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Mother of Cowards
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

So unlike the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land,
Spread-eagled, showering gold, a strumpet stands:
A much-used trollop with a torch, whose flame
Has long since been extinguished. And her name?
"Mother of Cowards!" From her enervate hand
Soft ash descends. Her furtive eyes demand
Allegiance to her ****'s repulsive game.

"Keep, ancient lands, your wretched poor!" cries she
With scarlet lips. "Give me your hale, your whole,
Your huddled tycoons, yearning to be pleased!
The wretched refuse of your toilet hole?
Oh, never send one unwashed child to me!
I await Trump's pleasure by the gilded bowl!"

NOTE: My sonnet is a parody of the famous poem "The New Colossus" written about the Statue of Liberty by Emma Lazarus. Keywords/Tags: America, American history, liberty, United States, Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus, Statue of Liberty, Lady Liberty, torch, freedom, beacon, lamp, light, door, golden door, liberty, immigrants, immigration, refuse, homeless, poor, rich, discrimination, huddled masses, yearning, breath free, giant, fame, free, freedom of speech, independence day, New York, patriotic
William Marr Feb 23
standing like this
(they call it immortality)
with a frozen smile and ponderous medals
is more barbaric
than lying in state
with a red rose on my chest

at dawn, two lovers awakened at my feet
and began reciting the beautiful engraved lies
between kisses and laughs
there was a sharp pain in my chest
at the very spot where the first ray of light hit
at the very spot where they pinned the red rose
Dani Feb 4
Sometimes when I close my eyes I swear I can see you
Someone that makes my heart beat wildly
That gives me shivers of warmth and love down my spine
But all I have ever witnessed
Has been in my mind's eyes
I want to believe you are real
Not just a figment of my lonely imagination
I want to believe you are out there
Picturing me in your mind
Filled with wonder seeing my smile and my eyes
Yet I somehow feel you are my Pygmalion
A stone cold picturesque image of longing
That I cling onto in the long dark nights
Waiting for the gods above to come down
And move your stone cold visage of my mind
Into the soft warm flesh of reality
I want to say I look forward to meeting you
And I hope one day I do
And I will sing my praises up to the sky
Up to the gods
Who granted me my greatest joy
My greatest creation
My Pygmalion
There's a hopeless romantic in me please help
Julie Grenness Sep 2019
I stand here, a plaster saint,
Somewhere else, I'd be a haint,
A ghost of a distant century,
But I'm a symbol of Christianity,
Or of another faith, you see,
People come to worship with me,
I present to them a gift of faith,
All who pray for blessed grace,
No sacred space is ever empty,
The divine is here with you and me,
We're all part of this mystery.............
Feedback welcome.
Tiger Striped Sep 2019
you emerged from the breaking dawn
glittering to rival the rising sun.
molten gold dripped
from the tips of your fingers;
shimmering dust was left in your trail.
had our paths not crossed,
i'd not be frozen here;
a statue of fool's gold —
the work of your touch.
but i'm stuck in your kingdom,
watching the golden age
waiting until you wash your hands in the river
and come back to me —
you are cursed with the midas touch,
and i am cursed for making you king.
Anastasia Aug 2019
She was made
of gold
and marble
and she stood
above
the water.
A boy of stone
less looked at
stood hidden
behind
the ivy.
Forgotten
by most
he loved
the girl
made
of gold
and marble.
He
loved her
she
loved him
and they whispered
their love
in the night.
what do you think?
Peter B Jun 2019
The policeman probably thought:
'What this guy is doing here?
He definitely isn't up for anything good.
He seems to be nervous,
no, it's not a tourist,
they have cameras, they take a photo and leave.
Must be yet another activist.
This guy, he's annoying,
scruffy dude,
****** at least."

But I was there
for no bad reason,
but simply to pay respect
to the queen of feminism.
Lorena Jun 2019
The Mason and His Statue

at first, I am a block of stone
and you are a chisel
carving pieces of me away
and then you are a diamond drill
and then I am polished
mounted
wheeled out of the room covered in stone dust and into the liquid darkness of a hallway
and ten arched windows pass me by
for the very first time I can see the sky

I’m in the middle of the room
with a nameplate on a stand beside me - did I have a name before?
I’m just me
and there’s more of me all around me
standing
sitting
eyes reaching… quiet.
The doors open and the footsteps arrive
I hear water outside and see out the windows at the end of the hall and sometimes if I’m lucky they open them and I feel a breeze on the side of my face
but the funny part is -
the best time of day is when they close all the doors
and it’s just me and the janitor who’s mopping the floors

in case you were wondering
why I’m not there anymore
in the middle of the room in plain view on my pedestal
they took me down
too dated or too worn or just not new
wrapped me in canvas and put me in the back of a storeroom
where for the first time I experienced damp, and cold
and I learned that it was a bad thing to be old

but
then I was worn enough to be disposable
and they put me in the park
I’m by the fountain - come and find me
there’s no barriers and no nameplate telling you what to see
and yes, the wind blows and I’m a little more exposed
but I’m free
I was going to explain my feelings behind this poem, but if I wrote it well enough then you'll feel them - and explaining is cheating anyway.
JT Nelson Jun 2019
I tried to walk
I tried to talk
I tried to fly
I tried to yell

But my feet were locked
But my legs were numb
But my tongue was still
And my lips were locked

Was I trapped in a dream?
A bad dream for sure
I mustered no emotion
Except fear for my future

My eyes couldn't blink
And couldn't move
My arms, fingers, toes
Also locked tight

And then as people stared
My heart began to glow
From the warmth of their smiles
Shining on me and my pedestal.
From a dream I had where I could figure out why I was unable to do anything except observe. I guess it would be considered a nightmare but I remember the feeling I had of joy knowing people were enjoying me like this.
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