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A Jung Lim Jun 28
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
Moomin Apr 29
Into a tavern an American strode, on a quest to discover an Englishman's ways
Observing the gathered he suddenly spies, some well-to-do chaps with their pipes all ablaze
“Hey there you guys, Sam is the name”, He proudly announced to the well-tailored fray
“All the way from old Texas” he loudly proclaimed, “In the land of the free, the great USA”

A moustache of a man looked him up and down, and tipped his grand hat to Sam with a nod
“Greetings good fellow”, he said with a frown, “Welcome to Britain, by Queen and by God”
Sam shook their hands and tipped his large hat, and crunched his cigar, as he ordered a drink
“I'm here in this land to discover the fact, of what makes you English, what do you think?”    

One chap among them, a plum-spoken gent, puffed out his chest and declared with an air
“My dear Yankee doodle, let me present, the cream of the realm, gentlemen rare
One can disclose the knowledge you need, our proud sovereignty, nobility and grit
Can show you the heritage that you're lacking indeed, and the true meaning of us being true Brits”

“Being English is cricket, and tennis and tea, and the triage of filles, and fox-hunting yarns
At castle and keep, sipping afternoon brandy, while frolicking maids are kissing in barns
Watching Stocks and the opera, reciting the bard, and true English heroes, the blue blood of old
Like Churchill and Thatcher, in such high regard, and Newton and Scott, the brilliant and bold

These are the things, dear Samuel, that make, this green pleasant land, so English and true
The spirit of Nelson, of  Darwin and Drake, for glorious Britannia, the red white and blue”

As Plum finished preaching, he twirled his moustache, and held his head high awaiting the cheers
But none was forthcoming, and as minutes passed, a voice bellowed forth from a belly of beer
“Don't listen to Toff, Ee's out of his pram”, came the rough wheezy growl, approaching the fray
Standing bold and defiant, with tankard in hand, with hairy demeanour, started to say

“This geezer's a softy, a spoiled wealthy brat, who don't know this England, from the stuff that he spoke
Now let me inform you of the truth and the facts, of what makes a real Englishman bloke
Forget all the pompous, the silver and brass, the Lords and the Gentry, the horse-riding lark  
The caviar and strawberries, and French crystal glass, that's not the England that's dear to our hearts
              
Real men have blisters, and lungs full of dirt, they eat chips and winkles, and drink cloudy ale
England is scrumpin, and pullin the skirt, and cheering on footy, and fishermen's tales
To be English is cloth caps, and pidgeons and pints, to stand in our union, with the oppressed
It's greyhounds and betting, and Christmas tree lights, with our spam and and our jam, and our blessed NHS
    
And real English heroes, ain't silver spoon folk, but those that must struggle and fight for a break  
Like our Tolpuddle martyrs, who loosened our yolk, Bobby Moore and Nai Bevin, these are our greats
Thomas and Bowie, Mcartney and Quo, and Cooper our fighter, who knocked Goliath down  
We real English people, who carved life from stone, from our green hills and valleys, and our crammed little towns

So listen here mate, and learn what we are, a land of hard grafters, who weather all storms
With strong hearts and cheer, we have come far, for with such a spirit, Great Britain was born”

So yob declared, then swigged from his beer, backed by the chorus of lads in his mob
But just as the crowd were howling with cheer, a new voice was heard, that closed all their gobs
He pranced into view with red wine in his hand, and stood in their midst and started to speak
With accent so strong, he now made his stand, addressed the large crowd, as he stood on his seat

“Misseurs and madames, these pretenders are wrong, they know not what's true of this little Isle
For history shows to the French it belongs, as I will demonstrate in a short while
For two centuries, it's sovereign was France, and it's language reflects this reality still
It began when across the channel did dance, your true king of old, conquering Will      

You Eenglish learned French, our laws and our ways, and married our folk and Frenched up your clothes
We taught you valour, the knights of our days, and brought you garlic, to bother your nose
And to this day, you still speak our tongue, in everyday things, and places and names
French kisses and fries, Sol is for sun, French polishing and doors, and croquet, a French game            

And so your true nobles, Frenchmen no less, are the real English heroes, true ones of fame
Like Joan and dear Louis, and Charlemagne the blessed, good old Napolean, and Zinedine Zedane
For this is your heritage, your roots and your lot, this is our England, and your are French, sirs
This annex of Francais, this green little spot, we fondly regard as, Anglataire Sur-la-Mer”

As the Frenchman stepped down, quite chuffed with his speech, the room was in silence, so gobsmacked and shocked
But one more was to come, to implore and impeach, with a claim to old England, now addressed the flock
“Bueno, bueno”, dear Frog and misguided senoirs, a noble attempt but, stupido and wrong
You forget your true background, this land is not yours, it was born from us Romans, To Italia it belongs
Caeser was first, with Hadrian's wall, to keep out the riff-raff, and claim all land below  
We built cities and towns, and united them all, from Londinium to louth, with our great Roman roads,  

And we taught you barbarians to cease from your grunts, and embrace noble Latin, the language of prose
Gave you saunas and plumbing, to fight your cold fronts, and wine by the flagon to drown all you woes
Defended this island from the ravaging hordes, like the vicious old Vikings, who kept you on your toes  
Equipped your poor soldiers with Italian leather and swords, shared perfect pizzas, and fine Gucci clothes  

And the real English stock, are Italian brewed, Like Galileo and DaVinci, the wisest of men  
Marconi and Michleangelo, and Pinnochio of wood, and Gian franco Zola and Sophia Loren
So when speaking of English, and what it endows, remember this land is only on loan,
For England means Italy, and bid others ciao, for all England's roads will lead you to Rome”

Now at the end of these claimants, confusion set in, and the baffled tavern patrons were all in a daze
For no-one now knew, how England begins, or what on earth represented an Englishman's ways    

But Sam, he was beaming, was crowing with glee, and raised his hat high in triumph and praise
Twirled his hat in his hands, standing firm as a tree, and spoke words that amazed

“It's clear to y'all, good folk, is it not, that none of those here can stake a true claim
For this island it seems is a mixed melting ***, and on-one is English, only in name
You're a rag tag of strangers, from lands far away, and England is vacant, this I can see
So I'll gladly now claim it, for the good old USA, the land of the brave and the home of the free”

A din now erupted, and loud voices were heard, and the crowd were offended at old Sam's demands  
Indignant and angry at this fellow's nerve, and his bid for the taking of their own homeland
One after another, they responded to him, and challenged his audacious claim for the realm
That England would be a subservient kin, with them as the passengers, and USA at the helm

Moustache spoke up first, and challenged ole Sam, and quoting his words, berated his claims
“Look here, my good fellow, I'm offended I am, you slander our nations, with your grandiose aims
By saying such things of your own land out west, you imply rotten things with your patriot rave
That we all lack courage, and are less than the best, that we are all cowards, who are weak and enslaved”  

. “Old Snob is right, mate, the Cokney bloke chimed, ow dare you try grab this old land where I grew
So what if our roots are a little entwined, we're all here to stay now, and that much is true
You Yanks ain't so different, in where you come from, your a lucky dip bag, with surprises galore
With Indian, eskimo, shall I go on? You wandered from England and Italian shores        

The Frenchman stepped up, could hold back no more, and joined in the engagement with great zeal  and zest
“The Yob is spot on, but he's missing some more, don't forget Aztecs and Germans and the rest  
And what of our names, and our places you took, the new replication of our glorious towns
New Orleans, and old Boston, New England, New York, your cheek and audacity know of no bounds”  

Now a pin dropping then would have been a loud noise, as the multitude there ceased their attack
For old Sam stood there now, silently poised, confused and confounded, firmly gobsmacked
He pondered their words, and finally spoke, with a softer tone, he himself now set
For his pride had been prodded, his stride was now broke, he now offered them some form of regret

“Gee all you fellas, I may have been brash, I meant you no harm or disrespect
My presumptuous claim I'll recant in a flash, because to England's defence you have leapt
But, if I'm not American, and we don't belong, then nothing is sacred and no-one is free
Then I now pose a question to this mixed up throng, what is this land and who the hell are we?      

There were muttering and mumbling, and confusion reigned, as each gave some thought to this perplexing affair
The jury was out and the question remained, no answer forthcoming, from anyone there
Finally, from near the door came a sound, a voice that was new now spoke to the pack        
As the mish-mash of gentlemen all turned around, they beheld a tall figure standing there at the back

“What troubles you friends?” he asked with a smile, “This problem it only exists in your minds
While searching your ancestry all of this while, you left your identities and meaning behind
There is no mystery to solve and uncover, it is simple and plain as the nose on your face
You're not English or French nor any other, you are brothers and sisters of the great human race

You don't need your boundaries, or borders or flags, you all have the same desires and fears
Whether black white or red, in robes or in rags, you all fall in love and shed many tears
And your children don't see USA or UK, but only a playmate who will share all their fun
Who don't want to fight but just want to play, and share the same water, same air and same sun    

All the nations proclaim that they are best, that theirs is the right way to live from our birth
They claim they're united, and have passed all the tests, and that man's institutions can salvage the earth
United Nations and States and Kingdoms and such, yet paranoid and divided by the nationalist call
But all of this rhetoric doesn't mean much, for the truth is, dear brothers, we are God's children all”
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.
LJ May 2016
We are the lonely children
Who get lost in the wood
Yet find peace in each other
We are the lonely children

Bonded by our ancestors
To carry the light of the garden
Yet we fell and heard our beats
Bonded by our ancestors

We live in dull ghostly towns
Crowned in the dark alleys
Yet we stomp and the world shakes
We live in full ghostly towns

You play with the cobra fearless
I run in fear , my fate, my dear
Yet you can encase me from danger
You play with the cobra fearless

In the gust of the wind I love you
Take my words as the solid truth
Yet circumstance let us queue
In the gust of the wind I love you
I did a little research work
And you know I'm glad to say
I found out about my history
On ancestry.ca
I typed my name and there it was
A family tree of sorts
With leaves appearing eveywhere
My family and their warts
There were places on the listing
That I had never been
And the names of the all the people
Well, most....I'd never seen
My grandad married seven times
My nanny married four
My mum was not my mother
And my dad...was out the door
The leaves kept showing up there
Beside each and every name
I sat there for eight hours
I was really glad I came
England, Scotland, Middle East
Nevada and Wales Too!
It seemed that all my family
Moved when the rent was due
I had cousins in Zimbabwe
I had cousins in Peru
They were scattered all through Italy
There were some in China too.
I learned things that I never knew
Tales of family and their kids
I  learned of all their countries
And of all the things they did
Four hundred names in all I saw
And each name had a leaf
I didn't know we were that big
It was truly beyond belief
The pictures too were something else
People, places now long gone
There were photos too of Mexico
And my dear old Uncle Juan
Tomorrow, though I  will sit down
And I'll do this all again
But this time I will make **** sure
That I don't forget the "n".
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