New York poet Joe Tessitore challenges poets to begin a poem with these words:
Post your poem in the comments section below. (Poems should be metered.)
You never fail to amaze me with your speed-poetry, Susan! I can’t imagine how you come up with these up…
The Pope blessed a 20,000,000 year old piece of ice from Greenland. He said we must all help in the…
I love this Susan. Every word! Make exhaled breath a sin, indeed!
M.D., this is a wonderful translation and a perfect poetic piece as we approach both Halloween and the Dia de…
A very good English rendering of the Spanish sonnet. And a rhyme scheme is maintained that, while not as exact…
My Country used to be
Filled with great dignity;
Each one his own.
.
My country used to be
More than a travesty —
Who could have known we’d be
Tied to a phone?
Lost to reality,
Wed to a flat TV;.
Slaves to what we can’t see –.
How we have grown.
And “God Save the Queen!”
“Tis of thee,” Sally, that I sing.
Nice, and both serious and funny at the same time, too.
Sally led off and hit it out of the park!
Thank you, James, both for making me the subject of your .comment, and for recognizing that I am often simultaneously serious and funny.
Poetry meets sagacity, wonderfully. Sally, your poem certainly captures the travesty of the modern era.
All Things Lofty
My country used to be a book of myths,
Believed to be the truth by working stiffs.
Now those who seek the truth cannot make out
Which info’s true, which info is in doubt.
Our privacy’s destroyed by ones and noughts;
Our jobs, usurped by ANI robots.
Confusion never was this thick before;
We cannot trust our neighbors anymore.
When people do not have some faith and trust,
Then all things lofty fall into the dust.
No truth, no trust, no jobs, no clothes, no cash;
Will we just sit and watch it slowly crash?
It seems so.
Alan, you tune into these deceitful times with a fine poetic eye.
My Country Used to Be
My country used to be a rotten place
Where blacks and reds received an equal place
With whites who’re twice as blue as indigo
And not too damn yellow to let it show;
But now the Oval’s manned by one whose shade
Is orange (note the hair that hasn’t greyed!)
And loves to midnight-tweet in purple prose
Instead of being scared of palest rose
And kicks the shit from everything that’s pink
And signs his name in spikes with ebon ink;
Yet still, in every poll, he’s going down
(Can’t you see where his pants are turning brown?),
So, if you don’t want neighbours who’re Iraqi,
Don’t vote the Dems back in: they’re full of khaki!
[Paid for by the Donald Trump re-election campaign.]
Damn the cost, when near to Boston
My folks fought at Bunker Hill —
Other places, too. The traces
Of their nation linger still.
Who cares what the Donald’s hair is –
Who says what the polls say? Do
You reject our leader, where his
Brain is must be bothering you.
Can’t you see our country used to
Have a vigorous bustling hum.
Donald brought it back; will do
Again; to hate him’s really dumb.
My verses demonstrate
I am a child of hate.
I am not whole.
Completely overwrought,
Incapable of thought,
For pennies I’ve been bought,
Shackled, my soul.
My country used to be
an earth-bound entity
firm built on sand.
Upheavals, tumults, wars
tattered her stripes and stars
and left unhealing scars
on ev’ry hand.
This native land I love
bends ‘neath the burden of
self-love and hate.
While far-off names contend
for pow’r that knows no end
and endless wealth to spend
on projects great.
We who the people are
scattered both near and far
over this land,
our lost republic mourn;
that which by blood was born
now seems forever torn –
how shall it stand?
My homeland waits above,
where my King rules in love,
ever to reign.
For that yet coming land,
I take my fervent stand,
and lend my mind and hand
its shores to gain.
Yet now I work and pray
that there may come a day –
soon may it be! –
when through this burdened land
Christ once again will stand
reaching with nail-scarred hand
to set men free.
Amen!
Spur of the moment, and beautiful!
Beautiful, indeed!
I share your prayer, T.M. Beautiful poem!
My Country used to be
A land of liberty
But not today.
Battered and tempest tossed
Safety at any cost
Despite the freedoms lost
This price I’ll pay.
I am a horse’s ass
I think this too shall pass
I am a fool.
And I will never learn
All bridges they will burn
There will be no return
When tyrants rule.
A fine poetic observation and so very true. Thank you for the challenge.
My country used to be one of butter mountains
My country is now one that is ‘mostly flat’ according to google maps
My buttery country was one of friendly neighbors
It was one of helpfulness, silly clean sidewalks and a howdoyoudo for all passersby
My country was one of free sailing and high flying adventure seekers
Slowly we have been mislead to believe in an atheist future full of immoral monkeys
In that we would be those monkeys
And forget our golden past
I dare say no
I dare say we shall return to our over flowing milk buckets
I dare say we shall return to our greenest meadows
Will you wait for science to save you?
Will you lay down and wait for the state to decide what to do now?
Or will you unlearn the lies that made you helpless, hopeless, dependent and scared?
You are one of us, one of those who sailed the Seven Seas
And you can learn to hope again
Why would I not repent and let past wrongs be gone?
Why would I not be a better person?
Will we be a strong people again
Will we be free spirits again, devout, brave and kind?
My country used to be a narrow place
For those not of an Anglo/Scottish hue.
A land where those not of a chosen race
Were lynched or segregated out of view.
Where “Yellow” was a designated peril,
And “Red” uncivilized, a savage tribe.
And Catholics, the bottom of the barrel—
All drunks and mobsters, eager for a bribe.
Yet still the wretched refuse of the poor
And persecuted of the world still stand
In hope of coming to my country’s shore,
Their “city on a hill,” their “promised land.”
Despite its flaws, America, it seems
Is still a land of liberty . . . and dreams.
Hi James,
Your vision of America´s past has a lot of truth in it. There is no doubt that a number of injustices lie in our history– sins that can in no wise be justified– but I like the way you balance the negative with the positive, recognizing that, for all its faults, a land which in principle prizes liberty (even if this was not always the shared blessing of all) is still to be preferred over nations lying under the thrall of despotic regimes where God-given liberties and the rule of law are routinely trampled upon. I have some friends in one very troubled nation of Latin America whose dream is to immigrate to the United States some day, because of the promise of liberty and prosperity that it holds. So the U.S. still holds a strong attraction for people around the globe; but I fear it is living on the capital of a more principled past, and is therefore, on life support. Your poem reminds me of the words of Oliver Cromwell when someone wanted to paint his portrait– “I´ll let you do so, but you must paint me as I really am, warts and all!” We must do the same in describing America´s past. We must not blind ourselves to the warts. The problem with the cultural Marxists who dominate the universities and public schools today, however, is that they see nothing in America´s past but one giant wart, and do not value the principles of its founding.
James, the closing couplet of this well crafted sonnet makes my heart sing.
Thank you Martin and Susan for affirming my poem. Martin, your final sentence is a cogent summary of the sad state of affairs we find ourselves in. It reminds me of the Chesterton parable about the English boy who longed to see one of the great hillside chalk carvings. He hated life on the farm where he was raised and finally abandoned home and family and ran away. As he came to the top of the hill opposite his family farm, he turned back for one final glance and saw that the farm was in, in fact, set in the middle of one of the chalk carvings, but he had been too close to it to see it. That is how I see America. Except the intelligencia that wants to abandon what we have for a mess of pottage is too arrogant to look back and see that we are already the land of opportunity, freedom, law, liberty and dreams. Maybe Mao was on to something. Instead of mandatory military service, all university and federal employees should be required to spend one year working on a farm or in a meat packing plant and experience some REAL real politik, rub shoulders with a different set of “real” people, and, as a bonus, celebrate true diversity while they’re at it!
Martin, both you and James Tweedie are laboring under the massive delusion that America is founded on an intellectual proposition — namely, that “all men are created equal.” No nation is founded upon words, and those particular words are intellectually insane.
Dr. Salemi,
Nevertheless, they are the words of the founding fathers. I’m sure you would agree they were no intellectual lightweights, nor were they Marxists pursuing Utopian dreams of a classless society in which all difference between men have been eliminated. They certainly did not not mean to deny the natural inequalities that exist between men in terms of their strengths, endowments, gifts and opportunities, but rather their sole intention was to affirm the God-given equality of all men before the law, as the words that follow make plain– “and are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights. . .” Not only did they regard that as a “sane ” proposition; they were willing to fight a war against the King of England in its defense, as a later generation of Americans were willing to do in the right against Nazi fascism.
Three points: First, the Declaration of Independence is not a legal document, and carries no compulsory force in our republic. Second, that Declaration itself belies the comment about “all men being created equal,” when it very openly refers to the American Indians as bloodthirsty savages beyond the pale of civilization. Third, many if the signatories of the Declaration were slaveholders, and certainly did not consider their slaves as “equals.”
It is an anachronistic misreading of the Declaration of Independence (but common among liberals) to think that its text is a support for later left-liberal ideologies. The term “men” referred to in the text simply means “all free-born Englishmen.”
My country used to be
A sweet land of liberty,
But boy, did it change!
A land where my father died,
Serving this land with pride,
Singing “Home on the Range.”
Youngsters would walk to school,
Following the golden rule,
Now all that seems strange.
We used to be sure about
How most things would turn out,
Leaders were not deranged.
We need men like Eisenhower
To acquire the reins of power,
That remains unchanged.
I didn’t realize I was going to follow James Tweedie, which makes my poem somewhat of an anticlimax. There should be a period after the word “out” instead of a comma. (Which makes this comment an anticlimax.)
Hi, Joe –
This was a good idea .!
Thanks Sally!
I pretty much recognized it when the line came to me.
Mrs. T totally agreed, and Evan was on it in a flash.
My country used to be…
My country used to be content and free
where liberty reigned over prying eye,
where we could kiss and wish beneath a tree
without the threat of “bend-the-rules-and-die”.
We picnicked on the cliffs where swallows fly,
then strolled the brackish beach and breathed the sea
in surf-bliss, sun-blush rushes of sky-high –
my country used to be content and free.
We met, we ate, we chinked and sipped with glee.
We toasted morrows over apple pie.
Now yesterday’s a hazy memory
where liberty reigned over prying eye.
Now smiles are masked and no one hears the cry
of howling hearts held under lock and key.
All dreams drift back to days before goodbye
where we could kiss and wish beneath a tree.
The curve is flat yet still soothsayers see
the Reaper’s glinting scythe and that is why
they push the non-essentials’ destiny
that holds the threat of “bend-the-rules-and-die!”.
And here I sit in fear; I can’t deny
each stage of this new plague has got to me
through bilge and bile from tongues that twist and lie,
and kill the land of hope’s prosperity
my country used to be.
So well crafted, and such beautiful phrasing and imagery. Thank you for sharing this!
Beautiful, Susan.
My country used to be
An apple on a tree,
So full and ripe and round-
To all appearance, sound.
But little did I know
A worm inside did grow
That slowly, day by day,
Its sweet flesh ate away
And gradually did bore
A tunnel to its core.
And so, destroyed within,
By folly, pride, and sin,
It sits– a sight grotesque–
Upon a teacher’s desk
In some sick, godless school,
Where atheists now rule.
An excellent and hard-hitting wake-up call of a poem, Martin. The apple conceit works perfectly.
My country used to be
a sacred place for many hours spent,
under the nighty skies,
under the sweet embrace,
of Gods and priests,
and mysteries of Love.
My country used to be a tailored for a Heaven,
a place where higher souls
would meet and turn their hearts the gold.
Now it is a different thing I see.
Some are hungry for the profits, others wish to steal and bribe.
The trees care not about the temporary glory.
They care to live and breathe with all.
Don’t worrу, I say.
This Earth, this land will become clean again.
The blessed feet that do not bow to hunger,
will touch the soil,
we will grow again.
You ask what my country used to be.
But this is the land of the Sun.
Where we find warriors and people of the peace.
The sacred place where you only come to know.
Meet someone graceful, real and of peace…
If you want to be one with the Sun.
Now joyful souls, those spirit-free,
unite in Love rather than the sickness of the earthly deeds.
Blessed is this land and I know there’s something beautiful that’s meant to be.
My country used to be
a sacred place for many hours spent
under the nighty skies,
under the sweet embrace
of Gods and priests,
and mysteries of Love.
My country used to be tailored for a Heaven,
a place where higher souls
would meet and turn their hearts to gold.
Now it is a different thing I see.
Some are hungry for the profits,
others wish to steal and bribe.
The trees care not about that temporary glory.
They care to live and breathe with all.
Don’t worrу, I say.
This Earth, this land will become clean again.
The blessed feet that do not bow to hunger,
will touch the soil, we will grow again.
You ask what my country used to be.
This is the land of the Sun.
Where warriors meet people of peace.
The sacred place where you only come to become one.
One with the Sun.
One with joyful souls, those spirit-free.
In Love rather than the so-called earthly deeds.
Blessed is this land and I know there’s
something beautiful that’s meant to be.
You nailed it, Mary!
(As we pirouette to the Soviet)
Have really enjoyed reading all the poems and comments
Had to have a go another great prompt
so thank you and best wishes to all in these difficult times
My country used to be
A land where men gave their word
Shook hands and it was done,
Tipped their hats when a lady walked past
My country used to have
Sweet pine-scented breezes
Windows opened wide,
Unlocked doors
Rocking chairs swaying on the porch
My country used to hear
Bells chiming on a Sunday morning
The sound of hymns echoing across hills
Was it real? Or a childhood dream,
A Hollywood screen of twinkling stars
That ignored the stripes of violence and strife
In the land of the brave and the free.
My country used to be a haven
For persons longing for a way
To earn success, but now the craven
Incompetents have had their day.
The patriots, so long ago,
Who kept the British running
Have been replaced by pallid dough —
The differences are stunning.
Bravo, Kip!
My country used to be
founded by integrity,
founded for democracy.
Now my country wants to be
headed by conspiracy,
headed for insanity.
Hello. I just stumbled across this website and was immediately inspired. Thank you! I’m not sure if it’s too late to contribute and I’m still a novice on my poetry journey… But here goes:
My country used to be hungry
invaders forged their inventory
in soil once tillaged by locals
with proud and indignant vocals.
Yet times of threat from pandemic
developed trust now systemic.
Response celebrated with pride
for greed and commerce aside.
Protecting public livelihood first
evades tragic fears for the worst.
No panic buying witnessed here
as citizens ate without fear.
Can you guess which country I am in?
My country used to be
a dirt road and fields
a tire swing and fears
thunder
lightning
scraped knees and tears.
My country used to be
new schools and new places
new faces and chases
rocky roads
and potholes
alone in big spaces.
My country used to be
someone loved me
falling and floating
untethered and free
drifting and drowning
surrounded by sea.
My country used to be
cutting the chains
clawing and scratching
impossible gains
building, breaking
and numbing the pain.
My country used to be
running away
running and falling
nowhere to stay
nighttime and dreaming
hoping for day.
My country used to be
a concrete path
daisies and dandelions
sprouting through cracks
breaking and entering
all the way back.
My country used to be
waving goodbye
a full gas tank
life passing by
not wanting to wake up
not wanting to try.
My county used to be
a place that I fled
scanning horizons
alive among dead
I’m seeking my country
somewhere ahead.
My country used to be
wandering aimlessly
words, syllables, silliness
smiles
unmetered
and free.
My country used to be
A wilderness so free
Where mighty rivers flowed
Gently to the sky
Then boatman rowed across
With their blood paid the cost
Now I am satisfied
Did not ask why
Didn’t know the great thing done
The cost of freedom won
Now I ask are we
Willing still to die
Or perhaps to live
Our freedom to others give
Open up our arms in love
To those who wish to try
I came here because of Joshua Phillips. I really enjoyed reading these amazing
creations. Just thought I would leave a comment to let you all know they were a great flow..of creativity. I am not a writer but I love to read. It was fun visiting here…thanks!
I’ve never really written poetry, but I stumbled across this website the other day and really enjoyed reading everyone’s responses so I thought I’d give it a go….
My country used to be,
Just land stretched along the sea,
A barren space of vegetation,
Where time laid still from generation.
We lived under another’s eye,
For centuries we tried to fight,
To reclaim land we called our own,
While you ruled from your rich home.
Tested by our biggest plight,
More lives than lived lost to Blight.
Instead of aid, you showed just greed,
Leaving few sons left to feed.
When bursting sailing coffins left
A land of pride and of unrest,
We fought till we won all but one corner,
Left to rule by the former.
Since that time we’ve grown and prospered,
Language lost, but culture fostered.
Yet painful past and present history,
Defines our tri-coloured sovereignty.
WE HAD IT ALL
By Roy E. Peterson
We had it all, a perfect gift,
On this mortal coil.
Water to drink, air to breathe,
Productive fertile soil.
We had to harness elements,
And control some animals.
We only had to work a bit,
Use our intangibles.
We brought order out of chaos
Like the world was wrought from space.
Inventions, structures, food chains
For the human race.
Visions guided mankind.
Dreams kept us alive.
Love and hope gave meaning
To the reasons to survive.
Governments were instituted
To serve society,
To stop marauding raiders,
And meant to make us free.
Farmers, bankers, clothiers,
Builders, bakers, chefs,
Provided humans services
With police to stop mischiefs.
Some want to play god,
And dictate to everyone
How it is that we must live:
To share the work we’ve done.
Some still seek dominion,
Enslave the minds of men,
Bend them to their will,
And shackle them again.
I will fight against the pricks.
I will struggle against the goads.
I’ll do everything I can
To get rid of unjust codes.
Mankind has a duty,
Mankind has a right,
To live in peace and freedom.
Let each conscience be a light.
Once upon a time
We had the richest world by grace.
We all should be ashamed
Of what we’ve done with such a place.
We may still be the richest,
But may be losing fast.
The good things of this world
Will not forever last.
Economic “isms”
Must not be allowed to rule,
Nor perverse religions
That to others may be cruel.
My warning to our citizens:
Beware the wolves that call;
Protect, defend our country,
And our liberty most of all.
Redacted to use the beginning phrase: “This country used to be…”
WE HAD IT ALL
By Roy E. Peterson
This country used to be a great
Land on this mortal coil.
Water to drink, air to breathe,
Productive fertile soil.
We had to harness elements,
And conquer animals.
We only had to work a bit,
Use our intangibles.
We brought order out of chaos
Like the world was wrought from space.
Inventions, structures, food chains
For the human race.
Visions guided mankind.
Dreams kept us alive.
Love and hope gave meaning
To the reasons to survive.
Governments were instituted
To serve society,
To stop marauding raiders,
And meant to make us free.
Farmers, bankers, clothiers,
Builders, bakers, chefs,
Provided humans services
With police to stop mischiefs.
Some want to play god,
And dictate to everyone
How it is that we must live
And share the work we’ve done.
Some still seek dominion,
Enslave the minds of men,
Bend them to their will,
And shackle them again.
I will fight against the pricks.
I will struggle against the goads.
I’ll do everything I can
To get rid of unjust codes.
Mankind has a duty,
Mankind has a right,
To live in peace and freedom.
Let each conscience be a light.
Once upon a time
We had the richest world by grace.
We all should be ashamed
Of what we’ve done with such a place.
We may still be the richest world,
But may be losing fast.
The riches of this world
Will not forever last.
My country used to be a dream
A distant, wild lure
Where hopes and men might forage life
From untold lands and unknown strife
And freedom flourish pure
My country used to be a realm
Where liberty was king
A nation born in blood and toil
With Christian principles as soil
Determination’s spring
Alas, my country is, it seems,
By Progress crushed to dust
For when they educate our youth
To compromise the noble truth
Then darkness dawns on US
My country used to be a place
where one would not be tossed from grace
because they didn’t hold some point of view.
Where free speech was the cherished thing
because it does make freedom ring!
A fact that young and old both praised and knew.
But now we monitor each thought
because our products won’t be bought
if we say something deemed to be “unclean.”
We examine every word
for even if just wrongly heard
an “impure” phrase can make one a has-been.
Our decades of good thought and deed
mean nothing if we do not heed
adherence to all thought/speech sacred rules!
The saintly life that we have led
is erased if they claim we said
one thing that they say casts us with the fools!
Since I am old and soon will die
I simply shrug and heave a sigh
as thought control becomes our way of life.
I never did expect to see
the zeitgeist of our great country
become just like my rigid loud ex-wife.
freedom for all
written in pen
signed by the blood
of millions of men
skirts long
modesty longer
any accusations
under the water
a level field
but tilted to play
to pick up the dice
sign your rights away
fairness for all
no less or no more
but everything’s equal
if no one’s keeping score
My country used to be a quiet song,
a flute in neem shade, a thread of rain,
a grain of salt held on the tongue,
a name whispered and carried across time.
It lived in the dust of the Thar,
in scrolls opened with care,
in camel bells swinging
beneath a saffron dusk.
It asked for little—
a corner for prayer,
a sentence that meant what it said,
a hand not clenched but open.
Now the noise thickens the air.
The loudest word wins.
The softest truths are forgotten.
Still I walk beneath her brightened skies,
and breathe the dust—
Satyam eva jayate.