Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
F A Pacelli Jun 19
if you look back in time
whether near or far
you will see
we are all immigrants
it is a human need
to search for a better home
and be the change it needs
Cyrene Jun 5
i speak of those who were made silent.

so much words yet so little consideration. you crushed a very living foundation of innocent families. all those concrete wall cracks are evident that you single handedly ruined lives. how more cruel art thou, ye men of cruelty ?

i speak of those who cry blood, yet are let to suffer silently because of you men that shut the truth, which one day i will unfold.
i wrote this o behalf of all those people who are living through war. this is also for those cruel people to stop ruining lives, let's all spread love & peace.
You see us rising
so you wanna squash us
You stare in awe as we reach up
Soon to touch the skies
You can't meet our gazes
When you realize there's no fear in our eyes
Borders are nothing and walls can't hold us
We'll get to freedom even if it takes a million tries
You pretend to be deaf
As if you can't hear our cries
You think we're small, invisible
But no—No, we're here
and we will RISE, RISE, RISE
Juan Bot Mar 1
They come here,
In swarms.

Invade our land,
Take our resources,
Take our children,
Away.

They speak a barbaric language,
Like glass breaking in our ears.
They wear wierd clothes,
Like colorful trash bags.

They force us to speak their language,
They take our land,
Call it America.
Tell it to our children.
Now,
      They aren't our children.

Where will we go now?
South.
A remarkable bit of history.
Wanderer Feb 19
Politics jut aren't my thing
I don't care who you vote for
I won't judge you based on your political party

but I do want to say

That is hurts me to see
so many Americans be so callous and rude
to others based on their religion or race
to watch others suffer
in countries where their leaders
are committing genocide
and when their last hope is
to run away from their home, family
everything that they've ever known
in hopes of finding safety
in hopes that they may be able to survive without fear
but then they are met with cruelty at our borders
hate in our country

What does America stand for
if not freedom and hope?
Is the American dream dead?
George Feb 7
After making love,
that space inside you and that mess outside,
a hot breeze that then cools you both.

The words you write,
that tumble out,
of a kind that can only be written once.

A 5 am walk in a snow covered city,
with only street cleaners for company,
they speak that language from that place they ran.

The roar from a concert,
from a nearby park.

Feeling on your fingers,
stored heat rising off the pavement,
at the end of a hot summer day.

The significance of understanding,
the beauty of your insignificance,
against all that is beautiful.
Ciel Feb 5
I salute all the parents who sacrificed everything
to ensure a better life for their kids.
I feel for the kids that are constantly told they do not belong.
I celebrate the courage of the families who sought a new beginning.
I stand behind the immigrants, and the refugees,
Behind those who were brave enough to make a choice
and those who did not have one,
I stand by the kids who fight for a better future.
Those who claim a country that refuses to recognize them.
I stand by those who dared to dream.
mrc Feb 5
you can't shake hands and greet people with a smile through a wall.
james m nordlund Dec 2018
Transplanted to these '...fruited plains...', grandpa,
One of Gaia's fruits, what was his twinkle among
The countless stars? Here, millions have come
To stay, imbuing us with their place of origin,
Their souls dancing, flying, in a universal way.
For over 60 years Americans to be came through
Ellis Island, headed to who knows where West,
My grandfather, Uru, which means hero, a Fin,
One of three who left a concentration camp that
Fifteen thousand entered, did too, to NYC, NY.

Following freedom's beacon, its first light he saw,
The Statue of Liberties still unscorched torch, thanx
To Frederic Auguste Bartholdi, and the French. Of
Libertas, the Roman goddess of freedom and a
'...Tabula ansata, a tablet evoking the law, upon
Which is inscribed the date of the American
Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776.'
The broken chain of tyranny lies at her feet,
Upon a pedestal, wherein etched words are,
From Emma Lazurus' sonnet, 'The New Colossus',

Which may rise again, only if we embrace them:
'...Her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
'Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!' cries she
With silent lips. 'Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!'

Only 151 feet tall, she will ever stand taller, or
Be turned to dust with us, all of humanity and
Large mammals, as well as the Earth, tragic
Members of extinctions annals, if we don't stop
The permanent altering of weather cycles through
Overuse of fossil fuels, the degradation of the
Earth's orbit around the Sun. We can walk in
Nature's abundant balance again, humane beings.
Still, she gives hues to the vast canvas of what
The Big Apple, and its beautiful mosaics' art, can be.
I shine only because he, a Merchant Marine, did.
Thanx to Emma Lazurus' sonnet, 'The New Colossus', quoted above, Ancestors, those who unpaved the paths, immigrants, immigration advocacy, advocacy poetry, reality poetry, statue of liberty, Amerigo for this twig of  powtree
Girard Tournesol Nov 2018
Vinnie had the confidence of a roman statue.  His emerald-isle-fiery-red-hair belied a family heritage that had emigrated to The Promised Land from Northern Italy, not Northern Ireland.  What few friends he had called him “Little Red Ferrari” or LRF for his fiery red temper and uber-ancestral pride.  

Tonight’s rain in Freedomville meant wintrymix.  Vinnie had just been 86’d from the German Brauhaus and now LRF was driving his Pontiac Aztec home at wintrymix+.08 speed,  Statue of Liberty proudly gorilla-glued to his dashboard.  

His mind couldn’t quite process the dark wretched masses to be a family out walking the road at this hour in these tempest-tossed conditions.  He pulled over, flashers blinking, lamps high.  The golden door of his Aztec opened, LRF-adrenaline pumping. What were they thinking?

“Sir, we are hungry,” (señor, we are hong-ree), the man said as wintrymix pelted them. The children—smiled?

What are they thinking/doing, in some human way, suddenly felt like nonsense.  These poor huddled people in freezing-wet clothing were here, hong-ree.

Vinnie’s mind saw his own pride in them.  What courage! This man’s people built pyramids!

“Vieni qui,” Vinnie said in Italian pointing to the Aztec hoping it was close enough.  It was close enough.
Flash fiction entry to Plazm Magazine contest, "Opposite of Hate."  Winning the contest is not the point.  As writers, contribution to the higher purpose is our reward.  Participation our Victory.
Next page