Poetry / An Immigrant Anthem
I am still tired, poor,
and hungry.
Emma Lazarus lied to me
believing those words plastered on the Statue of Liberty.
Believing that this country wanted
to give me a better life
the American dream
make me free from the hunger that I escaped in my land across the sea.
I have worked you to your bone
and you have milked
raped
me
taking all that I owned.
Uncle Sam was a mystery
who revealed himself to me one fortnight
the one man I was unable to fight,
so
I introduced me to Mr. Bacardi
who made me bold,
still a man
when I walked through my apartment door.
the white picket fence
two point five kids
eluded me
a fairy tale
a lie
as I continued to be the immigrant who cleaned the filth of the suits
their smell I can’t leave
its now part of me
nightly wash won’t relieve
embedded in my soul.
I am the immigrant who mopped your floors
taking away the feelings you gave me that you left behind.
I am the immigrant who picked up your mail
making sure I greet you with a pleasant smile
your day more important than mine.
I am the immigrant who cleaned the cafeteria trays
you come by day after day
never looking my way
wishing I was a stray
I have seen you Americans with your pets
they are more important than anything I have to say.
So I will continue my journey
because I am the real American story that is not told.
From the Caribbean to South and Central America we hailed
countless men and women
embracing this land
in search of the yellow brick road
that is paved with white gold
dripping with honey
unlimited
that is how the story goes
through
the barrios of Ecuador
and Guatemala.
Through the mountains of Manchu Piccu
the news is carried by
the great warriors of Peru.
From the shore of Hellshire beach
Jamaica,
and those great men and women who reign from Grenada.
You can hear the call in the streets of Panama
joy spreading through the land of Nassau.
Trinidad and Tobago
was enlightened by the voices of Venezuela
sending it through the Caribbean breeze
reaching the fishermen of St Lucia
who greeted the natives of Hispaniola.
So its now my job to spread the real story
Americas’ immigrants story
trimming all the glitter and glory
make it known to all
Emma Lazarus writing
on that great statue
didn’t speak to us at all.
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This is seriously great stuff. It is the kind of honesty that does break through from time to time into mass consciousness to become known as the truth – the way things are. Real truths have their own inevitability, their own momentum, and your piece has that.
I would consider changing the title. This piece is so strong it IS an anthem and therefore there is no need to call it an anthem in the title. To me it has even more power if the title is “I Am The Immigrant” and maybe if you have that same line as the last line, that could work well, too.
Whatever you do… it is a fantastic piece of writing.
Cheers and good luck.
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That was a powerful poem, and one that may speak the truth for many immigrants.
Poetry wise it could use a little work, not to much though. It has a lot of meaning though, and you can tell it seems to touch a part of you that is important. Good job.
Your anger and disillusionment are evident in this piece. You evoke emotion as well. Although I understand what you are doing with stanzas 3, 4, and 5. However, I think you should cut 3, 4, and the last 1/2 of 5 from this is how the story goes on, as well as some of the repeated phrases.
Some punctuation issues, but overall good flow. Great start.
very profound, I like it a lot. I think the poem really reflects an immigrant point of view, or should I say, general lifestyle.. good poem!
There is no yellow brick road anywhere. We all have to work hard and long to make ends meet. Your here and your free, it may not be perfect, but it must be better than where you came from or you never would have left.
How true, how people look down their noses at imigrants, but these same people don’t realise the battles and poverty faced by the immigrants who chose to travel and live abroad as well as those forced to be refugees. I like that the writing is’nt perfect as I get the sense of the spanish speaker, though I could be wrong in that. Yes both Americams and upper-class English are self important selfish ignorant arses. I’ve seen it and I am considered British lower class right now.Stanza 2 you have milked raped me, suggest milked me and raped me.I have worked you to your bone- You have worked me to the bone.THese countries like Britain and America are not really the land of the free, they are the land of the disrespected worker almost trapped in western style poverty. I agree.
This is more a political statement than a poem. If you agree with the theme, that the immigrant experience is a solely journey into exploitation then you mightlike what is written But you’d be liking the message and not the poem itself.
If you don’t agree then there is nothing in the work that you’d like.
A good poem appeals in some way even to the reader who might disagree with the theme.
How a poem is written is as important as what is written.
I really like this poem and how it expresses the not so glamorous story of an
immigrant, only thing i would change and you have instead of
milked
raped
me
i would make it milked me
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