Most Liked Patriotism Poems (214)

Glad to be at rest from a journey's fears
and a sister's welcome after twenty years.
Though only five miles from Lairg's town
in Anna's home I laid a weary head down.

No sooner had my eyelids shut out the day's last beam
when I fell into a sleep that brought about the dream.
Brought about a dream I say that surely was much more
yet how was I to know when I answered that front door.
When I opened it I was overwhelmed by an ocean of plaid,
and standing proud before the clans stood a gypsy maid.
My dream almost took on reality as I stood there aghast
for surely all those people belonged in Scotland's past!
This beauty of a gypsy girl declared "My dear bonny man
we come for you as the last of the living MacIntosh clan,
Prince Charlie's at Culloden Field with many an entourage
he needs you there today to lead the first home charge!"
She handed me a bunch of heather tied with a tarten bow
"Plant this at Culloden and with it our future will grow!"
With these words she faded so from my dream I awoke
yet hauntingly in my waking I heard the words she spoke.
Shivering uncontrollably from that bed of dreams I arose
just as I did I swear I heard the front door softly close!
When I went downstairs I stood trembling there in the hall
for with misty sleep now gone those words I could recall.
As I stood with eyes agape I felt my Scot's blood gather
lying there in tarten ribbon sat that bouquet of heather!]

We stand for what we believe in through all our pain and grief.

Although our friends and neighbors look in disbelief.

The rich seem to control our life as they roll the dice, while the poor stay poor and the middleclass have to pay the price.

Our troops on foreign soil fall down every day, while here at home we struggle with bills we have to pay.

Politicians all have words that make them look so great, but once their seated in the white house they don’t need words for bait.

We seem to wonder why our country lost that guide, to make us strong and prosper and not fall on our side.

This is the strongest nation a melting pot of such, with all our races and creeds we’ve grown so very much.

Sons Of Scotland

It is sad to hear a summer’s last gasp sigh
as through balding forests rising winds cry,
when sweet and sour notes fill Autumn’s ear
a year’s sun filled season’s last tune we hear!
Far more sad when on foreign shore we stand
listing the tender memories of our own land.
Memories of legends from youth and infancy
taught in our Scottish schools as a legacy!
Chief of historic tales, Wallace of Caledon
waking clannish memories in each Scottish son.
Whether on a far off scorching coast we toil
or north, on the Arctic’s freezing snowy soil
hearing music of our land we close sad eyes
rousing our patriotism, then illusions arise!
Our souls open to where once we would dwell
the waving trees in forests and the lochs swell.
Each wanderer has visions feeding his brain
of reaching his native Scottish shore again!
Are such feelings for the homesick confined
now just awakening in a Scot’s poetic mind?
All patriots know their truth is on this page
not least for far off Scottish tears to engage!
From Westminster to beyond China’s red fire
sons of Scotland are there, always to inspire.
The proudest Scottish thinkers to all we give
as part of us, our ancestors will always live,
more proudly now, for all the world approved
of Scotland, from where its sons first moved!

sonofadam

BOOM BOOM BOOM
THE GUNS OF THE OPPERSSOR SPOKE THERE MESSAGE OF DEATH
MANY BRAVE MEN THE BLACK REAPER THAT DAY MET.
EASTER SUNDAY 1916 IN IRELANDS CAPITAL CITY WHEN THE MIGHT OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE SHOWED US LITTLE PITY.
THE GPO WAS UNDER SEIGH BUT IRELANDS SONS WERE STRONG
THE TRI COLOUR BLEW IN THE BREEZ AS THE REBELS WERE FIRED APON


SOME SAID TAKEING UP ARMS WAS NOT THE RIGHT SULTSHON BUT HOW EALS TO GET FREE FROOM A FOREIGN CONSTITUTION
AS DUBLIN SHEAD HER TEARS OF WAR MANY HARTS WERE LIGHT FOR ALL TRUE IRISHMEN KNEW THER CAUSE WAS RIGHT.


FOR 7 DAYS BLODDY AND SCARED WITH SPIRITS NEVER WAVERING PLEDGED TO FIGHT TO THE LAST MAN A NATION IN THE MAKEING
AND DO THE LOST THAT EASRERTIDE THEIR MEMORIES ARE NOT FORSAKING THEY DIED MAYTHERS FOR THEIR BELIVES A CREDIT TO ANY NATHION


GERARD O KEEFFE

In Memory Of A Warrior Poet

Wallace would not stay his arm’s long sword
nor the enemy, William’s own highland horde!
Because of the barbaric act of a cruel King foe
justice from a Scot’s husband his people now know!
Our warrior died with the loving of his wife
embroidered in his braveheart for eternal life!
Yet the arrogant enemy let his voice echo clear
to fly North for all true Scotsmen to hear!

No enemy can destroy a nation’s pride
No man’s freedom can a King deride
No mist is seen to hide the flower
No blade can cut away love’s power!

As my pen and national sword now collide
alas this patriot poet cannot describe
the man who fought and died in glory
for that warrior poet told his own story!

Now, if Scotland has no use for my peaceful pen
I cannot use a sword to see right done again!
The dream of a man and the spirit of a nation
today, cannot be satisfied with confrontation!
Though all Scots people must always remember
our greatest warrior who would not surrender!
Forget not also that his times are long gone
to be a free nation now we must all stand as one!

sonofadam

The world
fits in here somehow,
somewhere.
In the palm of my hand.
Between the grooves,
the life,
the linx,
the expectations--
reflections.

So hard to see
where it all goes to
or from which it came
I hope it makes sence,
eventually.

I cant tell you exactly
where im going
Where Ive been
What iv seen
or who Ive believed

Disconnected,
this body no longer feels like
home.

Revelation
continues
constantly.

I pray it will not cease.

Somber,
from those who have betrayed.
brought to light.
what was
previously,
Darkness

again,
I cant remember
whats all happened
what Ive seen.
who Ive believed

But I know,
it fits in here somehow,
somewhere.
In my hand.
Between the grooves,
the life,
the linx,
the expectations--
reflections.

These eyes..
....that looks in the mirror,
looking back at me?

What theyve become...
Is barely
recognizable.


Questioning myself...
Im not used to this

So sure of the
truth?

Free of relent.
I find myself
searching....

For the questions..

Hurting to realize
those that I loved
would sell their soul
for
a

sense of freedom.

Theyre not knowing,
every word follows.

Permanantly imprinted on
what mind?
& whos page?

at what cost..

Absolution abd freedom is what our forefathers sought.
Many lives lost in all the wars and battles fought.
Emancipation has cost such a dear and heavy price.
Remember these lives as we enter this newest enterprise.
Ideals and morals from the past, now we must defend.
Children from geenerations to come, on us depend.
And now, like those who have given life, it's our obligation.
! For freedom to all mankind, never forget 911.

In the moonlight she enters the mersey
Her big bowwave and propellers silently turning
there three little tugs pulling as she pushes forward into the narrowing river banks
majesticly she enters are QUE2 QUEEN

Smoke rising from her ships funnels she slowly glides to her destination
her enginies now fall silent all white livery shining so bright in the moonlite sky the queens at rest motionless anchors deep silent not moving her lights glitter bright music playing on her pomanade deck

what a majestic sight she looks floating motionlesss on the mersey people from far and wide coming to visit wondering whats inside
luxury and pleasure, food fit for kings and queens algatherd inside
entertaining she does best oh what joy the life at see thats what she shows best

HOW MUCH HARD THE LONG NIGHTS I TRY TO REACH YOU .
HOW MUCH HARD THE LONG NIGHTS I TRY TO REACH YOUR ARTERIES AND YOUR KIND HEART .
HOW MUCH HARD THE LONG MOMENTS I SEARCH FOR YOUR FINE BREAST TO EMBRACE MY TIRED HEAD .
MY LOVE , MY ANXIOUS FOR YOU TEASING MY SOUL , YOU ARE ALWAYS IN MY THOUGHTS , NIGHT AND DAYTIME .
YOUR BEAUTY FACE FEATURES PAINTED BETWEEN MY EYELIDS AND YOUR SOFTNESS IS THE LIGHTING OF MY EYES .
FOR EVER , YOUR SHINE EYES WILL CALL MY EYES , YOUR SOFT HAND WILL EMBRACE MY HAND AND YOUR SOFT WHISPERS WILL JOY MY EARS .
MY LOVE , YOU ARE WHO OWN MY HEART AND SOUL AND YOUR PURE AMATORY IS MY COMPASS IN LIFE .
MY LOVE , WHEN I SLEEP , I DREAM I SEE YOU AS IN REAL AND WHEN I WALK UP I WISH TO SEE YOU AGAIN IN MY SWEET DREAMS .
YOU ASK ME WHY I DID NOT SLEEP YESTERDAY , CAUSE I WAS IN BEAUTY IMMAGINATION WITH YOU , MAKE SLEEP ESCAPE FROM MY EYES , I WAS LIE DOWN AT THE BEAUTY BED IN YOUR EYES AND I WAS COVER MY SOUL WITH YOUR FINE EYELASHES , ENJOYING YOUR CHARMING SHADOW .
PLEASE MY LOVE , EVERY TIME I SEE YOU , JUST ALLOW ME TO REST LITTLE AND WASH FROM MY PAINS IN YOUR BEAUTY SHINE EYES , MY LOVE - LET ME LOOK ATTENTIVELY AT THE PURE RAYS OF YOUR SHINE EYES , MY LOVE - LET ME DREAM IN YOUR EYES .
MY LOVE IF YOU WILL ALLOW ME TO SPEND WHOLE THE NIGHT IN YOUR BEAUTY EYES , IT WILL BE KIND OF YOU MY PARADISE MERMAID .
I LOVE YOU BECAUSE , YOU ARE THE ONLY WOMAN WHEN I CRY OVER HER BREAST THEN I FEEL THE WORLD CHANGE TO THE BEST AND MY WEAKNESS BECOME STRONG .
WITH LOVE ,
KHALED

On the northern borders of England, Hadrian built a wall
"This will keep those maurauding Scots out" he thought
so he made it four foot tall
When he saw the tartan army homing into view
"These Scots are unlike us" he said "they like to wear skirts too"

But these were not frilly miny skirts, those bravehearts did adorn
these were made of the purist wool, tartan kilts were what he saw
On the fronts they wore their sporrans, or thats what people say
as from a distance, it looked like their meat and two veg were proudly on display.

It certainly had the desired effect, as the Romans ran away
And the Highland men, who did not fear, knew they won the day
They went back to their fair women folk, with only one thing on their minds, and lifted their kilts, to sheave their mighty claymores, right up to the hilt.

Red hair and red faces was what they had, these mighty Scottish folk, but apart from that, their rugged lifestyle, was certainly no joke. We forget the Scottish people, have a gentle side to them, from the fair Scottish bonnie lass, to the kilt wearing men. They are some of the warmest folk, of the humankind, who like a wee dram at Hogmany, and to sing Auld Lang Syne