History Poems

Popular History Poems
Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.


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We Refugees
by Benjamin Zephaniah

I come from a musical place
Where they shoot me for my song
And my brother has been tortured
By my brother in my land.

I come from a beautiful place
Where they hate my shade of skin
They don't like the way I pray
And they ban free poetry.


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History Repeats Itself
by Evelyn Judy Buehler

I was an accomplished librarian, who took pleasure from written words,
As opera singers find their pleasure, in the halls where music is heard.

I was well matched to such absorbing work, knowing it was worthwhile,
Like stars traveling a long, long way, lending endless sparkles per mile.

I lived in the San Francisco Bay area, a location of beauty and charms,
Like the fragrant springtime blooms, strewing as wildly as bee swarms!

The library was near my home, and I would walk there in fair weather,

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The City In Which I Loved You
by Li-Young Lee

And when, in the city in which I love you,
even my most excellent song goes unanswered,
andI mount the scabbed streets,
the long shouts of avenues,
and tunnel sunken night in search of you...

That I negotiate fog, bituminous
rain rining like teeth into the beggar's tin,
or two men jackaling a third in some alley
weirdly lit by a couch on fire, that I

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Creed
by Steve Turner

We believe in Marxfreudanddarwin.
We believe everything is OK
as long as you don't hurt anyone,
to the best of your definition of hurt,
and to the best of your knowledge.

We believe in sex before during
and after marriage.
We believe in the therapy of sin.
We believe that adultery is fun.

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Recent History Poems
History Repeats Itself
by Evelyn Judy Buehler

I was an accomplished librarian, who took pleasure from written words,
As opera singers find their pleasure, in the halls where music is heard.

I was well matched to such absorbing work, knowing it was worthwhile,
Like stars traveling a long, long way, lending endless sparkles per mile.

I lived in the San Francisco Bay area, a location of beauty and charms,
Like the fragrant springtime blooms, strewing as wildly as bee swarms!

The library was near my home, and I would walk there in fair weather,

......

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Lapis Lazuli Earth
by Evelyn Judy Buehler

Deepest lapis lazuli earth of bluest skies,
Sparkling rich treasure of the Milky Way,
With colorful dawns and ruby butterflies,
We must nurture our world so it will stay.

Sparkling rich treasure of the Milky Way,
With rich history, not too soon forgotten,
We must nurture our world so it will stay,
And bluebirds may be heard in the garden.


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Rearview
by Evelyn Judy Buehler

When I was a history teacher, I had a passion for the subject,
Like the twilight descending silkily, as day and night connect.

Each day was a new adventure, as we explored different ages,
Broadening young minds. I looked forward to the eager faces!

I had always yearned for teaching, so rewarding in myriad ways,
Like the reward of a peach sunrise, shining through purple haze.

I taught at a neighboring high school, and had for several years,

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David
by Mack Cooper

My gaze fell on the shepherd king,
Bold and bare, clutching fabled sling,
A piercing bell began to ring,
My tempo began to quicken.

Achromic eyes began to hue,
As colors drew his face anew,
Unto my eyes his eyes were drew,
My brain was wholly stricken.


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Barbarian
by Mack Cooper

Waiting for barbarians to breach Aurelian Walls,
Burly men with bearded face make marble columns fall.
They come with axe to bash the bust, cut justice with a sword,
Customs of a cultured land besieged by barbarian hordes.
Pay little mind to Praetorian Guard who kill kings without a thought,
Or magistrates and Senators who can be easily bought.
Tis not the fault of Patricians, whose slaves are beat and branded,
Or iron-fisted Emperors who demand their land’s expanded.
So when this shining city, upon its seven hills,
Becomes a pile of brick and ash and everything lays still,

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