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Steve Page May 5
don’t look at me like I don’t belong,
like me and my kind ain’t full welcome

We're all immigrants, no-one's born in this kingdom,
We’ve got the same grace-rights, as full-fledged citizens

We've each got eternal leave to remain
and have done since the day we came

We have full access, we're all V-I-Ps,
us and the King, we’re real family

me and mine are all around His manor,
if you don’t like it, take it to Father.
reading about diversity in church - in God's Kingdom, we are either all immigrant or none
Svode Mar 6
I feel like Christian Bale
in that one movie
"Am I... the American ******?"

the emic and etic personas
collapse in pantomime
like how the Donald destroyed democracy and civil rights for four years.

I feel like the average citizen
who has no choice but to vote
so that I don't get deported once again
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
She is a fallen woman
from the Holy Sea,
a broken sample
from the Fairlight,
dressed in whispers and vines.

The wretched wind
says many things to her:
"lament no more over
your emptied ******...
follow the glum west end sky
to the treasures of America."

Her intangible items
go first: two figurines,
two tin daughters
travelling with the wild dogs,
asleep in the backseat,
kept as contraband
until she pays with
coral, jade and pearls.

But ******'s
in her veins, telling her
the kids will keep,
as she slips beyond
the black rainbow
and into 'paradise'.
Robert Ronnow Oct 2021
From marble and granite to steel and glass,
we were discussing Rhina Espaillat’s On the Avenue in class,
was it 1950s or 1980s NYC and were the fifties
the city’s halcyon days or is it now, the 2020s,
the boroughs teeming with immigrants
from the round earth’s imagined corners,
Hasidim and Muslim, Haitian and Russian, as we
Italians and Irish in an earlier era were. Everything will
be ok or not, the recombinations which make
prediction and intuition fortunately hopeless
and each individual an experiment gone well or wrong.
On the avenue God speaks by spewing
toy and clothing stores, breakdancers and ice skaters,
the Brooklyn Navy Yard seen from the Brooklyn Bridge,
the skyline admired when my car broke down on the Triborough Bridge.
The numbers of us overwhelm, there exist powers
overwhelming for the human body and mind.
I don’t mind but I can’t make sense of it.
Gandhi said What you do may not seem important
but it is very important that you do it. By that what is meant?
Linda said Why does God always have to be a man?
I said He could be a She but she’s probably really
a Tyrannosaurus rex. I like to be in America!
—Espaillat, Rhina, “On the Avenue”, Playing at Stillness, Truman State University Press, 2005.
—Donne, John, “At the round earth’s imagined corners”.
Zoe Mei Sep 2021
Look on me dearly:
your stolen sullied sullen

daughter. I could dig you up
to hold your bones but

want only to wash myself
away, like white foam

from the seashore.
If I burn what is buried,

is it cremation
or disintegration? You would fly

ashes in the wind, like a wish
given

lift, like an altar of lit
incense.

Think of learning of your blood:
yellow skin and rice paddies

and great-great-great-great-granddaddy
grey for the Confederacy.

Do two halves not one whole
soul make? I take

a breath
and leave it

free.
Kamal Jul 2021
He clawed his way …
Against all odds and their friends
He stood up
Shrugged off hopelessness
Packed his bags
Threw the “whine”
Killed his fear with vengeance
Never ever looked back
He walked one way … and a long way
Looked back
He was alone
utterly
Alone
And he would do it all over again
Alone
because he doesn’t know any other way
Francie Lynch Jul 2021
Kathleen Avenue still has houses,
But people left, and trees were felled;
The canopy across the street
Has lost some limbs
And many feet
Of children
Playing hide and seek.

One house, a brown-shingled frame
Is aging there as are our names;
The front yard doesn't boast corn
That Daddy grew
When first we landed;
Not knowing neighbours were offended
With farming behind green picket fences.

      so corn, cabbage and turnip too
      were left to rot. Daddy knew to
      strike when hot.

The locals weren't too much impressed
When Daddy taught them some respect.
The human smell of decaying turnip
Turned noses down that stood straight up. The front was never farmed again.
    
Recently, I passed that yard,
The picket fences gone;
And someone has a garden there,
The new arrivals,
If they care,
Really see the wisdom there.
I give a nod
To my Old Man,
An immigrant
Before his time.
All true.
Sai Kurup Apr 2021
This land, foreign, yet so welcoming
Who would've known
I would own land
halfway across the world
from the homes of my ancestors
or rather,
this land would allow me to borrow it
prosper from it
and make it my home

Trees sway to the melody
of a warm summer breeze
Chirping birds and bubbling streams
the harmony
And I, simply another passing traveller
In the eternal life of this land

Who was here
100, 500, 1000 years ago?
Who knew this land
like the palms of their love?
Who sat here,
as I do now,
eyes closed
taking in the music of this land
soul at peace
knowing it was home?

This land, my new home,
and so, so welcoming
Kamal Dec 2020
Rise and shine my dear ...
Your Green Card is here
Ten years of waiting, hoping, dreaming,
Rise and shine my dear ...
Your application is rejected.
You may appeal this decision.  
No lawyer, nor a friend: Neither a family
Appeal I did.
Rise and shine my dear ...
Your Green Card is here.

Twenty years have passed
Rise and shine my dear
Et le Carte de Sejour is near
For a man with no love nor a friend
But an endless quest to belong
In a god’s land
Forget me not
But forgive me, dear
Kamal Dec 2020
Please...
I am tired of fighting to survive
I am a tired old man
I have lived but never loved
Please take me home
I am a flightless bird crossed the seven seas
I need to rest
Please take me home
My home is the endless blue sky,
the summer breeze,
the full moon over the Mediterranean Sea,
and words of love whispered in my ears ...

Please  take me home!
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