Love Poems About Immigration or Immigration Love Poems

Immigration love poems and/or love poems about Immigration. Read, share, and enjoy these Immigration love poems! Also, try our sister website's powerful search engine for poems.

Poem Details | by Demetrios Trifiatis |
Categories: immigration, love, peace, prejudice, , cute,

WE ARE BROTHERS II



 
Don’t look at me 
As though I am an alien or a stranger,
Don’t let the dagger of antipathy 
Fly out of your eyes.

I am your neighbor.

Don’t call me a foe, an antagonist or a rival,
Don’t roll up your mistrustful sleeves for a fight.

I am your friend.
 
Don’t hold this murderous weapon in your kind hand, 
Don’t deny me the right to work, to eat, or to live.

I am your brother.
                                        
If destiny willed me to be born 
On this side of the frontier line,
If my parents wished me 
To wear these clothes 
And taught me their own dances,
Do we have to be adversaries?  
 
If fate desired me to speak 
This tongue foreign to you
And our skins’ color to differ,
Do we have to be competitors?
 
If necessity decided for us 
To live in this country, 
In the North, South, East, or West,
Do we have to be opponents?
 
If I believe in Jesus, 
Jehovah, 
Krishna, 
Buddha, 
Brahma 
Or Allah,
If this is my philosophy, 
My tradition, 
My history 
And my culture,
Do we have to be enemies?
 
No! A million times: no!

Please, look at me with new eyes 
And throw away your injurious prejudices.
What do you see but a person like you 
Who wants, desires and hopes for the same things in life:
Well-being,
Happiness, 
A home, 
Family, 
Some friends, 
Some love?

Look: 
I walk, 
I talk, 
I eat, 
I sleep, 
I dream, 
I laugh and I cry

Just like you.

I’m born, 
I grow up, 
I learn, 
I suffer, 
I bleed 
And I die.

Just like you.

I’m a father, 
A mother, 
A brother, 
A sister, 
A son, 
And a daughter.

Just like you.

You see: we are alike
We are the same
We are brothers.
 
Listen to me my neighbor, my friend, and my ally: 
I am telling you the truth.
We are the victims of schemes, 
Well planned in advance
By deceitful evil-hearted men 
Who wished for our destruction.
 
They, masters of savage forgery, dividers of mankind
Have tricked us throughout history 
With well-orchestrated lies
And with treacherous stories
These intellectually impotent criminals
Have instilled poison in your heart and mine.
Thus, by cultivating hatred, bitterness and rage,
They managed to shape us to ruthless foes, 
To merciless enemies,
To cruel animals.

Please, listen to me! It is trueWe are brothers.
 
Let us therefore with irresistible will cross all frontier lines 
That the past has erected between us, 
Thus making divisions vanish.
                                                                            
Let us with supreme power break the bonds of history,
Religion and culture and run into each other’s arms.
 
Let us uproot from our tormented hearts thorny mistrust
That was planted there thousands of years ago.
 
Let us seize ammunition from destructive hatred,
And make war capitulate.
 
Let us sink the cholera of bitterness 
In the affectionate sea of universal accord

And finally,

Let us unite and march to higher claims, 
To incomparable glory
Where peace can blossom today.
Thus, both of us will go to sleep at last,
Fearless of each other tonight.



© Demetrios Trifiatis 
    08 September 2015


NOTE: This poem, after having been edited, is posted again because 
 of the acute migration and refugee problem that has been created 
in EuropeGreece, my country, receives thousands and even tenths 
of thousands of refugees and illegal immigrants each dayIn some of 
the Greek islands the migrants are more than the GreeksSome of these
 people leave for Europe where in countries like F.Y.R.O.M., Serbia, Hungary
 Bulgaria, Austria, Germany, France, Italy have created social and economic problems because of their numbersThis fact prompted me, after the suggestion
of a good friend at PS, to repost the poem so as to ask from all, migrants and natives, understanding and tolerance for the good of peace! Thank you!  
    



Poem Details | by James Kelley |
Categories: emotions, immigration, inspiration, language, life, love, uplifting,

Language Barrier

I couldn’t understand the language she spoke,

at least not all of it,

but the emotion pouring past her lips, 

the tears in her eyes, her clenched and shaking fists

enunciated more clearly,

than any piece of English Poetry I had ever read,

and grabbed me, held me still.

                   …In that moment, her soul was in my arms.

In that finite, tender breath of our lives,

she was my mother, my best friend…

but I could not console her

I didn’t have the words;

and my heart sank into the 

concrete between us,

wet with the pain of God’s rain

and her tears

                  …Were my tears

So, I simply opened my palms

toward her crouched form and 

spoke the only words I could 

fathom, that would be accepted

by a stranger on a dangerous street

"I am sorry, It will be okayGod will bless you."

I knew she did not understand…

"Lo siento" 

                  “que va a estar bien”    

                            “Dios te bendecira’ “ 

the words were as messy as the overturned

duffle bag at her feet…and fumbled, slowly

from my lips, as my knees hit the street.

Two strangers, cried in the rain,

knowing nothing of each other’s suffering,

and yet we shared the weight,

together, for those few moments;

the barrier of language was broken.

Love spoke for us 

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

…Love transcends any language

               


Poem Details | by PRITHWISH MUKHERJEE |
Categories: immigration, lost love, love, teenage, universe,

A TIME TRAVEL PANORAMA

At the moment
Of my restless teenage run
Your eyes emanated lights of million stars
Many times the size of our Sun.
Frenzy feeling for clinging to you, singularity.
But I was taken aback by sudden bars,
Though I could sense the gravity.
I should keep firing my rocket
Against all odds, unhoped for
Real fact was too much ferine to the prior.
I would eventually lose my goal:
That was my closest buddies'safest bet.
They described you as a black-hole,
They said, " she is not your girl."
They said, "For you, she is evil incarnate."
But, how could I ignore you,
Embodied in such amazing curve and curl?
So, before my eyes you appeared as an Event-horizon.
Yeah, it was you
My teenage beauty-paragon.
Beyond this nothing can escape
Not even light,
I kept travelling towards you,
The universe looked somewhere dim and somewhere bright.
But my clock slowed down
Now, I've to keep my feet on the ground
I feel like, a king without a crown.
To this nostalgic journey my consciousness's been bound.
For a black-hole
There's a whole universe to devour
But I'm absorbed in my amour.
       I did
  A time travel
A story of incompleteness to tell.
  But no need
I've reached a brand-new universe!
       I could never get
My first love, remains insatiate.
I've no regret, it cann't be a curse.
       I can bend
       Yet
       The story is not end.
I'll not bore anyone with my reminiscence.
But, I've gathered a vast time travel experience.
Here I feel no delight, no pain,
I'm ready to fall in another love once again.


Poem Details | by liam mcdaid |
Categories: funny, immigration, romance, romantic, sorrow, , sweet love,

Cheese monster

I remember 
dancing for joy 
Sitting on an open shelf 
This beautiful maiden 
Strolls into the shop 
As my eyes whistled 
She picked me up 

Holding me in her hands 
Smiling down at me 
Excited 

Oh I love 
Words had trembling effect 
with this cheese 

Taking me home 
You took a little bite 
A little taste
Nibbling 
Out of me 
Lips softly grin
bursts in flavour 
Almost cheesy 
Licking delicious 

Opening a door 
You placed me 
on top shelf 
Felt like royalty 
Lights out wow 

The last face 
I remembered 
Ever so beautiful 
Weeks pass 
Feeling almost 
out of date 
Left in the dark 

A smell started 
Pungent in fungus hair 
Taking over 
almost septic 
Crawling green 
in mildew 

Beautiful maiden 
Awaiting you in dreams 
You open the door 
Squealing out 
Monsters 
frightened in the fridge 

All I done 
was shout cheese 
Smile darling 
I am 
all yours 
Sweet love 

Thrown in a black plastic bag 
Broken hearted suffocating 
with the rubbish 

Shouting walking away 
That's me done 
With cheese 

It was so sad 
The green hairy 
old monster 
Began crying 
Now smile 
for cheese 

As you will not like 
To see the ugly side 
Of the green 
hairy old 
Cheese monster


Poem Details | by Anil Deo |
Categories: america, appreciation, beautiful, culture, environment, growing up, immigration,

I LOVE SOUTH ASIAN WOMEN

I married someone in America, "My royalty" -
But can you look away from Brides in Sari*
That long, silk or chiffon sheet several feet long
Wrapped with tantalizing patterns around
And around, until thrown over her shoulder?
Another act of royal bearing, wearing Sari..

Even the floral tops over pants (Kurtah-pajama)
Become these stars - even in zillahs - far from Bollywood
The elegance was first sensed in my Mom in Africa
Yes, I was raised by Hindu-Muslim folk far from India
But with all the curries, puri, chapati, samoosa, subjee
Any South Asian would die for, even in sumptuous America..

LORD shows me these hard-working Moms who give
And never stop giving: see them in USA
Right under your noses, running businesses
Going home and cooking real food from scratch
Even to the n'th course with heavenly deliciousness
I cannot imagine the non-stop cultural fountains
They draw from, to love so much: man and children
Add grandchildren, and her energy yet abounds
So, I know what I missed, when I emigrated..
From Hades, I watch Abraham's Bosom
Without blame: praying for those in villages
Without much water, or sanitary napkins, yet 
As sanitary as Princesses: cooking, healing, generating
The next great doctor, computer guru for you
And for me, in the WestIndia's loss and mine
Are your gain: God loves you so much..
Say that to yourself when U see a South Asian lady
(Now you know why your eyes linger on my Sister)


Poem Details | by Cameron Hartley |
Categories: age, boyfriend, immigration, love hurts, sad love, spanish, teen,

If I Love You

"If she loves you," they tell you,
"This will be a problem."
I am una niña, a little girl-
And you are too old for me,
Too young to know
What you're doing,
Too careless to be cautious,
Too Hispanic to be safe
In a place so diverse that
Teenage boys
Are always classified by race-
You are too beautiful 
To be resistible.
But I promise not to love you.
I promise not to need you.
I won't kiss you where 
Anyone can see, and I
Won't cry when you leave me-
Yes, I know you will,
I'm not so young as idiocy-
I can be your secret,
As long as you are mine...
And if I write you love poems...
I'll write them in the dark.
I'll recite them to the shadows,
And no one has to know.
You never have to know
I ever lied.


Poem Details | by Vee Bdosa |
Categories: immigration, love hurts, sorrow, truth,

IMMIGRANT GIRL

       IMMIGRANT GIRL
Remembering this night of our last touch,
when nothing is between us we should know,
in love with loving you, and just how much
I wonder where in time do such nights go?

Forbidden like a box all sealed up tight,
or like the burning Zeus refused to share
with mortals such as we, and on this night,
Pandora's box is opened everywhere,

you are, this night, my first and only love
and always shall remain this part of me,
created from the earth and waters of
our night when Aphrodite let it to be.

       And I am more than blessed for loving you
          illegal though you are, it's what l do.
©ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


Poem Details | by Victor Chavez |
Categories: immigration, innocence, loss, love,

Love's corruption

Oh love, why is it by your touch our soul's happiness withers away?
Why do you corrupt our innocent hearts with your love?
Our innocence is lost, our carefree days are over.
You enslave us with chimerical hopes
and make us suffer the loneliness of reality.


Poem Details | by Suyash Saxena |
Categories: depression, desire, feelings, first love, freedom, how i feel, image, imagination, immigration, innocence, mystery, sweet, symbolism, teenage, thanksgiving, together, trust,

Nostalgia

Allow me another moment,
A moment in your nostalgia,
The moment that stretches to eternity.

Allow me another mile,
A mile by your side,
The mile that transcends the dead-end.


Poem Details | by cherl dunn |
Categories: heartbroken, history, imagery, immigration, inspirational, international, love,

MARK ANTHONY AND CLEOPATRA-3

The Egyptian standard falls, unto histories surrendering, 
The deserts breath, is so stilled,  under the Nile river's
Murky abyss, busted masts, heave against the 
Heavily laden hauls,taring the ships apart,
As the Egyptian fleet sinks beneath the waters surface.
A shooting flame of arrows, lights this tender box,
Of human flesh and bone, in wars clash of titans,
Rome must concur all nations.
Survivors screaming for salvation’s protection,
But help will not come, for Horas is a 
Defeated deity, hiding within his own temple to
The east.
Broken is the heart of Egypt, as a daggers sharp edge,
Is plunged into the body of a living god, the last Pharaoh,
Known as Cleopatra.
Cradling misfortune's solider, Mark Anthony, she thus weeps,
Behold love's most tragic couple of history.
With his last breath, he calls unto she, by names sake
Alone, Cleopatra, than remains stilled.
Lord thy last falcon has left the golden land,
Welcome him, she thus bids farewell, to hearts warrior,
Cleopatra.
A mortal woman holds her lover, within destiny’s arms,
Soar with the great eagles, my love, for soon I'll join thee,
In the great halls of our ancestors.
Tragedies star crossed lovers, partake in the bitterest
Of fruit, dried are these figs, once ripened by the sun,
Now unpalatable by discord’s taste.
Nay, all the power and wealth of Egypt itself,
Could sever, the silver threads joining these two,
From one another.
Lovers heart, bound even after death itself,
Shall they walk forever, within the valley of
The dead together, silhouetted figures, embracing
Reunification’s promise vows expressed long ago,
Written within their hearts eternal.
Lain in a golden gown, the queen of the Nile
Does she rest, beneath death's slumbering shadow, 
A serpents bite, has laid waste to a dynasty’s blood line.
Behold how in the heaven two eagles do soar,
Blanketed by the golden warmth of the sun,
As the passages of the hear after open wide
Their mighty gates, each name is spoken with
Honor pride, behold Mark Anthony and Cleopatra.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN 










Poem Details | by arthur vaso |
Categories: deep, hate, humanity, immigration, perspective, psychological, sad,

Tainted Love

Oh Donald
Kiss me
Is valentines
You know I am ok
And ok and ok

We are both men
My love and devotion is true
You will build a wall
And keep out the jew, the arab, and the indian too

You will make sure the blacks are put in place
This is what’s best for the human race
Keep those Mexicans in their southern slums
Make sure their employment adds up to none

Protect me from the Muslims
Save me from the evil Steve Jobs
That Syrian was so iBad iBad iBad and all
He terrorized Bill Gates, but that’s about all

I know people hate you
Those tainted souls
Wanting love and unity
Shame on those goals!!!

I love you Donald
My Donald Duck
The quack of my heart
Tearing us all apart


Poem Details | by Andrew Crisci |
Categories: children, emotions, friendship, immigration, innocence, joy, love, may, social, sports,

GEORGI THE BOY FROM RUSSIA

On a quite Saturday morning, I decided not to take the usual stroll,
instead I took my nephew Claudio to the neighborhood's playground;
so proudly, he carried his brand new basketball;
delightfully crisp was the spring air...
there were pleasant sounds from everywhere...
I did not see a kid who was alone or sad.

Georgi, the boy from Russia, 
was very tiny, but had a gorgeous face
a witty smile and seeing Claudio
and a black kid play basketball, 
he asked his dad, a military guy
so confident and tall,
if he could join them...
he agreed and that kid sprang, 
taking the spot that was mine.

To my surprise, Georgi didn't speak a word of English,
but spoke Russian; he must have arrived 
in the Unites States recently, and he communicated 
with gestures very well...
making words unnecessary
I noticed, children don't have to speak the same language
to understand one another 
and express love through their innocence, isn't it amazing?


Written on May 28/ 2013


Poem Details | by A.O. Taner |
Categories: angst, betrayal, deep, emotions, heart, heartbreak, heartbroken, hurt, immigration, loss, love, metaphor, places, sad love,

Heart

I left my heart in Thessaloniki;
I left my love by the Aegean Sea
What in the world, 
what in the world,
is happenin' to me?


Poem Details | by richard nnoli |
Categories: africa, humanity, identity, immigration, inspiration, love,

Everyone is an immigrant

Everyone is an immigrant 
We all are human 
I guess we belong 
On this planet 
Called earth 

We all are human 
Born by a woman 
As she pure her
flesh blood on 
Each of our heads 
So we are here 
Not as an alien 
But citizens of the world 

We all are human 
We all share same air
I guess non of us 
Breaths in nothing else
We feed on plants for food
We drink clean waters 
The world was design 
For our good 
Hope it still does now

We all are human 
And non is an alien
If the earth is human 
Place for a planet 
Then i tell you non 
Is an immigrant 
If there is then 
Is all of us 

We all are human 
Sharing this round world 
Together in different ways 
As we differs in our ways 
So was human who 
Created banderies 
By forming teroteries 
Called countries as we 
Know today
Is sure and true 
Our forefathers 
Where one family 
From same place 
I really hope the world 
Understands this

We are all human
Not an alien 
To be killed or devalued
By our selves 
The world is too large
For every one 
So we are to live 
And settle peacefully 
Where ever it pleases
Who ever
Yet the reality today 
Dont and never 
Aprove so 
If you think other people 
Around you are immigrant 
Dont forget you are same too
Cos you cant carry the land 
Or could you carry your houses else where 
When ever you travel 
You must step on someone's 
Land 
The land of our one mother 
In this earth non is a foreigner 
And if there should be one 
I have never seen 
Apart from the aliens unseen 
So on the quest of fighting 
Immigrant 
Remember our forefathers 
Are from one source 
As it simplifies non is an 
Immigrant 
If there is to be one 
Then the truth is 
Everyone is an immigrant 


Poem Details | by Robert Pettit |
Categories: immigration, love, woman,

Indian Doll

This Indian doll is a lot like their cuisine. Hot and spicy in the mouth, she surely is mean! That’s the sensation I get whenever we kiss. No western women I know can measure up to this! This sweetheart is full of sugar and spice. She is both sweet and hot, and everything nice. To find her, I didn’t have to go to Mumbai or Calcutta. She makes her present home right here in America. I consider this Indian doll a wonderful dish. Getting her attention was my number one wish.


Poem Details | by M. Shahid H. Chouhdry |
Categories: car, care, career, cry, dedication, depression, devotion, forgiveness, grief, imagination, immigration, inspirational, loneliness, lonely, longing,

Price of Love

Want You know the worth of Love, 
Way never end, the journey never Quit, 
Height neither achieved nor the depth End, 
The everlasting prickle in your eye sight, 

Freeze thoughts and awful memories, 
Would not leave you lonely, 
Every day goes by, 
Turn you the stem solitary, 

Frightful nights and dreadful days, 
Miserable morning and Depressed Twilight, 
Stand for fameless achievement, 
Faced it all for hoping day of Bright, 

Exam with no result, game of grief, 
Neither you fail nor you pass, 
Sunny day Rainfall, sweating in cold and fruit of Autumn, 
Love is stream that you won’t cross.

Cause, we don’t know the price of Love, cost of Beam, 
If you wanna know the cost, die with your dreams.

MShahid HChouhdry
Bahawalpur, Pakistan
shahid817@gmail.com


Poem Details | by Benjamin David |
Categories: flower, immigration, love, nature,

I Wander For You

Ensue the view of morning dew
In beauties beau that cries for you
The sprinkled sprew cries in two 
As the morning dew lies for you

Blossoms blow in nightly kiss, 
loving's glow when hearts we miss, 
For art thou love and art thou thine?
She is but love and therein mine

Caressing cue in sky-lit blue 
In eternal dreams I long for you 
Dancing dew's red poured petal
Glancing pew as pollens soared settle

We kiss and caress in a suffused glow 
Our love will fluoresce with the infused blow
Beauty weeps but it shall grow;
Ask the heart for thou shalt know


Poem Details | by Vivek Agnihotri |
Categories: desire, dream, emotions, freedom, humanity, immigration, love,

Make A Wish

Where morning is new
And so is its grace,
Oh my lover! Let's go to that place,

Where people are strangers,
And so are we,
Where no one asks our happiness,
Nor care for our grieve,

Where neither priests preach,
Nor kazis do teach,  
Where neither mosques make noise,
Nor temples show-off pride,

Where neither exist caste-creeds',
Poisonous stringers,
No existence of any minister,
Emperor nor beggar,

Where bloomed garden is found,
With heart of man kind,
You be the fragrance of flowers,
I shallbe the gentle wind,
 
Oh my lover! Let's fly to that place,
Where day is new and so is its grace,
Oh my lover! Let's fly to that place....."July 4, 2016


Poem Details | by Emile Pinet |
Categories: emotions, fantasy, feelings, imagery, immigration, love,

Love Grows Even Stronger

Blue skies are bruised purple, 
as a storm approaches me.
And the Gods evoke thunder,
furious at what they see.

I’ll not cower to their rage,
to do so would be tragic.
For love grows even stronger,
when it’s rooted in magic.

Warping my reality,
I pulled you through a portal.
And as myth morphed into real,
a mermaid was made mortal.

With the heat of passion's flame,
hope forged flesh onto bone.
And fashioned a fantasy,
so I’ll never be alone.

I conjured you from a dream
and yet my love remains true.
For neither heaven nor hell
has claim to my soul like you.


Poem Details | by Creative Chaos |
Categories: city, culture, cute love, home, immigration, new york, urban,

Rush Hour 24-7

A stranger bumped into me 
He never said sorry, neither did I 
It's New York rush hour


Poem Details | by Gerald Dillenbeck |
Categories: care, caregiving, happiness, health, immigration, love, wisdom,

CareGivers Among Us

To receive care
that best meets your needs,
and also,
by the way,
everyone else's too,
we look first
to where and when we have given such care
since our original longest reborn journey
down Mom's birth canal,
prepared just in time for our delivery,
as traumatic as that must have been,
life's first lesson in receiving care
that feels like giving care and will and desire
for life together
on a more even give and take terra firma.

So too, 
when sorting through complex patterns
and rhythms
and seasons of giving care
best suited to our experience so far,
we look first
to where and when we have received such great care
that it felt and seemed life's loveliest way
to give care back, in kind.
We look for superior models of care-receivers
who clearly thrive on cooperative care-giving.

Let's say you are discerning
which of two,
or any manageable number of,
candidates for giving optimal care
to our shared health and wealth outcomes,
both short-term and long-term WinWin outcomes preferred.

We look first for the candidate
with the wisest and most successful practices
as a cooperatively responsible
and authoritative co-parent
of and for developing strong give-to-take care relationships,
inviting Both-And mutual problem-solvers,
avoiding starkly fundamentalistic
Either its white and good
Or its black and not so much.

Second,
I look for the best teachers,
who are also positively regenerate mentors
for health-wealth living,
cooperatively active design and planning listeners,
then Both-And speakers,
deeply and richly experienced in non-violent discernment,
cooperative mindfulness,
discussion,
dialogue,
which might briefly descend
into some mutually-loyal and respectful debate,
in which protagonists speak what they have heard  and seen
positive
from antagonists throats and actions,
and, if so,
only with ultimate outcome goals of generating
cooperative WinWin outcomes together
no later than the end of each economic
and political day.

Care givers
practicing best practice
frown on slovenly slackers
letting loyal oppositionalists
go to bed angry.
Not feeling cared for,
neglected if not abused,
as if they were not doing their best
to become grown up care-givers too.

This educational care-giving role
is best relentlessly practiced
as a listening of and for care-receiving praxis,
co-intelligenting experiments
with perennial seasonal trends
from birth through springs of care-receiving,
summers and falls of care-giving,
harvest through death
where we could no longer distinguish
between these nondual co-arisings
we ecopoliticized as climates
and landscapes
of life's regenerational healthy trends.

To receive optimal ecopolitical care
through all four seasons,
we look first for those mentors
winter-born,
giving cooperative nondual co-arising care,
and getting regenerative results.

So, yes,
I would choose a wise democratic constitutional legal teacher
and mentor,
with strong parenting experience and apparent outcomes,
over a dysfunctional parent and spouse,
with Wharton School for the Entitled Empire
college experience,
taught merely how best to Win today, 
without worrying too awfully much about tomorrow,
or other immigrants along our capital developing play
learning power and control by exploiting real estate,
and those who reside within these well-marketed properties
where they must Lose as much as capitalist-hungry markets
will competitively bare,
before we all Lose.

Even the game of Monopoly
ends
when only one monoculturing capitalist
remains
wondering how to best receive care now
the other players finally have succumbed
to patriarchy's ego omnipotence
of relentless LeftBrain powering over
the luck of Earth's nutritional draws
to reward cooperators
and punish competitors,
eco-matriarchs blending ego-patriarchs
co-arising.

If your nation
and your planet
desperately need to receive remedial mentoring care,
where will we find candidates
and appointees
mentoring optimal health giving care
planning and ecologically regenerative design,
cooperative ownership practice,
mutual governing non-violent listening skills?

Where would Jesus look?
Where did he look for leaders and teachers
for future generations,
for future spiritual-natural policy and program economic and political developers?

Probably CoMessiahs do not first look for future empowering candidates
at Wharton School,
and probably not any Ivy Leagues,
although maybe.
But we look first for healthiest and happiest winter-borns,
untouchable transgenders,
especially those with amazing parent resumes
as teachers and actors of multicultural mentoring.

Jesus might look for lesbians of color,
Native American matriarchs
with cooperative-ownership histories
filled with healing hurt kids,
including wondrously gay left-handed artists of color,
grandparents of challenged kids
who know who they can safely go to
when someone wise needs to listen
for they have no other hope
in these climates of future despair.

CoMessiahs look for wealth of cooperative living spirit.
Healthy care-givers
who have learned to receive care
despite being alien-born into a culture
defining them as disenfranchised immigrants
who must thrive as if natives
within Earth's still-standing PolyPathic Tribe
of humanizing matriarchal-patriarchal trees.

To receive best practice economic and political care,
look for those who thrive from receiving care as giving care
with multiculturing challenged kids,
pretending to become cooperatively mature adults, 
and committed to our healthy air-creating partners,
flowering shade trees recreating fertile organic forest gardens
for climbing both up and down together
emancipating winter-born nuts
waiting for spring's revolutionary season
for cooperative care giving as receiving.


Poem Details | by Cameron Hartley |
Categories: analogy, boyfriend, immigration, international, love,

Maps

At times, Spanish becomes
An incomprehensible 
Tangle of strange words
Like strange woods
And unfamiliar sounds
That roll like hills
And confuse my senses-
English is my natural
Habitat, but to my lover,
English is a new land
Which still feels altogether
Unfamiliar under his feet...
So in the moments
We cannot find enough
Common ground to
Communicate with
Spoken words,
We've learned to 
Read eachother
Like maps-
He doesn't need labels
To recognize the shape
Of my expression;
He uses the curve of
My lips as a landmark-
He has studied the course
Of my tears like inlets
And the sigh of my breath
Like waves against 
The coastline, since
I swore that my arms
Would always be 
His harbor-
He has traced the planes
Of my face with his fingers
Until he knows them like
The back of his hand...
His hands are as familiar
To me now as
As my own backyard...
His palms are traced 
With lines that wind like 
The rivers of Guatemala 
That he swam in as a child, 
Or like borders,
But they are always
Open since his hands
Are like a compass-
When being lost feels
Like loneliness,
They lead me into 
His arms-
When the world keeps
Sliding around like
Fault lines, they 
Lead me back onto
Solid ground-
When a storm blows me
Off-course, they lead me
Back home...
It's funny how 
Being with him
Is like reading a map
Of a foreign country,
And yet...
Will still lead me 
Home.


Poem Details | by Gerald Dillenbeck |
Categories: betrayal, christian, health, humanity, humor, immigration, love,

AbNormalOriginals

Setting aside richly incorporated through homeless economies,
we have three political ways
to compare a population's internal status:
aAboriginal populations,
bImmigrants--sometimes appearing as multiculturing creolic waves,
cEmPowered Natives.

Natives are aboriginals
unless a more self-centered wave of supremacist immigrants
stake and successfully defend their claim to be rightful
through mightful
or maybe even cooperatively insightful
natives,
leaving aboriginals politically,
and presumably intellectually,
and most certainly economically,
akin to neanderthals,
who were immigrants from our disowned mammalian branch
of history's ecologically polyculturing tree.

Into the 1800s,
New England Puritan waves
referred to themselves as native Americans,
meaning not those horrible Irish,
much less those displaced,
bought and sold,
neanderthal slaves;
giving no thought at all
to aboriginal Wild and Terrorizing Indian cultures in place
in this their now nativizing home
through tools of capitalistic colonialism,
self-declaring ownership
by way of piracy,
stealing from those Original Native Americans
who thought we owned Earth to care-give and care-receive 
in cooperative Common.

We confuse supremacy of native cultures
with immigrant status of EastEuropean White MaleDominant
"Christian" equals "Humane-Spiritual CoOperative Democrat",
at least among our more enlightened selves,
doing decent white family business
as our evolutionary entitlement
because Jesus said this must be so
to become and defend and remain
God's PureLight Beacon on our SelfImaged Hill,
learning to preoccupy ourselves with criminalizing
and marginalizing aboriginals,
owned,
or merely counted, commodified, and reserved
for future abuse.
(The gospels suggest
he mentored and said just the opposite,
as God's radically inclusive love,
but never mind the details
of original exegetical historical cultural intent,
this is fake non-news we're talking about.)

This confusion of original ownership
and what best to do with Earth as shared home,
continues to rear its ugly immigrant identity head,
feeding false senses of supremacy
if we cannot find long overdue living within solidarity
through extending healthy cooperative-oriented identity
as Earth's multiculturing family,
local community, inviting full age and gender and racial 
and religious cultural diversity as blessings
within a global cooperative matriarchal economy
recognizing no politically significant difference
between Original Aboriginal Mothers
and Native Mothers,
as these would both originate from and for Mother Earth,
God,
Sacred Scorpion,
Allah,
ReGenerative Change,
Creator of the Universe(s),
YHWH,
SkyWoman, etc.

Truly Aboriginal Americans,
as they have watched us immigrant waves
play out our continuously comodifying web
faster than our democratically inclusive co-empowerment,
describe our Judeo-Christian immigrant claims
as incompletely arrived and committed
because, in a sense,
our LeftBrain dominant mindbodies
have not yet fully landed with both feet,
Left with Right,
on Earth's fully-animating New-Old World humus.

We are collectively less and less natively sure,
as each perennial recent immigrant generation becomes reborn,
of whether we would better return
back from where our Christian capitalist ForeFathers
more patriarchally, 
and aboriginally,
came from.

Are we going to stay?
Learn Native American health and pathology,
cooperative ways to animate and reanimate nutritional enculturations,
permacultural designs,
self-governing deep ecological economic nutritional education,
matriarchal-patriarchal political organization,
or remain further lost,
disoriented,
far from self-identity's home
as Commons Immigrants?

If we combine
Native American Original Instructions
to Nanabozho,
First Messianic Man,
with Christ as Creator's humane-sacred bilateral Son,
and Taoism's Black Scorpion
as Black YHWH,
meaning rich dark embryonic matriarchal yin-side co-dominant co-presence,
or, more simply,
not-white Empty YHWH,
in sort of an entropic Buddhist way of reversing Interdependence
as also Black fullness of integrity,
then Creator God's Original Instruction
for all humane-sacred immigrants,
(because time is lifetime
and circular,
in this Native American place of fertile cycling through frozen seasons)
each greets cooperative Mother Earth
as normal healthy maturation.

This is how we become native to EarthTribe,
breathing in Left clear white light
to breathe out pathological Right waste
floating up and out
feeding and recreating Black Scorpion's matriarchal potential,
too-long repressed,
to re-invest in future waves 
of grateful immigrant status;
not so very much about colonizing and disowning
Aboriginal intelligence and wisdom,
taking only what can be commodified
in capital-growing nutritional markets
divinely, if not maybe humanely, intended
through self-manifest, although maybe not so much other-manifest, destiny
of self-declared natives,
unwilling to face hypocrisy of antiChristian piracy,
crusading
militaristic
colonizing history,
buying and selling God's gratuitous love.

Puritan pirates,
like latter day supremacist capitalists,
failed our democratic potential
to see and hear and feel and taste and smell
our greater healthier potential
conspiracy of Golden Rules for Immigrants
as also Original Instructions for Aboriginals
becoming White through Black
FullColor ScorpionTribes
of and for ecotherapeutic bilateral breathing 
eco-intelligent communication,
integrity of His/Her Immigrant EcoStory.


Poem Details | by curtis johnson |
Categories: america, freedom, imagination, immigration, love, usa,

Miss Liberty

                                                                                                                                                                                       
I am deeply honored to have been visited by more than three million people.
For more than one hundred years I have stood on Liberty Island facing the AtlanticWith glee and gladness, I have welcomed the poor and the tired, the homeless and the hopefuls                                                                       

With my left hand I have graced the tablet documenting the date of your independenceWith my right hand, I am privileged to  faithfully hold that coveted torch above my headAt my feet as you can see, there is no fancy foot wear, but broken chainsLiberty from oppression is my prayer for those who come to this great land                                                                                                     

It's understandable that by necessity, times and laws of immigration have changedMoreover, with these eyes I see that not everyone passing me is looking to do good thingsI am the lady robed in freedom with a heart of gold and standing more than one hundred and fifty feet tallBeneath my feet I see waterways and ships from afar; but presently, I see no walls                                                                                                            

It is my hope that all will understand that I do not symbolize the highway to greed and riches, but a pathway forward to new and noble opportunities.

08142017PSContest, Artwork, Lewis Raynes                                         
Chosen 'artwork', The Statue Of Liberty; Source, Wikipedia


Poem Details | by Judy Emery |
Categories: angel, dream, emotions, immigration, joy, love, writing,

ARTIST WITH SKILLED HANDS

ARTIST WITH SKILLED HANDS

WHO has Portrayed me from the light 
where darkness hovers over me
something powerful is dancing around 
Oh, why can't I see what is holding me down 
I have been portrayed again 
I'm grasping for air with everything I got
then someone lite a torch
and all I could see is the empty eyes 
that are standing around me
that is when I started to scream
I know this is only a dream
I am absent from life 
Oh, this don't feel right
a voice cried out to me 
this is a tradition for the common people
spirits and angels toil the place 
then I hard a strong voice 
started reading from an ancient scroll
while the brilliant of stars 
started dancing around in the sky 
take the breath of life and you will be just fine
then I started to drink 
and all those words became streams of water
where there id darkness 
you will find the light
thats when I started fluttering in the sky 
I was flying on high
where true love started hovering over me 
with highly skilled hands 
artist out his plan
that's when I started hearing 
soft sounds of violins playing
my heart started racing 
while I danced in the sky
I'm so thrilled to feel so alive 
thats when I open my eyes.

Poetic Judy Emery 


Poem Details | by Emile Pinet |
Categories: emotions, feelings, hope, immigration, love hurts, youth,

Hope Resonates

Youth seldom question if love is true
desperate to ignite passion’s first flame
For their need to belong outweighs their fears
a desire so strong it's hard to ignore.

Those blinded by the bright aura of love
shun all reason when darkness zeros in.
For the dazzling prospects of make-believe
conceal reality and nightmare screams.

Doubt dissects happiness attacking love
as confusion helps tear your world apart
And your heart bares the scars of betrayal
inflicted by white lies stripped of luster.

The truth that love offers is troublesome
debatably more to shun than embrace.
Yet just under the surface of mistrust
hope resonates, within a wounded heart.


Poem Details | by Sofia Rapisarda |
Categories: america, anger, deep, family, immigration, love, native american,

My Ancestors Told Me

I will love you
Regardless if you hate me because I'm not white

I will love you
Even if your nickname for me is Spic

I will love you
because I can't remember a time when putting my energy into HATING you has EVER brought me closer to happiness

I will hug you
Because there is no reason to fear skin darker than yours

I will embrace you
You don't have to wonder why my hair reaches for the sky like a tree and doesn't flow down like a river

You can talk to me
It's not my job to educate you but it is my job to care because I can't remember the last time I've seen someone help anothet up! Instead of looking the other way or pushingthemdown

You can love WITH me
I love my culture and I will gladly open my arms to show you salsa, bomba, merengue, bachata and Sofrito

I will not turn the other cheek
Because you never gave my ancestors the free will to turn it
You took and kept ON TAKING! 

I am not the immigrant
YOU ARE

I did not come here, you brought me here

You are not american, the people you call Indians
are

You may have been born on this soil but your family tree grows elsewhere and on dirt you probably have never seen

My ancestors told me to tell you

That I love you
and to show you the kindness you never showed them or us

No matter what color you may be or where you come from

We are still born from the same ancestors

We are all humans

I will love you 

because we are still family


Poem Details | by Muqudus Shahab |
Categories: deep, immigration, lost, love, magic, poems, write,

Poem

My words are incoherent
but emotions -- all tender;
My soul is encapsulated
and thoughts are shackled

When it rain, hear;
the sound of thunder..
where my heart surrender
losing control
over sentiments,
I drowned in verses

and read you like phrases
bluring the boundaries,
irrational juxtaposition 
of imagination and reality
spirit uncaged
poem -- I fabricated.


Poem Details | by louise nelson |
Categories: angel, children, immigration, inspirational love,

Angels Among Us

Are you aware that as a person of faith
Angels are right here?
All around, spiritually sound
Any and everywhere
Are you aware that God will bless you
With an agent from His throne?
Angels are among us
And we're never ever alone

Our faith must be relevant
To the life we are now living
Our faith must also connect
To the aura we are giving
To be no earthly good
Because you're too focused on the Promised Land
Not living God's way
Nor on the principles of which He stands

But we can't sit in silence in the face
Of Trump's atrocious acts
Taking innocent babies from their parents
With no means to give them back
And then have the nerve to justify this
With the Holy Scriptures
But we who are children of God 
Know the true picture

Enforcing the laws of man
Or to abide by the laws of God
For God said those who are fleeing oppression
We must take them to heart
And never forget that we ourselves
Came to this land as well
For we were all immigrants
The truth we must tell

So entertain strangers because
You'll never know
If an angel is among them
And that It's watching you show
The true nature of your character
And your Christian care
And if you're ready to do something 
About what's happening here

We all must learn to live together
Or we all will perish as fools
To let go of hate and racism 
For those are not godly tools
And God said when the children cry
He will hear them weep
And His wrath will come down 
And the price will be steep

So heed and abide by what God 
Himself did say
I have angels among you
Each and every day
And to never forget that you yourself
Were strangers and immigrants too
Have compassion for each other
As I have had compassion for you


Poem Details | by Hakeem Omer |
Categories: beauty, dream, emotions, i love you, immigration, lost love,

Moment of my heart

Moment of my heart.

With sunrise.
On the first light of the sun hitting my face through the window of my room.
On the sound of the first ring of my alarm, I woke up.
In hurry, dressed up, and walked out the door.
Strange,,
 I was full of energy, unlike any other day.
Love was over flowing my heart.
My eyes were seenig things different.
Everything was, pretty,  lovely.
Even the ugly dog of my neighbor.
I was not me that day.
My day was too good to be real.
Most likely it was dream.
I needed a pinch to know the difference.
My heart was dancing though there was no music playing.
He was happy though there was no sign of celebration.
Same path I walk every day, but I was not same person that day.
My body was dragged, to a destiny I was not ready for.
 To a usual place, in a usual day.
Though nothing was usual that day.
Fearing from falling down, I hold on to the wall of the building.
My heart rate kept raising up.
My body was weakening.
Slapped my self , I pinched my self to wake up.
Wondering, it has to be a dream.
Till she came out from behind the corner, entering the main gate, slowly passing by me.
Then, and  only then I stopped trying to wake up.
I wanted to stay in that dream as long as possible.
She came out like the sun, coming out from behind the mountain early in the morning,
Spreading the gentle light pushing a way the darkness of the night.
Clreaing the pathway for those they sleep less , and work hard to survive life.
She passed by me like the wind   moving gentely over a grown wheat  like a wave without causing any harm to it.
The smell of her mixed perfume flow with the fresh air  in the morning
Making a person drunk but not drunk in same time.
She hunted my heart, though there was no hunting tools on her except her beauty
My heart followed her, ignoring me like he never known me before.
For the first time I lived my dream
For the first time I wished if that dream would last for ever.
That was the day I fall in love.
Hakeem Omer