Category

Independence Day

Showing 1-20 of 41 results
  • Poem
    By Countee Cullen
    Wherein are words sublime or noble? What
    Invests one speech with haloed eminence,
    Makes it the sesame for all doors shut,
    Yet in its like sees but impertinence?
    Is it the hue? Is it the cast of eye,
    The curve of lip or Asiatic breath,
    Which...
  • Poem
    By Myra Sklarew

             Today the moon sees fit to come between a parched earth
        and sun, hurrying the premature darkness. A rooster in the yard
                cuts off its crowing, fooled into momentary sleep.
                   And soon the Perseid showers, broken...
  • Poem
    By Claude McKay
    Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
    And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,
    Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
    I love this cultured hell that tests my youth.
    Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
    Giving me strength erect against...
  • Poem
    By Langston Hughes

    Let America be America again.
    Let it be the dream it used to be.
    Let it be the pioneer on the plain
    Seeking a home where he himself is free.
     
    (America never was America to me.)
     
    Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
    Let it...
  • Poem
    By Fran Haraway
    Stripes and stars,
    Antique cars,
    Pretty girls,
    Baton twirls,
    Spangled gowns,
    Friendly clowns,
    Smiling folks,
    Papered spokes,
    Marching feet,
    Endless heat,
    Clapping hands,
    High school bands,
    Town traditions,
    Politicians,
    Perspiration,
    Celebration!
  • Poem
    By Shirley Geok-Lin Lim
    because it has no pure products

    because the Pacific Ocean sweeps along the coastline
    because the water of the ocean is cold
    and because land is better than ocean

    because I say we rather than they

    because I live in California
    I have eaten fresh artichokes
    and...
  • Poem

    poetry-magazine

    Immigrant Picnic

    By Gregory Djanikian
    It's the Fourth of July, the flags
    are painting the town,
    the plastic forks and knives
    are laid out like a parade.

    And I'm grilling, I've got my apron,
    I've got potato salad, macaroni, relish,
    I've got a hat shaped   
    like the state of Pennsylvania.

    I ask my...
  • Poem
    By Maya Angelou
    A Rock, A River, A Tree
    Hosts to species long since departed,   
    Marked the mastodon,
    The dinosaur, who left dried tokens   
    Of their sojourn here
    On our planet floor,
    Any broad alarm of their hastening doom   
    Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

    But today, the...
  • Poem
    By Gillian Conoley

                                                          of July
     
                       bagpipes    ...
  • Poem
    By Evie Shockley
    i.  august 1619
     
    arrived in a boat, named
    and unnamed, twenty, pirated
     
    away from a portuguese
    slaver, traded for victuals.
     
    drowned in this land of fresh,
    volatile clearings and folk
     
    with skin like melted
    cowrie shells. soon shedding
     
    servitude. soon reaping
    talents sown on african soil.
     
    after indenture, christians,
    colonists. not english,...
  • Poem
    By Hoa Nguyen
    Can be cracked or am that       you didn't
    consider me or I thought so
    recovering in a nap     You took the 4th
    of July beers

       In the movie
    she was Asian and playing an Asian
    part   singing white on white in the white
    room

          I want...
  • Poem
    By Carl Sandburg
    Lincoln?
    He was a mystery in smoke and flags
    Saying yes to the smoke, yes to the flags,
    Yes to the paradoxes of democracy,
    Yes to the hopes of government
    Of the people by the people for the people,
    No to debauchery of the public mind,
    No...
  • Poem
    By Kathleen Rooney
    O little-know facts—how Robinson attracts them!
     
    Pilgrims rocked ashore here, before Plymouth Rock.
     
    The word scrimshaw is of unknown origin.
     
    The stock name of the archaic two-lane main road? Route 6A. Really
    it’s Old King’s Highway.
     
    Some facts are useless: the paper bag was invented...
  • Poem
    By James Galvin
    All the angels of Tie Siding were on fire.
                                                                The famous sky was gone.

    Presumably the mountains were still there, invisible in haze.
                                                                                            OK,
    there was only one angel, but she was a torch in the wind, beside
    the wind-ripped American flag the post...
  • Poem
    By Delmore Schwartz
    Jeremiah Dickson was a true-blue American,
    For he was a little boy who understood America, for he felt that he must
    Think about everything; because that’s all there is to think about,   
    Knowing immediately the intimacy of truth and comedy,   
    Knowing intuitively how a...
  • Poem
    By Lawrence Ferlinghetti
    I am waiting for my case to come up   
    and I am waiting
    for a rebirth of wonder
    and I am waiting for someone
    to really discover America
    and wail
    and I am waiting   
    for the discovery
    of a new symbolic western frontier   
    and I am waiting   
    for the American...
  • Poem
    By Allen Ginsberg
    America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.
    America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.   
    I can’t stand my own mind.
    America when will we end the human war?
    Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
    I don’t feel good don’t bother...
  • Poem
    By Peter Balakian
    The tide’s a Bach cantata.
    The beach is the swollen neck of Isaac.

    The tide’s a lamentation of white opals.
    The beach is free. The Coke machine rusted out.

    Here is everything you’ll never need:

    hemp-cords, curry-combs, jade and musk,   
    a porcelain cup blown into the...
  • Poem
    By John Brehm
    Freedom is a rocket,
    isn’t it, bursting
    orgasmically over
    parkloads of hot
    dog devouring
    human beings
    or into the cities
    of our enemies
    without whom we
    would surely
    kill ourselves
    though they are
    ourselves and
    America I see now
    is the soldier
    who said I saw
    something
    burning on my
    chest and tried
    to brush it off with
    my right...
  • Poem
    By Vachel Lindsay
    It is portentous, and a thing of state
    That here at midnight, in our little town
    A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,
    Near the old court-house pacing up and down.

    Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards
    He lingers where his children...
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