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Maura 2d
They say, the dying are greeted, by their mothers
She comes for them at the end
Her love reaching further than bookends
Loving before, when you’re but an idea
A single cluster of cells,
Pregnantly waiting,
For birth

You came into the world quickly,
Precariously, the way you moved in life
Your pace blazing—light speed  
A glow that burned from the beginning

You were likely, the first person I ever held,
Me being too little to hold onto anything much bigger
But of course I adored you right away,
Right from when I first held you,
You made more than a daughter

You left the world quickly too,
during the month the sun burns the hottest,
August sweeping you into the air.
So I wonder, who came for you?

What I like to imagine,
and most desperately hope,
Is that you were greeted by a softness
A loving net cast by our grandmothers
Rocking you slowly
Pulling you back into our linage
Nylee Sep 30
who is the winner,
who is the loser,
ask the ashes, dust and paper.

the papers inked from history
what does it really tell.

the victor of half the world,
he had to surrender too,
who is the real victor
when the time came
and even the greatest empire fell!

A single word in history,
maybe not even that,
like losing identity
with a swish of a spell

Ink the story,
blue, black, deep
where I haven't even been
My ancestor's glory
won't keep the gleam
the light will fade off
the coming years will tell.

A select, an opportunity, a calling
it is coming with the wind,
but what does it really mean
what does it sell?

wise words,
and nothing, well!

No name for the fame,
a letter to begin,
but it is the end, expel.

My end, and yours
we'd leave the world,
leave behind our body
what of the legacy,
is there even one?
I'd be in places,
earth, heaven or hell

would it matter even,
I am going off empty hand
my hands that type won't accompany even.
Betty Sep 21
Not land or water
Sacred to our ancestors
Gateway between worlds
Marshland was considered to be a sacred portal between worlds.
SiouxF Aug 15
When I view a sunset,
A burning bright red sunset,
or look upon the horizon
between the land and water,
I am reminded of Ancestors’ stories
of the betwixt and the between.
Neither one or the other.
Not this one, nor that one,
But the place in between.

The Betwixt and the between two different worlds
Betwixt and between waking and sleeping.
Betwixt and between dusk and dawn.
Betwixt and between the upper and lower.
Betwixt and between Heaven and hell.
A place of intrigue, mystery and wonder
If you dare
So much as to take a peek.
But it’s beyond most people’s imaginations
To ever go as far as
The betwixt and the between
This poem is based on a comment in a photography group I’m in, which had more meaning than I understood at the time
rk Jul 6
i bathe with charcoal and roses
and spray nettles in my hair,
i cover my body with moon oil
and whisper my secrets to the stars
when i'm silent i can hear them
dancing in my blood
when i feel lost and truly alone
i feel their tender fingers
brushing my hair,
with their gentle voices
singing in my ear

r i s e
sweet child, we are with you
r i s e
sweet child, we will guide you.
Tizzop Jun 19
wings of birds were stolen by the gods, centuries ago
an earth's day lasts for 86, 400.002 seconds
children are roaming in the mind of these lines
they are counting, playfully and without feelings

days come and go, they float through our lives
i wrote about the stages of dreams and dreamt of an *******
the ruins of old poems are silver, blue and red
remains of a day's thoughts, decoded and clear, similarly

it is not wise to count seconds while you are breathing
it is not wise to count on people while they are leaving
it is strange to use "wise" in order to refer to cleverness
people of color may feel excluded by our languages

in german, "white" is called "weiß" and that sounds like "wise"
explain to me the origins of such a word, i demand it
before the river will have swallowed me; i demand an answer
poems come, poems go, leave a trace, stain – and a change

fools are flodding the streets in order to have a five o'clock tea
proudly, they are talking about their old heroes, bearded conquerors
these guys nevah really wanted to dig strangaz, dey killed 'em.
they killed unknown people, they stabbed my dreams

they murdered ancestors because they were used to murdering
they invented words without speaking but grinning
power is an invisible instrument that consists of hierarchies
power is what we see and oversee, power is the origin of wars

wars are the origin of despair; and that is nothing new
wars, though, may be invisible and silent, just in the mind
what is a war, does a war need bombs, guns and soldiers?
wars occur everywhere, daily, within 86, 400.002 seconds

the length of a day is measured in numbers; they are just inventions
numbers are man-made, animals orient on the sun and the moon
humans celebrate planets and write poems about them
we all will surive as long as we keep writing and tolerate each other
Today is a good day.
victoria Jun 6
Poem- To the past & present

Hanging from the shame
Of my privileged supremisist height
Choking on the knowledge
That until now
I didn't fight

Eyes silenced hard
From systemic white view
All lives don't matter
Until your lives matter too

A product of white history
I wish I could reverse
Where all mankind are equal
For real not just in verse

Anger and great shame
come banging on my soul
Prejudiced leden centuries
and inhumane forms of control

I promise from today
Your fight becomes my fight too
I pray you'll accept from my heart
This apology to you..........

-  I am sorry
I am sorry on behalf of my ancestors and the part of history that affects you.
I am sorry for any part I may have played through being only Non-racist instead of Anti-racist.
I am sorry that I didn't educate myself earlier.
I am sorry that it has taken yet another death, for me to stand up and fight.
I have always shot down racism with my words, but I have failed to completely understand it.
For these and more that I still have to learn, I am sorry.
Shayloves May 25
Fuel me
With rich stories
While I execute dreams
Unrealized and extinguished
This poem is dedicated to my ancestors. May they rest in power
Jo May 19
there’s such a hunger for success
and it sits inside of me
i always wonder why this hunger is so **** loud
always growling out of me 

but then it all makes sense
my ancestors didn’t go through all that pain for nothing
they didn’t cry tears of sadness for it to amount to nothing

this is what i’m supposed to be doing
reaching for my dreams
making sure i make all of you proud
this life, this is all for you
madameber Mar 19
i wanted to visit my ancestors,
so i stepped up to the gate.
i was told “You must be
/this/ dark to be let into this space,
see, there aren’t many people
here we can match
up to your face,
and by the look of your skin
we couldn’t be certain
you’ve ever felt the sun’s grace,
we’ve seen many colours
but you are another,
do you really belong in this place?”

i wanted to visit my ancestors,
so i stepped up to the door.
i was told “You must be
/this/ light to walk onto our shores,
see, we saw your curls and thought
Black Pete had come up
from the moors,
and you're familiar,
but that foreign tongue’s
taken several points off your score,
we were only one colour,
can’t cope with any others,
so what are you coming to us for?”

i wanted to visit my ancestors
but i wasn’t sure where to go.
they’d shut me out, left me in doubt,
and i was in limbo.
i thought i’d had a birthright,
some kind of claim to make,
i didn’t think that i would be
so easy to forsake.
i hadn’t convinced the ghosts,
and there was nothing left for me,
so i packed my things, tore my branch down,
and went to sow my own tree.
i need italics.
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