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Sudzedrebel Apr 20
We're mammals;
Walking, talking, thinking.
We're animals.
Upright, articulable, sophisticated.

Yet, we pay little respect,
Fret more then reflect;
For an ancestor we all share
And yet share more in neglect!

What long ways to have come
To have gone so little distance;
To be ever farther than before,
But to have done really so very little!

I talk about our planet!
I talk about all those who inhabit!
It's a rotten mess that's been made.
Each blemish, every scar, all the stains
Marked & soaked into each & every page!

Many great recessions & regressions,
Degradations & destructions-
That's what we offer everything.
But I digress from the apathy,
For it is better thought to think of change.

What beauty nature must have been,
Even understanding the difficulty
Of life prior to our modernity.
Years & years ago, hundreds & thousands,
When natural life was more abundant.

"When we were slaves to nature!"
"When all was bountiful & liberated!"
"When we were aching & starving!"
"When all was free & meritable!"

It's all perspective,
But are they all really mutually exclusive?
Like the popular philosophies of a moment
Fluctuating with the pass of time.

From good to bad,
Like stored food going spoiled.
From growth to decay,
Like rust on metal forming.

Yet, it's just change.
Yet, those are just oddities.
Everyday examples
Because of our lifestyles.

Those things exhibited being indicative
Of perspective on the nature of "change."
Good, bad.
It's by an individual basis.

Balance between any individual & its environment
Is essential for that individual to maintain.
At the same time, being a product of its environment,
To what magnitude, if any, does any individual actually have a responsibility to?

It's by an individual basis?
But every species is a part of,
In one way or another,
A collective of that species.
Their effects, how they affect,
Can be counted cumulative.

But it all sure is beautiful.
Steve Page Oct 2024
The dead are still wriggling.

I thought I'd stamped hard enough
Twisted my heel long enough
Been vicious enough
To render their meddling
Null in their void
Enough to create them sterile
In their bequest
To bestow a double portion
Of pain.

I thought they were dead
And gone.
I was wrong.
Child of the soil, they call themselves
Yet they walk on a pedestal so high
Their feet has no dust
I’m the child of the soil
They say with voices causing tremors on the ground
Yet Their feet are buried on the cushion of clouds
I’m the child of the soil
They say chanting they’re clan names
Yet they know not the ground their great parents lay
I’m the child of the soil
Yet they are not rooted in it
Easily tossed around and misplaced they lay
The ground lays barren
The amazons once envied their homeland
Now, they are just a wasteland
Yet, they are children of the soil
A Jung Lim Jun 2020
For someone
it can be a noise

Drum beats
tremble with space
metals split
the bunch of leather beats

A typhoon of disorder

Staying wrapped
in the middle of a striking hurricane
Feeling the sound
shouting to me

My heart beats
It absorbs those beats
It shakes my head
touching my spirit

This music long ago
came from shamans

When the music was
a human ceremony

Mysterious rhythms

What are those numbers
in the elastic organic rhythms?
What are those symbols
of the perception of the world?

Followed long roads
and formed through time
passing from people to people
with their own body rhythms

Their clouds
Their rains
Their thunders
Their earth

Transformed in the
orchestra of percussion

And the story of their nature
descends to me

I hear my ancestors
their messages

I meet them
and now I play

Their and our rhythms
of the Korean percussion
Nadai Dec 2018
If I had known what it would cost
I wouldn’t have tried to cut myself up so much
Wouldn’t have molded myself into the American dream
Looked down at my grandmother’s footprint instead
Formed and deformed
A part of me
I should have held on tighter
To her Dream
Farhan Ahmed Dec 2018
Spent years growing up
In a dilema, holding a cup
Of tea,
Which i shared with a man
Sitting next to me
Endless words to let out
But busy as i scout
My soul, as she lives inside
Gods gifts, my pride
Like horcruxes reside
No! Not from sins
But from wins of He
The gaze locks on the rays
Tempts me to find ways
To my heart; where my old lady
Scolds me being lazy
I smile! memories brought back
As today I walk on this track
You! If you could hear me too
I am a mother now! Mother of two
I may not be able to feel how a women feels when she becomes a mother. But maybe at some point she thinks the same way remembering her own.
PoserPersona Apr 2018
Do you hear that calm, frugal breeze?
The synced patter cadence off the road?
What was once a hunt for your feast
In a time not so long ago

Over the distant horizon,
the rhythm takes your morning run
Within sight is a lonesome deer
Within scent is a stillborne fear

Exalted whispers of the ancestors:
"Exhaust it to death, predators."
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
Even In The Evil
I See

Ancestor's Blood Of Purity.
Genre: Abstract
Clive Blake Jul 2017
Ann Cestor lives alone,
No relatives has she,
So it seems
Iron-ic-ally,
That she is a root …
Without a tree!
Mama Kamuma dances the old dance steps
She dances the dance of the ancestor gods
and beneath her the Earth's drum beat
a rumble of mountains and rocks
the force of rivers, mudslides, and avalanches
Kamuma dances the Earth Mother dance
Kamuma dances the Earth alive
    
         1997
Previously published in A Deep, Blue Dreaming (Magick Boy's Lost Episodes); poems by -Richard J. Treitner;  Shivastan Publishing.
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