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The Highlander

From the highlands to the lowlands,
I am the highlander around you;
You can call me Micheal Jordan from Montevideo,
But i am the highlander around you;
I am always in for business,
So be ready to learn from my muse.
From Montezuma to Morocco,
From 'Pago-Pago Bay' to El Paso,
Take the train than the bus;
I am the highlander with ideas around you.
I do move always to and fro,
With the national costumes of my positive consciousness;
Today, i move in styles to help many.
'The Highlander'! !
I am the highlander in the mix of the mist;
Like the Orange Free State in South Africa,
I am the highlander with a free conscience.
So back up my acknowledgments and,
Let's meet Christoper Lee;
Closer like a Korean at war with a flag at hand.

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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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In the field

To walk or not to walk out of the filed should be dilemma
Not to create unruly scene, show off or any kind of drama
It has to be clear sportsmanship to play for the country
Respect in the entire manner without caring for records or money

You gain fame and status in the filed
Money and name along with innumerable yield
Yet the country may take highest honor with pride
You got to be exemplary with all the temptations to hide

It is disgrace if you walk out in protest
It is not you as an individual but country's name are put to test
Nothing should be done to malign the fair name
Name and fame will be of no use if mother land is put to shame

No award is acceptable at the cost of national dishonor
The flag must fly high and show its true color
It will speak of great ideals and total commitment
Towards world cause with integral movement

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Passage

In a great hall
flag draped a coffin stands.
Now at final rest
the great warrior lay.

With rising to setting sun
all through the day.
From every walk of life
his beloved public filed past.

The youngest to the most senior.
Dearest friend to complete stranger
Dignitary to the least known.
All came to bid this one adieu.

Stifled sob an abrupt cough
Sounds of mourning echo.
Shuffling feet passing
A whispered good bye prayer.

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poem by Kurt Hearth
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Upon the Wall

The first picture is an old black and white of a young couple just started out their life. If you look close you can see all the hope in their eyes.

Next to that hangs a color picture of the same couple a few years older and a baby has been added to the picture, what joy upon their faces.

Now, the next picture is about seven years after that the couples hair has turned slightly grey and the child has grown, but their look of joy has turned to worry I wonder what problem has arose.

Now the next one is the once young child standing proudly in an arm forces' uniform ready to serve his nation.

Then there's the next picture it is a coffin with a flag draped upon it, and the old couple now standing and crying beside it.

I can only imagine that their child now lies in that coffin.

The final picture is similar to first except instead of black and white this has color, and instead of hope the old couple eyes are filled with despair from the harshness of life, and all they have left is the pictures upon the wall.

poem by Lore Me34
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Celebrity Status

The thirst for Celebrity Status.

Is there a doctor in the house, no it’s only me and I’m chef and I have
burned my hand frying fish. Once I was asked by a stewardess if I was
a doctor, one of her charges had taken ill. I was flattered and took my
ladle and pots out. What is his profession, I asked, he is an historian,
I made him an ancient omelet; the historian recovered. In Milan a call
to the audience: Is there a tenor in the house, our tenor has expired,
no one put a hand up; I did and killed the Figaro drivel once and for all.
Once train conductor let me wave a green flag and blow the whistle,
the train left without me, which was a pain, my wife and suit cases were
onboard. It was a slow train to Porto, took a taxi to the next station and
boarded the train as my wife left having had enough of my quest for
recognition. It is all about fame if you lack it you are fucked, reduced
to writing poetry no one reads in humble internet sites, in the hope of
reaching a reader who is as lonely as you are.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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He Fights

A soldier is a soldier,
He stands tall before our flag,
He fights for what’s right,
He fights for his people,
He fights for us to be free,
He fights for us to live,
He fights for his family,
He fights for all the things the Red, White, Blue stand for,
He’s a solider 24/7,
To all that see him he’s just another to die fighting,
To us his family most importantly his daughter me,
I see him for how he really is,
He’s my father,
He’s my post when something sad has happened,
He’s my hope,
He’s my shoulder I need to cry on,
He’s my everything.
To everyone ells he’s just another solider how dies for a cause but to me he’s my father that lives his life to the fullest.

I got this idea of this poem from Angela Goodwin, even though it sounds like my dad died he didn’t but he was one of the soldiers how was sent over and came back in one piece and this is meant for him, even though we fight all the time my dad are all the things above and no matter what I say I could never hate him.

poem by Jamie Drake
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I, Ll Dance On Your Grave Mrs Thatcher

just a lad of sixteen summers
when the mining gates locked
i stood there with my brothers
some with there rifles cocked
just hold on to youe shirt me boys
this is going the hole way
dont you worry was the answer back
were with you arthur all the way

and we, ll dance yes we, ll dance
yes we, ll danceon your grave mrs thatcher

she had come well prepared
with the coal that she, d amassed
everyday she, d try to break us down
take the flag down from the mast
but we stood there all united
exept the scabs down from the south
with there crys for a ballott
taking food from our kids mouths

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poem by John Mccullagh
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Justifiable Holocaust

Gerrymandering and slandering the truth
Destruction of The Self in it’s youth
Disagree with misinformation, demand authentic proof
Exercising you universal right is being uncouth

Determined, dedicated dressed in drag
The infamous Liar wearing the american flag
Conspiracy and fraud do willing brag
Native Americans left holding the bag

Wrongful deaths and flimflam of one’s will
Education of The Self with intent to kill
Self-realization with a birth control pill
Substituting feeling well with being ill

Mind controls, concentration camp mentality is being just
Blaming the poor for all of life’s ills is a must
The systematic demise of humanity, no disgust
Mandatory dying returning flesh to dust

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poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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That Illusion

The night weeps its sentiment to us all, but oh how
Many lines have begun like that:
And I wish I could be more original for you;
And now I want to walk to your house again:
I want to be a flag on your body rippling and casting for gold,
Because now haven’t I seen you captivated high up in the clouds
In a house of giants:
Isn’t it a white man’s house: even further, isn’t it my house,
Alma:
I want to find you and stretch you out and ask your where your beautiful
Belt has gone,
And to which knight you gave it to, to save his neck:
I know you gave it to one knight on his lunch break, but to which
One I am uncertain,
But I want to be your king just so I can have the authority to find these
Things out,
And to feed my life-giving poultry to your children:
Alma, I dream of you walking your children to the bus stop,
And I dream of you walking through cut out snowflakes and paper airplanes:
I dream of you always on the move, Alma, because your body gives off

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poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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When Negative People Have Power

When negative people have power they seek to conquer and divide
They refer to the flag of the Nation as a symbol of courage and pride
A big speech at the war memorial where respect by them to the war dead is paid
By their false show of patriotism their foundation to power has been laid
We are ruled by negative people so cunning in their own narrow way
With the fears of the vast majority of the voters they do certainly know how to play
They vow for to kill every terrorist and the praises of war heroes they sing
They do seem such power hungry people and to power they do desperately cling
Of the words of the aspiring political leaders the voters do seem to take note
For the one who does not play to their fears the majority never would vote
The one who is not patriotic in parliament will not hold a seat
The innovative thinkers in politics at the polling booths facing defeat
We vote for the people most like us for those who can play to our fear
And suppose that does seem only natural since they tell us what we want to hear.

poem by Francis Duggan
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