"fatherland" poems
Our nation is a father
Who spends sons unwisely
Wasting their wonder
On warrior blunders
In nations swelling pride
We see our children
Committing suicide
Honor bound to pursue
Patriotic truths
If mothers ran the world
Would it all be better
Or would maternal malice
Malform modern intent
Blue eyes telling lies
Of war and all its’ glories
Grey hair sitting there
In old reclining lawn chairs
Celebrating fantastic stories
But I know the lives lost
Were not always spent wisely
Were not always sacrificed justly
Why does it feel like no one else sees
Have I become Don Quixote
Fatherland motherland
Better planned
Would be brotherhood
And sisterhood
All that love spent for the good
Like this poem
We have lost our way
Perhaps better stanza
Will return the wisdom
Of our better sages
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
I love my country: India , but
I hate many of its rulers, as
they speak for the poor and
act for tycoons bellicose, and-
Diversity sighs in armed Unity;
The selfish corrupted in unity
March ahead on graves crafty.
I love my country: India , but
August fifteenth : with freedom,
opened all devilish forces
out of Hell to fell all virtues.
Grim faced Buddha smiles
Like a nuclear Phantom ,his
tears drip on tomb of Peace.
No white dove sits on dome
It bleeds in the lap of Buddha.
If birth is the cause of gloom.
who stops one from bloom?
Dearth of berth clamour for
Death of birth at the womb.
I love my country: India , but
Souls are free on lovely Earth
Lay bodies strain to survive.
A nominal word equanimity
Gushes in landslide infirmity.
Service becomes self –service,
In black ink sleeps Socialism.
Fear Neurosis like King Kamsa
Keeps Liberty behind the bars.
Healthy, wealthy Bharat Matha
Groans in labour room for Santi.
Note: 1). August fifteenth= 15 August 1947 when India became free from Briton. 2).Buddha=Gutham Buddha(Prince Sidhardha) who established Buddhism.3).Kamsa= The mythological character , uncle of Lord Krishna who chained even his sister Devaki out of the fear psychosis. 4),Bharat Matha= Indians consider Bharat/India as their Mother(Matha)-so it is Mother land not Fatherland for them .Santi/Shanti=a Sanskrit word used in Vedas and Upanishads of India which means Peace or Islam.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
MESSENGER
Now at the Seventh Gate the seventh chief,
Thy proper mother's son, I will announce,
What fortune for this city, for himself,
With curses he invoketh:--on the walls
Ascending, heralded as king, to stand,
With paeans for their capture; then with thee
To fight, and either slaying near thee die,
Or thee, who wronged him, chasing forth alive,
Requite in kind his proper banishment.
Such words he shouts, and calls upon the gods
Who o'er his race preside and Fatherland,
With gracious eye to look upon his prayers.
A well-wrought buckler, newly forged, he bears,
With twofold blazon riveted thereon,
For there a woman leads, with sober mien,
A mailed warrior, enchased in gold;
Justice her style, and thus the legend speaks:--
'This man I will restore, and he shall hold
The city and his father's palace homes.'
Such the devices of the hostile chiefs.
'Tis for thyself to choose whom thou wilt send;
But never shalt thou blame my herald-words.
To guide the rudder of the State be thine!
ETEOCLES
O heaven-demented race of Oedipus,
My race, tear-fraught, detested of the gods!
Alas, our father's curses now bear fruit.
But it beseems not to lament or weep,
Lest lamentations sadder still be born.
For him, too truly Polyneikes named,--
What his device will work we soon shall know;
Whether his braggart words, with madness fraught,
Gold-blazoned on his shield, shall lead him back.
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Guided his deeds and thoughts, this might have been;
But neither when he fled the darksome womb,
Or in his childhood, or in youth's fair prime,
Or when the hair thick gathered on his chin,
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Nor in this outrage on his Fatherland
Deem I she now beside him deigns to stand.
For Justice would in sooth belie her name,
Did she with this all-daring man consort.
In these regards confiding will I go,
Myself will meet him. Who with better right?
Brother to brother, chieftain against chief,
Foeman to foe, I'll stand. Quick, bring my spear,
My greaves, and armor, bulwark against stones.
4.8k
I'm a refugee
in a world of
—unmotherly
words
rooted in fatherland
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Love is the scent with the lotus born.
It is the silent choirs of petals
Singing the winter’s harmony of uniform beauty.
Love is the song of the soul, singing to God.
It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets -
sun and moon lit
In the skyey hall festooned with fleecy clouds –
Around the sovereign Silent Will.
It is the thirst of the rose to drink the sunrays
And blush red with life.
‘Tis the promptings of the mother earth
To feed her milk to the tender, thirsty roots,
And to nurse all life.
It is the urge of the sun
To keep all things alive.
Love is the unseen craving of the Mother Divine
That took the protecting father–form,
And that feeds helpless mouths
With milk of mother’s tenderness.
It is the babies’ sweetness,
Coaxing the rain of parental sympathy
To shower upon them.
It is the lover’s unenslaved surrender to the beloved
To serve and solace.
It is the elixir of friendship,
Reviving broken and bruised souls.
It is the martyr’s zeal to shed his blood
For the well-beloved fatherland.
It is the ineffable, silent call of the heart to another
heart.
It is the God-drunk poet’s heartaches
For every creature’s groans.
Love is to enjoy the family rose of petal-beings,
And thence to move to spacious fields -
Passing by portals of social, national, international
sympathy,
On to the limitless Cosmic Home –
To gaze with looks of wonderment,
And to serve all that lives, still or moving.
This is to know what love is.
He knows who lives it.
Love is evolution’s ameliorative call
To the far-strayed sons
To return to Perfection’s home.
It is the call of the beauty – robed ones
To worship the great Beauty.
It is the call of God
Through silent intelligences
And starburst of feelings.
Love is the Heaven
Toward which the flowers, rivers, nations, atoms,
creatures – you and I
Are rushing by the straight path of action right,
Or winding laboriously on error’s path,
All to reach haven there at last.
4k
Star soldier with the rocket arm,
you bleed silver, gold,
and product placement.
Smile big for the camera,
the media will sell its soul
for a new bankable face.
Party hardy, Heisman candidate,
******** your semi-steady's
sorority sister,
then ask to see her again
sometime after the **** kit.
It's quite alright,
so long as you have talent
beyond this hemisphere.
Why even the fatherland, ESPN,
will gladly call you "son."
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 11:37 AM UTC
He declared himself a refugee, and ran away from his country
Running away from hunger and poverty, to the overseas,
He roams foreign countries from one place to another,
Chewing foreign fortunes of historical efforts,
Of blood and sweat shed by the fore(wo)men of those countries,
He is prostrate and defenseless to foreign languages,
Begging for sympathy to be made a citizen in Europe,
His rapacious appetite wedding his tongue,
Swallowing saliva on sight of European fortune,
Feating into mad appetite for sweat of others proceeds.
He burned the bridges on the way back to his home
Lest he be told the piffling of going back to his emaciated mother,
He changed his names to become a foreign native
Out of laziness not to fight for political and social change,
An imperative need of his motherland and fatherland,
Blind cowardice made him to over measure homespun folly
In the patriotic spirit of verve-less readiness
To die for political goodness of his motherland,
A (de)patriotic syndrome to only which
Hugo Garcia Manriquez sang a limerick
The best of all poems in his time of solitude;
(The fear of representation, of going back
to representation, that is,
to animosity)
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
.the moral obligation, to be cognitively dissident; which has to align with Heiddeger's da-sein at some point... a piquant fervor for reality as: static, yet at the same time moving in the realm of the Titans / orbs - time, is a concept that has to match up to the orbs... otherwise all this space... whatever the wind, the clouds... is just static... inanimate... time could only be derived from animate objects, which became subjects which became momentum... the rest, the rest is just space, and its excesses of the vacuous night... space became a probing mechanism, an investigative vector, posit, charge.
now you call me a germanophile...
like a Caligula or some
odd ****
kennts ihr selbst:
know your self...
which is a reflective form of
the reflexive Anglo
counterpart: yourself.
so i noticed...
whenever i become, really,
and i mean really reactionary
(not angry)
i tend to drift into
writing in my native tongue...
funny...
mother tongue,
fatherland...
but it's the opposite in Moscow...
motherland...
and the epitome
of the Cyrillic?
well... there was
a St. Cyrill...
but father-tongue just
sounds so ****** stupid
in English...
maybe in German?
vaterzunge...
well... sure as **** that
sounds better than mutterzunge...
but hey,
preferences preference preferences,
not everyone says: om, om,
ooh, chocolate,
when taking a bite of a ****
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
When he was seventeen years old,
your protagonist
asked his father
a question about heartbreak, his own perhaps.
The father
answered:
"Why would she love you?
I can see why?
You're acting like a *****
Each line a question,
demanding an answer.
Answers your protagonist
did not have.
So your protagonist
ventured out into the
world,
and became a rambler.
Rambling off nonsense
with the rapidity
of lemming chatter.
He became
the great Rambler,
mumbling about
love,
until even his dreams
became ****** up streams
of language.
He caromed off cliffs of reality
bumping against those barriers
of his fatherland
until he was hurtling
into the rambling ocean
to drown
unconsciously.
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
The snow was blowing among the trees. In large wet flakes it tumbled down.
My captain turned, as if to speak, but from his lips there came no sound.
A red rose bloomed there on his chest -staining dark the Wehrmacht grey.
I looked in horror as he pitched face forward to the ground.
****** I yelled and ducked for cover. The copse of trees echoed the sound.
Somewhere out there he awaits; the Devil’s son, the cunning foe.
He’s stalked our party for three days yet leaves no footprints in the snow.
I served in France in Forty –one; before these Russians were our foes.
I shiver but it’s not from fear; it’s just that we lack winter clothes.
I motion briskly with my right hand, I think the shooter must be there
my corporal nods and starts to move; perhaps he can outflank this man.
My soul is black for I’ve done some things;
for which I once would have been ashamed.
I saw the Jewess try to shield her babe
as I placed them in a common grave.
This man out there, a warrior; he risks his life upon command.
He is clever, this one, he waits his chance.
Either its him or me that’s dammed.
The drifting snowflakes hide his breath.
But He’s still out there this I know.
My Captain lies still upon the earth
and is slowly covered by the snow.
We are soldiers who risk our lives.
We sacrifice for the Fatherland.
We dream of a woman and a warm bed
Never of Death’s cold clammy hand
My men cry out, the fox is flushed
The ****** has at last been found.
It’s true what they say of the bullet that kills you;
I never even heard the sound.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 10:17 PM UTC
"I LOVE YOU" A sweet word to the ear
A flower blossoms that to someone you are dear
A paint that will clear the color of your blue
And turns your lonely heart, to a happy you
"I CARE" a word that will bury to a heart
Words that can't forget even to the last breath of a life
A seed that someday will bear sweet fruit
A fruit that will end up my countrymen chaos
Perhaps if I didn't utter "I LOVE YOU" and "I CARE" today
The saddest word that I'll meet someday
Mister Regret a name that will **** my heart
To then my mission be declared as failed
So then to my acquaintance, to my beloved ones
To you my princess, my beloved fatherland
"I LOVE YOU" and "I CARE"
And then again "I LOVE YOU" and "I CARE"
written: Feb. 22, 2001 @ 9:30 am PH Time
Mysterious Aries
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
In the Fatherland,
I found timeless memory,
the purest love.
Her blond hair glowed,
cute-dimples laughed,
azure eyes danced.
We visited the cathedral,
camped in Speyer
along the Rhine.
I learned all
about Bauchnabels,
baited hooks,
drank Pilsner.
We fished lakes,
ate potato pancakes
cooked by her Mutter.
She bought me a switchblade,
then sent me a dear Jon letter.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:30 PM UTC
Looking at the heart wrenching image,
Moved my whole being to tears,
Laying lifeless, bloodied,
Entry wood to her temple;
The husband craddling her head,
Tearfully looking down,
At the love of his life,
Never again to cheer his home;
She left the home that morning,
To oversee elections,
To serve her fatherland,
To contribute her own quota;
But all she got,
Was a bullet to her head,
The robbing of her life,
Abrupt end to an unfolding story;
Two children have lost their mother,
Parents have lost their daughter,
Sibblings have lost their kin,
And a husband his confidant;
Would she like many others,
Be a little statistic,
Some unfortunate incident,
Lost to unending callousness?
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 3:33 PM UTC
These storybooks woven with leathery imbrication
Filling my palms with vile indication
Detailing such wickedness and strife
What ethereal threads cling to life?
Such labyrinthine desires scrapping in my mind
My soul from body; that body which isn’t kind
To delve deeper within the wounds that sever
To fellow wolves, demons and toothless beggars
Unholy martyrs preach from a podium underground
Ablaze in hellfire, monsters of the ravenous mound
Black tongues and cheeks full of worms and leeches
Coals flung and burning over deafening speeches
Sumptuous in eloquence, these tossers and man-boys
Evocative displays of violence, hushed by silence and toys
Beseeched, reprimanded in city squares with common folk
Feeding dogs in heat slop with a pail and tote
Children waving hi to people in cages, smiling indifferently
Don’t they know what this is? Yes and no, forever in shame
Don’t they know there be wickedness afoot?
There be shadows of molestation
And whips of industry
Eyes removed and replaced with bar-codes
There be devils amongst the valiant
And dark angels amongst us
The few and proud
Recite aloud:
“Darkness brings uninvited guests
And our bodies are bare
Give us a blessing, a crumb or drop
Of life that we all can share.”
Veins full of rubies and auburn sapphires
Creepers laced in the cowls of cadavers
Red water thicker than mud and spit
The fatherland sicker than a rotten ****
There be dark angels amongst us, telling tales deep-seated
They be grave and weary, their lives left defeated
Now in the wilderness they give slothful lectures
But it’s only fools who listen to these rambling specters
And soon no one listens
Save for the moon that glistens
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
Never before was strength found in small numbers
Cruel horizons leave no room for small blunders
Fatherland of hope, homeland of death
We pricked our nimble fingers and promised to go deaf
Yeah we put our hands together in a ruthless blood pact
Four wolves in pursuit of truth and magic tact
So it was push and shove and torture before the big release
We had to lie to each other before the big relief
Yeah we all were willing to go underneath for this
What a ****** ****** noble tryst
Our vertical minds were sharp as a tack
We closed our eyes and never looked back
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:50 PM UTC
He was brought into our minds unbidden
But through torture
Resistance to his cruelty
Was softened
Till his abuse became a form of love
So they brought him to the bedroom
Were he forced his ways
Of shame
Upon those
Who should not have to claim
The blame
While the violators
Remain unchained
To the violence
In his name
They brought the brute
To the political domain
To claim
Rights over humanity
In his vanity
A fictional man
Folds masses to his demands
Kills futures
Spills blood
From fatherland to motherland
Made up borders
Claim different versions
Of the same misogynist
And if you miss the point of this
It is
That he was not invited by all of us
Yet the masses of molded men
Claim to be the victims
While defending their right to oppress us
With their made up man
In the clouds
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
I want to build a country,
not just some dirt, not just a land
a nation so great, a fatherland.
Tú estarás ahí, mi amigo,
sonriendo, mirando al frente,
haciendo camino conmigo.
Nous ferons un pays sans frontières,
sans limites, avec des montagnes
faites de sable, prêtes à être soufflées.
Elle sera une patrie où les mers seront des étangs
et nos ciels ne seront qu'à un saut de distance.
We'll have families and friends,
todos los paisajes que el mundo nos ha de ofrecer
sans préjugés ni douleur qui puissent nous confiner.
We'll build a land where friendship will prosper
and traveling will be the fuel of our hearths
Construiremos un hogar que sea propio
sin esas reglas que nos separan
Nous ferons un refuge des distances
où on habitera sans peur aux menaces.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
I am eight when we first heard them.
While the sun kisses the treetops,
Mother is in a panic
Screaming for sister
Grabbing her by the collar.
Booming carries from a mile away,
Sweet percussion of a death rattle.
Bitter drums of militant clatter,
numb and hypnotic heartbeat of their boots.
I listen as they turn to my neighborhood.
Mother knows they will come for us.
Goose-steppers divide at their middle seam,
kicking in doors on both sides of the street.
The man at the end wears an enormous hat.
He yells at them,
“Hunde töten die Juden, töten für das Vaterland!”
**** the Jew dogs, **** for the Fatherland)
The same thing every time.
(They take the people who wore sacred stars Two of them kick in our door
On the front of their shirts I tear my star from my shirt,
like me.) throw it to the ground.
They assail our stairs, hand cannons aimed.
screaming at me, louder and louder.
I break,
They laugh.
the big one charges towards me.
I flinch, he laughs louder.
grabbing my hair,
Dragging me into the streets.
My neighbors stand beside me.
Transfixed stone pillars
I, and them
Fear-stricken.
Hollowed eyes,
Robbed of all.
robbed of hope.
I, and my neighbors
put behind a fence.
Slamming behind us,
chains and locks.
Mother yells for me.
She cries,
I hear it.
I try to stay strong
Like father.
Like a soldat.
I look back at the crowd that storms the gate
My town yells,
people cry.
screams become muffled
Stone soldier, I
speak to the hillsides,
to the trees, to the streets, and to mother.
I call out to my world,
"à tout le monde,
à tous mes amis,
je vous aime,
je dois partir.
Ceux-ci sont les derniers mots que
je jamais parlerai.
Et ils vont me libérer.”
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC
My comrade P. is slightly outraged
The knife is honed and spilled with blood
I dance with fairy-mushrooms on the stage
My wooden horses lined-up at the start
And flies together with black crows
Float through the heavens getting nuts
I feel like hundred-year corpse
I feed meat-hasher with my guts
My ********* fatherland in red
Is getting mossy day by day
I look at it from high above my head
While comrade P. is turning into clay
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 1:06 AM UTC
Alien and unwanted, my smile
always singed my lips. Platitudes
polite and civilization vile…
Many times, I longed to prelude
my burdens to him, my husband.
But, love is no longer the case…
What a woman gives up for an end
to live happily ever after…
An access
to be one with another’s world…
I felt a freedom
in slitting my brother’s throat
as seasons ebbed
and eddied with each part of him
was discarded for my love’s
need for an empire.
I felt the moment, the freedom
of Fatherland.
Lived within this foreign land
of endless lies, Amen.
A wife-time of anguish for a man… I’m resplendent
Eve: noting wishes beyond Adam’s and God’s assignments.
Jason: husband, an end, has been…
I’m slitting our children’s throats
on this dark continent as me, an alien
for one thing you to see: making my own exile’s scene…
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 4:40 AM UTC
be blunter not, be no folly still:
this is our heartland's voice.
we are not this land's tenant,
nor are we the shadows that inhabit
light — this is out highest meed,
we go on with nobler steads.
languorous scraps of warfare
and a ****** of metal heed the
clarion call of our oneness yet when
it rains all shall rend in rust
as how our nation
furiously drowns yet emerges
victorious past the renegade of hours!
in it and from it
shall rise the true meaning
of our blood.
our large voices mellow down
in our guts outdoing our smallness - there is a river of
phantasmagoria yet its
rustle is same in its breadth in
our deep land. o, yelp never a lie!
consider truthfully brutal
affording solace:
it is our form reshaping our body.
it is our wills carving our flesh.
it is the dreams that are ensanguined
in us that forge the arms of
our fatherland: language!
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
#Brother and Sister Citizens:
Our fatherland consolidates. Let us salute, as One, our terrible destiny, lately manifest as the gathering force of an orange sun now glowing, after eight years of lightless gloom. Now we shine, now we merge our individuality in one to discover our collective future in Trump. As one wave of Greatness we now stride over the ruins of Hope & Change, into the American Restoration. Let us, each one, offer a straight stick of noble hardwood for the mass.
Donald our axehead is now tightly bound with us in a shared sacred duty, projecting his keen edge from the national bundle. Let us, together, grow tired of winning until all worthless cancerous cells are neutralized and disposed of. All that is not full of the Will to Greatness must perish before us. Clad in the shining raiment of victory let us serve with American fervor our new leader.
Women, mothers and nurturers of the mystic rebirth
are welcome in our new nation.
Sweep away the cobwebs of the old weakness, hail the conquering hero, he who fearlessly bears the Roman fasces into the courtroom as judge, jury, and executioner. Let the cities and nations of unbelief tremble and plead for mercy.
Poems shall be composed as bridges are built to span the years.
Stanzas shall spontaneously fall into place and march with military precision.
Every capital line shall converge upon our captain.
Hail the crown of Donald T.
Hail the mighty orange flame
Hail the age's consummation
(Voters have themselves to blame)
TRUMP shall smash the global Hydra
TRUMP shall avenge our national shame.
TRUMP shall restore our families' honor;
CONQUER (in his deplorable name) !
Captain TRUMP, the cord that binds
TRUMP the axe-head and the judge.
Leader DONALD, light that blinds.
Our final King: let none begrudge.
LOVE UNDER WILL ☻ !
(was that fascistic enough 4 U ?)
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 4:42 PM UTC
In the wake of innocence, I am left gaping with stupor at the threshold of pragmatism. I am fascinated by a hallway rather than its occupants. Its geometry tells me different facets of flying stories, while my human congeners remain hollow.
I am planning out my period of visibility and retaining prudence with my pondering of obsolescence. The inflection of my youth is becoming more contrived and unsatisfactory. I am continually outracing it.
I wish to fight for the Fatherland. Death is not my loss, that is becoming excruciatingly clear. I dream of marching in the air of sociopathic freedom. My brain longs for an ashen visage and valiant, black boots.
Oh, I long for iron and purpose. I crave the sight of a united race, an insurmountable stature. I want to touch Caesar. Only the dead sympathize with me, for they know what it is like to be cruel and subsequently, obsolete.
I do not want to **** I want to fight and be a tool. An instillation of might. I want to be within a collective heel.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
Never two months at sea always three
and at last we have been called home
yet I feel like a murderer of the helpless
as we surface to take air and charge batteries
We are the sea pack the wolves
the last of the first made
and we are sailing home today
in seas cruel and unkind
Never wanted to be what I have become
all my brothers feel the same
we just do our service
yet so want to be home
Three months choking on fumes
three months of ******
I hope the mercy of my lord
he can somehow forgive me
We suffer for a cause we don't understand
they say it is right for the glory of fatherland
all orders we do obey and then act
for we are the last of the wolf pack
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
the would be
landmarks
(the fish) she eats in a dream.
formerly, a palmist.
sweet on my mom.
mine are still
her favorite
hands.
on its own all hunger is young.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC