America Poems - Poems For America

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  • 49.
    Elegiac Feelings American

    How inseparable you and the America you saw yet was never
    there to see; you and America, like the tree and the
    ground, are one the same; yet how like a palm tree
    in the state of Oregon. . . dead ere it blossomed,
    like a snow polar loping the
    How so that which you were or hoped to be, and the
    America not, the America you saw yet could
    not see
    So like yet unlike the ground from which you stemmed;
    you stood upon America like a rootless
    Hat-bottomed tree; to the squirrel there was no
    divorcement in its hop of ground to its climb of
    tree. . . until it saw no acorn fall, then it knew
    there was no marriage between the two; how
    fruitless, how useless, the sad unnaturalness
    of nature; no wonder the dawn ceased being
    a joy. . . for what good the earth and sun when
    the tree in between is good for nothing. . . the
    inseparable trinity, once dissevered, becomes a
    cold fruitless meaningless thrice-marked
    deathlie in its awful amputation. . . O butcher
    the pork-chop is not the pig—The American
    alien in America is a bitter truncation; and even
    this elegy, dear Jack, shall have a butchered
    tree, a tree beaten to a pulp, upon which it'll be
    contained—no wonder no good news can be
    written on such bad news—
    How alien the natural home, aye, aye, how dies the tree when
    the ground is foreign, cold, unfree—The winds
    know not to blow the seed of the Redwood where
    none before stood; no palm is blown to Oregon,
    how wise the wind—Wise
    too the senders of the prophet. . . knowing the
    fertility of the designated spot where suchmeant
    prophecy be announced and answerable—the
    sower of wheat does not sow in the fields of cane;
    for the sender of the voice did also send the ear.
    And were little Liechtenstein, and not America, the
    designation. . . surely then we'd the tongues of
    Was not so much our finding America as it was America finding
    its voice in us; many spoke to America as though
    America by land-right was theirs by law-right
    legislatively acquired by materialistic coups of
    wealth and inheritance; like the citizen of society
    believes himself the owner of society, and what he
    makes of himself he makes of America and thus when
    he speaks of America he speaks of himself, and quite
    often such a he is duly elected to represent what he
    represents. . . an infernal ego of an America
    Thus many a patriot speaks lovingly of himself when he speaks
    of America, and not to appreciate him is not to
    appreciate America, and vice-versa
    The tongue of truth is the true tongue of America, and it could
    not be found in the Daily Heralds since the voice
    therein was a controlled voice, wickedly
    opinionated, and directed at gullible
    No wonder we found ourselves rootless. . . for we've become the
    very roots themselves,—the lie can never take root
    and there grow under a truth of sun and therefrom bear the fruit of truth

    Alas, Jack, seems I cannot requiem thee without
    requieming America, and that's one requiem
    I shall not presume, for as long as I live there'll
    be no requiems for me
    For though the tree dies the tree is born anew, only until
    the tree dies forever and never a tree born
    anew. . . shall the ground die too
    Yours the eyes that saw, the heart that felt, the voice that
    sang and cried; and as long as America shall live, though
    ye old Kerouac body hath died, yet shall you live. . .
    for indeed ours was a time of prophecy without death
    as a consequence. . . for indeed after us came the time
    of assassins, and whotll doubt thy last words 'After
    me. . . the deluge'
    Ah, but were it a matter of seasons I'd not doubt the return of the
    tree, for what good the ground upon which we stand
    itself unable to stand—aye the tree will in seasonal
    time fall, for it be nature's wont, thaPs why the
    ground, the down, the slow yet sure decomposition,
    until the very tree becomes the very ground where
    once it stood; yet falls the ground. . . ah, then what?
    unanswerable this be unto nature, for there is no
    ground whereon to fall and land, no down, no up
    even, directionless, and into what, if what,
    composition goeth its decomposition?
    We came to announce the human spirit in the name of
    beauty and truth; and now this spirit cries out in nature's sake
    the horrendous imbalance of all things natural. . .
    elusive nature caught! like a bird in hand, harnessed
    and engineered in the unevolutional ways of
    experiment and technique
    Yes though the tree has taken root in the ground the ground is
    upturned and in this forced vomitage is spewn the
    dire miasma of fossilific trees of death the
    million-yeared pitch and grease of a dinosauric age
    dead and gone how all brought to surface again and
    made to roam the sky we breathe in stampedes of
    What hope for the America so embodied in thee, O friend, when
    the very same alcohol that disembodied your
    brother redman of his America, disembodied
    ye—A plot to grab their land, we know—yet what
    plot to grab the ungrabbable land of one's spirit? Thy visionary America were
    impossible to unvision—for when the shades of the
    windows of the spirit are brought down, that which
    was seen yet remains. . . the eyes of the spirit yet see
    Aye the America so embodied in thee, so definitely rooted
    therefrom, is the living embodiment of all
    humanity, young and free
    And though the great redemptive tree blooms, not yet full, not
    yet entirely sure, there be the darksters, sad and
    old, would like to have it fall; they hack and chop
    and saw away. . . that nothing full and young and
    free for sure be left to stand at all
    Verily were such trees as youth be. . . were such be made to fall,
    and never rise to fall again, then shall the ground
    fall, and the deluge come and wash it asunder,
    wholly all and forever, like a wind out of nowhere into nowhere

    'How so like Clark Gable hands your hands. . .' (Mexico
    conversation 1956)—Hands so strong and Mexican
    sunned, busy about America, hands I knew would
    make it, would hold guard and caring
    You were always talking about America, and America was always
    history to me, General Wolfe lying on the ground
    dying in his bright redcoat smittered by a bluecoat
    hanging in the classroom wall next to the father of
    our country whose heart area was painted in cloud. .
    . yes, ours was an American history, a history with a
    future, for sure;

    How a Whitman we were always wanting, a hoping, an
    America, that America ever an America to be,
    never an America to sing about or to, but ever an
    America to sing hopefully for
    All we had was past America, and ourselves, the now America,
    and O how we regarded that past! And O the big lie
    of that school classroom! The Revolutionary War. . .
    all we got was Washington, Revere, Henry,
    Hamilton, Jefferson, and Franklin. . . never Nat
    Bacon, Sam Adams, Paine. . . and what of liberty?
    was not to gain liberty that war, liberty they had,
    they were the freest peoples of their time; was not to
    lose that liberty was why they went to arms—yet,
    and yet, the season that blossomed us upon the
    scene was hardly free; be there liberty today? not to
    hear the redman, the blackman, the youngman tell—
    And in the beginning when liberty was all one could hear; wasn't
    much of it for the poor witches of Salem; and that
    great lauder of liberty, Franklin, paid 100 dollar
    bounty for each scalp of the wild children of natural
    free; Pitt Jr. obtained most of the city of brotherly
    love by so outrageous a deception as stymied the
    trusting heart of his red brother with tortuous
    mistrust; and how ignorant of liberty the wise
    Jefferson owning the black losers of liberty; for the
    declarers of independence to declare it only for part
    of the whole was to declare civil war
    Justice is all any man of liberty need hope for; and justice was a
    most important foundling thing; a diadem for
    American life upon which the twinship of private
    property and God could be established;
    How suffered the poor native American the enforced
    establishing of those two pillars of liberty!

    From justice stems a variable God, from God stems a
    dictated justice
    'The ways of the Lord lead to liberty' sayeth St. Paul. . .
    - yet a man need liberty, not God, to be able to follow
    the ways of God
    The justness of individual land right is not justifiable to those
    to whom the land by right of first claim
    collectively belonged;
    He who sells mankind's land to a single man sells the
    Brooklyn Bridge
    The second greatest cause of human death. . . is the
    acquiring of property
    No American life is worth an acre of America. . . if No
    Trespassing and guarding mastiffs can't tell you
    shotguns will
    So, sweet seeker, just what America sought you anyway? Know
    that today there are millions of Americans
    seeking America. . . know that even with all
    those eye-expanding chemicals—only more of
    what is not there do they see
    Some find America in songs of clumping stone, some in
    fogs of revolution
    All find it in their hearts. . . and O how it tightens the heart
    Not so much their being imprisoned in an old and unbearable
    America. . . more the America imprisoned in
    them—so wracks and darkens the spirit
    An America unseen, dreamed, tremors uncertain, bums the
    heart, sends bad vibes forth cosmic and otherwise
    You could see the contempt in their young-sad eyes. . . and
    meantime the jails are becoming barber shops, and
    the army has always been
    Yet unable they are to shave the hurricane from their eyes
    Look unto Moses, no prophet ever reached the dreamed of
    lands. . . ah but your eyes are dead. . . nor the
    America beyond your last dreamed hill hovers

    How alike our hearts and time and dying, how our America out
    there and in our hearts insatiable yet overHowing
    hallelujahs of poesy and hope
    How we knew to feel each dawn, to ooh and aah each golden
    sorrow and helplessness coast to coast in our
    search for whatever joy steadfast never there
    nowever grey
    Yea the America the America unstained and never revolutioned
    for liberty ever in us free, the America in
    us—unboundaried and unhistoried, we the
    America, we the fathers of that America, the
    America you Johnnyappleseeded, the America I
    heralded, an America not there, an
    America soon to be

    The prophet affects the state, and the state affects the
    prophet—What happened to you, O friend,
    happened to America, and we know what
    happened to America—the stain. . . the stains,
    O and yet when it's asked of you 'What happened to him?' I say
    'What happened to America has happened
    him—the two were inseparable' Like the wind to the
    sky is the voice to the word….
    And now that voice is gone, and now the word is bone, and the
    America is going, the planet boned
    A man can have everything he desires in his home yet have
    nothing outside the door—for a feeling man, a poet
    man, such an outside serves only to make home a
    place in which to hang oneself
    And us ones, sweet friend, we've always brought America home
    with us—and never like dirty laundry, even with all
    the stains
    And through the front door, lovingly cushioned in our hearts;
    where we sat down and told it our dreams of beauty
    hopeful that it would leave our homes beautiful
    And what has happened to our dream of beauteous
    America, Jack?
    Did it look beautiful to you, did it sound so too, in its cold
    electric blue, that America that spewed and
    stenched your home, your good brain, that unreal
    fake America, that caricature of America, that
    plugged in a wall America. . . a gallon of desperate
    whiskey a day it took ye to look that America in its
    disembodied eye
    And it saw you not, it never saw you, for what you saw was not
    there, what you saw was Laugh-in, and all America
    was in laughing, that America brought you in,
    brought America in, all that out there brought in, all
    that nowhere nothing in, no wonder you were
    lonesome, died empty and sad and lonely, you the
    real face and voice. . . caught before the fake face
    and voice—and it became real and you fake,
    O the awful fragility of things

    'What happened to him?' 'What happened to you?' Death
    happened him; a gypped life happened; a God gone
    sick happened; a dream nightmared; a youth
    armied; an army massacred; the father wants to eat
    the son, the son feeds his stone, but the father no
    get stoned
    And you, Jack, poor Jack, watched your father die, your America
    die, your God die, your body die, die die die; and
    today fathers are watching their sons die, and their
    sons are watching babies die, why? Why? How we
    both asked WHY?
    O the sad sad awfulness of it all

    You but a mere decade of a Kerouac, but what a lifetime in that
    dix Kerouacl
    Nothing happened you that did not happen; nothing went
    unfulfilled, you circ'd the circle full, and what's
    happening to America is no longer happening
    to you, for what happens to the consciousness of the land
    happens to the voice of that consciousness and the voice has
    died yet the land remains to forget what it has heard and the
    word leaves no bone
    And both word and land of flesh and earth
    suffer the same sick the same death. . . and dies the voice before
    the flesh, and the wind blows a dead silence over the dying
    earth, and the earth will leave its bone, and nothing of wind will
    roll the moan, but silence, silence, nor e'en that will
    God's ear hear

    Aye, what happened to you, dear friend, compassionate friend,
    is what is happening to everyone and thing of
    planet the clamorous sadly desperate planet now
    one voice less. . . expendable as the wind. . . gone,
    and who'll now blow away the awful miasma of
    sick, sick and dying earthflesh-soul America

    When you went on the road looking for America you found only
    what you put there and a man seeking gold finds the
    only America there is to find; and his investment
    and a poet's investment. . . the same when comes
    the crash, and it's crashing, yet the windows are
    tight, are not for jumping; from
    hell none e'er fell

    In Hell angels sing too
    And they sang to behold anew
    Those who followed the first Christ-bearer
    left hell and beheld a world new
    yet with guns and Bibles came they
    and soon their new settlement became old
    and once again hell held quay
    The ArcAngel Raphael was I to you
    And I put the Cross of the Lord of Angels
    upon you. . . there
    on the eve of a new world to explore
    And you were flashed upon the old and darkling day
    a Beat Christ-boy. . . bearing the gentle roundness of things
    insisting the soul was round not square
    And soon. . . behind thee
    there came a-following
    the children of flowers read more »

  • 50.
    *America - *

    -for pilgrim sake,
    and land once, of 'Native' soil
    Allegiance pledged, of
    conquest gained, from read more »

  • 51.
    Concept of America

    People united
    To secure their liberty
    Out of many, one read more »

  • 52.
    Ameria's Welcome Home

    Oh, gallantly they fared forth in khaki and in blue,
    America's crusading host of warriors bold and true; read more »

  • 53.
    A Roosevelt

    Es con voz de la Biblia, o verso de Walt Whitman,
    que habría que llegar hasta ti, Cazador!
    Primitivo y moderno, sencillo y complicado,
    con un algo de Washington y cuatro de Nemrod. read more »

  • 54.
    Where are the Flower Children?

    Our sons and daughters conceived in
    strawberry fields have talked dad
    into tying his hair back and mom
    into wearing a bra and conforming read more »

  • 55.
    ' Weather Wars '

    Severe storms, earthquakes and the like
    Caused by Tesla technology aka HAARP
    Perpetrated by America’s “Fourth Reich”
    While politicos, networks n’ pundits carp read more »

  • 56.


  • 57.
    (119) Obama or Mc Caine

    read more »

  • 58.
    A Riddle

    This riddle I give to you
    Upon it your eyes may view
    Matched Jacob's tribes when 'twas new
    Came to equal Spirit True read more »

  • 59.
    god blessed america

    god blessed america when he made the earth
    god blessed america when he sent his son to sacrifise read more »

  • 60.
    Part 4 of Trout Fishing in America

    THE AUTOPSY OF read more »

New America Poems

  1. What's Happening America?, Regan Kathleen
  2. What America Used to be, Jessica Gabanyic
  3. In America, Katherine Perry
  4. Not America, gajanan mishra
  5. America, Totes Sheldon
  6. America In The War, Lindsey Ansbro
  7. This Is The World, Marcquiese Burrell
  8. Good bye, Traditional Marriage, Patricia Kelley
  9. My America, Salvatore Ala
  10. A Tiny Echo of America, Frank Bana
  11. Fifty Seven States of Mind, Udiah (witness to Yah)
  12. America, MIKE SANTIAGO
  13. Dear America, Winston Harding
  14. Rise and Set, gajanan mishra
  15. Liberty, Udiah (witness to Yah)
  16. The Declaration of Independence, Udiah (witness to Yah)
  17. My version of Ginsberg's America., Scott Forster
  18. America, Kevin Broken
  19. Don't Tear America Down!, Winston Harding
  20. Land Of The Free, Jamal Brown
  21. America Is Not... Is, Gregory Allen Uhan
  22. The Subliminal Verses 5, David Powley
  23. America!, Sebastian JohnstonLindsay
  24. The Fall Of War, Tamisha Bellamy
  25. America's Heartbeat, Melinda McQueen
  26. Every Man (And Woman), Eric Cockrell
  27. Slaughter of the Innocent, Udiah (witness to Yah)
  28. America, So Beautiful., Juan Olivarez
  29. Greatest of the Great, Ezekiel Igbodo
  30. Ephraim and Manasseh, Udiah (witness to Yah)
  31. VICEROY SONATA, Aldo Kraas
  32. A-M-E-R-I-C-A, Adryan Rotica
  33. Concept of America, Udiah (witness to Yah)
  35. True Soldier, Madi Lynn
  36. America The Beautiful, Ray Hansell
  37. Gentleness, Jim McDonald
  38. Why Hate America, jackie compton
  39. God Bless US, Udiah (witness to Yah)
  40. America the Beautiful, Kristen O'Loughlin
  41. America The States, Whoopie Cushion
  42. Elegiac Feelings American, Gregory Corso
  43. Worms in Africa, Doris Dzameshie
  44. Body of Lies, cortez mccall
  45. America, Grayson Givens
  46. I Write America (Revision), Harlequin Rose
  47. A Riddle, Udiah (witness to Yah)
  48. Love America, Denio F.S
  49. JFK Jr’s Hate America Poem, Robert Founder
  50. America is America, Antonio Liao
  51. THE ALPHABET SONG, Aldo Kraas
  52. America, The Immortal Resilience
  53. Countries, Ang Pei Ling Pei Ling
  54. INDIAN WOMAN BLUES, Aldo Kraas
  55. We Are America, Brandon Smith
  56. I'm Glad I Live Here, Natalie Collins
  57. Dear Bhoilseabhach, Michael Pruchnicki
  58. *America - *, Louie Levy
  59. There Won't Be an America, Annie Cordelia Adams
  60. Americas Presidential Race, Sylvia Chidi
  61. Christmas poem for the troops, vincent armone
  62. Atomic Insanity Bomb, Lex Newman
  63. Resemblance, Atef Ayadi
  64. America Her Rise And Fall, Mustafa Marconi
  65. America, takeema hodges
  66. America 'The Great', Rodney Quills
  68. 'I Believe In America', Trade Martin
  69. Black Man In America, julius thomas
  70. Still America, Missy Lynn
  71. Oil, Theorem The Truth Serum
  72. god blessed america, winter lees
  73. America, Olivia Taylor
  74. In Praise of America, samuel nze
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