sad news-
I wonder, how often afterward they cried;
And did they continue so missing him...
Until their own time came to die.
Is there anyone left, who remembers this man-
Am I alone, the only one who cares anymore;
How long Lord before none ponder the price paid
To win the second world war?
So many of those who did return home
Sadly, have now with age passed on;
May we never forget what bit they all gave
In the greatest combined human effort, the world's freedom to save.
' Some gave all,
All gave some. '
So true; thank God they did not quit
Until the work was completely done.
With tears of thankfulness laying upon my cheeks
My heart sings words, I am unable to speak,
Words of far love, and deep admiration I do have
For all those who fought then... like my dad.
Now, as the old soldiers slowly fade away
With words of respect and reverent regard I try to say,
How much, like my missed father, they all mean to me-
For without their courage we'd never know the truth of liberty.
I believe I'll sit here awhile longer...
Allowing my heart and soul to grow a bit stronger,
Just sitting and praying by this old soldier's grave...
Hoping to become more like him: good, bold, and brave.
Together we shall sing along
This, our favorite song:
God Bless America, again -
God, please do bless all those, past and future, just like him.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Inspired by Issa - morning charcoal fire
morning charcoal fire
excitements of the new day
in the fiery sparks
morning charcoal fire
embers' sparks spread
excitements for the new day
morning charcoal fire
sparks greet and give
way to the new day
morning charcoal fire
first the sparks
then the warm new day
inspired by
morning's charcoal fire-
the mountain's pine breeze
wafting by
-Issa,1813
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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America!
America;
Land of sirens shattered, evil and bestowed Lavish and forgiving.
America;
Homeland to many, Home to few.
Seeking Fame treasuries, under silence.
America;
Tainted moonshine dreams.
Land of silent thunder and blinding lightning.
America:
The way we live.
The way we die.
America;
Republic under siege, and fire.
America;
Dream big: seem bigger.
Raise rooftops; smoke of fire.
America;
Intelligence divine, growing health.
America;
Illuminates under dark skies, furious and stolen.
Images of the night scene, alcohol-burning retinas. Cigar tainting lungs.
America;
Land of eternal debt for fossils.
America;
Eating dirty stairs, climbing to new heights.
America;
Lonely under crosses.
America;
Cotton candy zealousness.
America;
Dreaming, infinitely unsettled. Promised and found beauty.
America;
Insearch of a dream. Sparkling destinies.Hated sundown. Every fading fashion, halting delight.
America;
Collaboration lacking CEO's.
Outward perspectives.
America; Awake and looking. Profound Mysteries.
poem by Sebastian JohnstonLindsay
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Those Feelings
i
the first exhilaration was when you were issued the visa.
in your mind is 'America! America! '
here i come, 'America! ' as though you are going to heaven.
the family butchers the 60-kilo pig and the whole village rejoice
over your success.
America is your gateway to what you perceive as an escape
from poverty. This country is a haven of corruption. This country
is not offering you opportunities to rise to a higher level of existence.
The politicians here are good for nothing but promises.
You keep telling yourself. Patriotism is gone.
ii
Then you are in America. You have your first taste of snow inside your room.
Outside it is cold, and you begin to say, this is not what i dream about.
You are one of the jobless. You only fill in for work. Those who promised to
help you avoid you. You have become another useless number in the world
of perceived opportunities.You lock yourself. Money is hard to find here too.
The parties are not helpful hints about your quest for survival.
You go unhealthily surfing in the internet. No one remembers you.
No one is giving you. Everyone is asking for the money that you promise
to send back home. Your mother is sick. Your father is a drunkard.
Your brother is a drug addict. Your sister is pregnant.
iii
Then you begin to feel so alone.
You begin to think about going home.
Back to your country.
It is what you miss. The simplicity of life there.
The sun. The rice field. The fishing on the surf.The picnic on the hills.
Under the mango tree. The bath in the river.
The Sunday gathering by the sea.
A game of chess with a friend at the plaza.
The Jaycee activities.
The novena of the Holy Rosary on Wednesdays.
Sunday church.
The loafing. The hammock tied between two coconut trees.
The song of the gentle waves. The coolness of the nipa hut.
The anchovies. Salted fish and raw mangoes.
Coconut vinegar and the raw fish. Chunks of tangigue.
The sweet smell of the pork adobo.
The humba. The rhumba and the tango and the boogie.
The humility of your people.
The carabao ride towards the mountain.
Your friendly tenants. The spring on top of Saluyong hills.
The tuba. Dakak beach and floating restos.
iv
the Dipolog airport is wide and long.
You hear the song of your going back home.
Soon. Soon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Soldier To America.
I HEAR CRY'S FOR HELP
AND BOMBS EXPLODE,
BUT IM SO FAR AWAY FROM HOME,
AMERICA I STAND HERE ALONE,
FIGHTING FOR PEACE
BUT SO FAR AWAY FROM HOME,
AMERICA I STAND WITH A GUN IN MY HAND,
FIGHTING FOR FREEDOM
WITH OUT A PLAN,
AMERICA DO YOU REALLY NEED ANOTHER WAR,
IM JUST A SOLDIER THAT COULDNT TAKE NO MORE...
7/28/09
poem by Jose Murguia
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JFK Jr’s Hate America Poem
Imagine yourself at age 15,
And you the son of a President
Of the United States of America.
Would you have written this hymn of hate,
About the country your father served in war,
And the country he died for in Dallas?
Does this say what a Democrat is?
No wonder God took his life
Before he could further ruin this country
This poem of his was written
To be sung to the tune of
“America the Beautiful”
“Oh lovely land of racial lies,
Of crooked ways to fame,
From Kent State to Sharon Tate
We’re proud to bear thy name.
America, America, God spared his grace on thee.
From atom bombs to nuclear arms be proud of U.S.A.
And though you’re bad, we love you mad
You taught us right and wrong
Just look at Vietnam and the trouble that we cause
America, America God looks at us from high
To guide us by our forefathers cry,
Just like Jerry Ford.”
poem by Robert Founder
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Prayer For Elizabeth
In the morning
of my memory
you bake
apple pies.
And grow very tired
and sit very still
and sit very silent
as the camera
undresses reality
leaves you
alone
sculpted sunlight
naked as a
lonely as a
photograph.
In the evening
of my memory
the touch of
your hand asks:
'Donall? '
The cradle of my arm
answers:
'Yes, Elizabeth? '
And although nothing is
said:
the fire's glow
nods & knows
the quiet secrets
we share
between us.
In the night
time of my memory
now when darkness
sees you
(again a little girl)
hear you tell
how you thought
every woman
dressed in black
on the white ribbons
of distant roads
was your Mammy
walking towards you
though she had gone
and never come back
(the grownups mentioned Heaven)
from the Spring sunlight
and the white white clothes
drying on the currant bushes
(her heart stopped its beating
your heart skipped a beat)
and the rope fell from
your hand
and the game was left
unplayed
and everyone forgot about
the white white clothes
and...they rotted on
the currant bushes.
Now in the night
time of my memory
when I long to touch
your hand
(and my heart
misses you)
and the fire smiles
upon my face
and the shadows
fall upon
the empty chair
then thought
becomes you
and you
become a memory
and your memory
becomes my prayer.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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The true beloveds of this world are in their lover's eyes lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child's Sunday, lost voices, one's favorite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory.
quote by Truman Capote
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Other Hand...
the black man's hand,
the poor man's hand.
the Muslim hand, the Jewish hand...
the gay man's hand,
the working man's hand,
the ex-convict's hand,
the farmer's hand, the garbage man's hand...
the Christian's hand, the atheist's hand,
the father's hand, the soldier's hand,
the peacemaker's hand,
the healer's hand, the teacher's hand,
the prodigal's hand, even the murderer's hand...
the victim's hand, the broken hand,
the praying hand, the touching hand...
all, when extended,
feel like my other hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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America is America
America is America the land of the free, born in
the hope of a new world created, amongst men
who believed the vision of liberty and a freedom
to live in this glorious world
as inspired by valued people, created by its natural
landscaping, bounded by principles that to live in
harmony with nature has come to witness the wisdom
of our dear forefather the dignity of each man, living
in a time of what has been bless by the Almighty Father
perfected by His creation
as the spring birth the summer breeze, and the night
comes after the day, the morning has bless the loving
people of America, where respect and understanding
welcome all nation to shelter, the cheddar of Lebanon
Oh! America, where every hope comes in the most
expected ways, come swift it away for the day has given
to you to stay, Nay! America leaves us with pain, our
hearts echo it joy to renew the eternity bell, where you
always there to lend your hand, Alas! America, your
the answer of our call, the unity that we almost fall, the
clings of every nation souls to live freely as everybody
wants to be free
America is America, the journey that always there, the
step that make us well and the nation that takes you there
Viva America!
poem by Antonio Liao
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A Soldier's Prayer
This poem is written for our soldiers over seas. May God be with them all.
A Soldier's Prayer
By: Adam M. Snow
O' Lord my God I pray;
for I am far away;
on a land, not my home;
I'm on my knees and all alone;
as I fight for freedom and peace;
I ask, 'Let this bloodshed cease.
I am fighting a war;
on a distant foreign shore;
fighting for my family and friends;
hoping that this would soon end.
I bow my head to a flag-draped casket;
to a soldier, not a rank past private.
I pray for salvation for all soldiers dead and gone;
as I continue to fight through the red of dawn;
for I fight what I believe is true;
I am but a lonely soldier living for you.
Forgive us Jesus for we have sinned;
I now end this prayer O' Lord, Amen.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Trapped Anger
with your meth lab soul,
and your rusted down
single wide trailer feet,
prodigal, where will you go now?
your mother's tears,
her cigarette burnt quilt...
your daddy's hand tools pawned
for pills and diapers.
pictures piled in a box,
wrapped in American nightmare...
you hold your baby close,
staring at a blank screen.
high school hero, college dropout,
deserter, small time criminal...
you can still smell the sunlight,
cant see past the rain.
the song of America
played on tin roofs, in hollows...
haunted by trapped anger
that has no name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Lost America
America has taken God out of school
And put the devil in
Now they are preparing
For the man of sin
The web seems to be their bible
And drugs the thing to do
They don't seem to realize
That God is not through
They want to do as they please.
But God is still on His throne
Man wants to rule the world
They want to do it on their own
The time is growing short
Jesus wil soon appear
To take His children home
Before the tribulation is here
It will not be long now
Until all freedom is gone
America will be judged
And it will affect every home
poem by Lawrence Hill
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A Little Soap & Water
Stink like a bear stuck on a tree trunk
Baby you smell like a nasty payment
Wishing you had soap you couldn't buy Old bread in your Ice box
Ted in your knee trunks
Girl your boyfriend got a stinky job
Better then smoking steaks on a grill
You missing new points smoking a bottle
Your woman is a woman that sleeps all night
Know she stinking off her panties
Co patties where you work
Dancing like you twerk
Nasty manager never taking baths
Plane air pollution smell a bird
Oil got my clothes stinking
Go home FizTzle take a bath
She smells you but she work in air conditional
Clean your clothes smell good
America stinks how about you
Smell pollution like I'm smoking
A Little Soap & Water.
poem by Tommy Laster
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Ameria's Welcome Home
Oh, gallantly they fared forth in khaki and in blue,
America's crusading host of warriors bold and true;
They battled for the rights of man beside our brave Allies,
And now they're coming home to us with glory in their eyes.
Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
Our hearts are turning home again and there we long to be,
In our beautiful big country beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
Our boys have seen the Old World as none have seen before.
They know the grisly horror of the German gods of war:
The noble faith of Britain and the hero-heart of France,
The soul of Belgium's fortitude and Italy's romance.
They bore our country's great word across the rolling sea,
'America swears brotherhood with all the just and free.'
They wrote that word victorious on fields of mortal strife,
And many a valiant lad was proud to seal it with his life.
Oh, welcome home in Heaven's peace, dear spirits of the dead!
And welcome home ye living sons America hath bred!
The lords of war are beaten down, your glorious task is done;
You fought to make the whole world free, and the victory is won.
Now it's home again, and home again, our hearts are turning west,
Of all the lands beneath the sun America is best.
We're going home to our own folks, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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