Poem: American Riddle

American Riddle

Flying ferociously, unfurled like feathers

Of a big bird brilliantly braving

The wild winds, wonderful weather

For patriotic peals, princely in a priceless

Land where mad monarchs are marvelously marooned

To islands of an archipelago’s la la land.

I’m colored in crimson, crowned crisply 

With wonderful white stars waving

Brightly in a big beautiful blue.

I represent torn lives, towering strength

Arising from rubble to reign unconquerable.

I flutter on wings, tethered to a task 

Never ending.  What am I?

About This Poem

I wrote this poem with my students a few years ago when we were studying Anglo-Saxon poetry. The Anglo-Saxons were fond of riddles and alliteration, but not rhyme. This is that style. It also seems that the American flag is a bit of a riddle in itself. What does it mean to be American? Do people in one party suddenly become less than American when they disagree with the other, or are they more American? (I don't believe either are possible, but it does seem some people think that.) We Americans have a way of turning the flag into as much of a riddle as it is a symbol, but then, that's who we are. That it is written in the Anglo-Saxon style was just because of my lesson in poetry writing, not a promotion of any sort of identity or any taking away from an identity--not woke or anti-woke, just a style of poem. 😀