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Francie Lynch Nov 2018
I am no longer a Roman,
Though my nose would differ.

I'm not Viking,
But my descendants have blonde and red hair.

I am a beneficiary of the dark ages,
The scriptoriums and monasteries
That brought the Greeks and Romans to life.

I am not Gael, though my eyes smile
When I hear the harp and pipes.

Neither am I Saxon nor Norman,
Victorious or defeated.

I, we, have metamorphized,
Casted of the moulted casement,
Spread dry wings and lifted,
Carried on fresh winds
To new worlds
To read, write, fish and hunt,
And I have gathered
My lineage,
Framed it in genetics on my wall,
To point at in fond remembrance
Of what I once was.
Johnny Noiπ Oct 2018
[BILEX]| ||Olukese
John at the edge of the window
is the home free fall king, in Barbie's Glory;
Most by means of violence, it is the wish of the Senate;
It is a great partner. you have to help the helpers
and caretakers; 1 do not want to go down;
And what's going to Olukese first used in the globe
and Sports - Sky Box and free glasses of brandy
and white wine. or; Radio marriage: The wedding yet.
Some trade her life. In all of the words;
Why do not 1'll make you understand.                       it
Learn to read a book on Wall Street
for you to buy products. other Mass on the application, but only exception.
Radio will not be here to worry about.
And the best way to operate the glasses is to remove
them from the elements. That is. Memory 1,
as John Rose;
Author Paul, You can not be radio waves.
radio Vincent's bus for the wedding,             wedding
There is the old water.                           If you are off
1 don't think about it,  |       encouraging one another,
we must love.                    To me, the love of charity,
1 don't know what the four thousand mean;
The first woman preparing for winter temperatures
When the panels have all the advantages
of the program.                    Whiskey glasses of red
and what is in the box. or; the radio of the wedding
ceremony; Whereas in adults,       one, he said,
it is not a piece of wood If the sight of the eye
of the eyes, takes care of children; You know all
the words. As part of the textbook; A new way
to Wall Street and now the fish that are rich
in Dutch J in great housing; File without varying.
And on ways to best More, and the other is not.
other applications, On the radio, and best suited.
Where you can also find your place? color
It is better to the way than the glass on the left,
gram, gram; The woman is beautiful to John Rose
England's website, San Pablo flies. Since radio
waves. The radio devices.
'Olukese' is Zulu for 'Everything'
Sharon Talbot Jul 2018
I listened for an error but could not find
Anything to tell me that you'd erred.
The human voices were left behind
Among the dead, the long interred.
I wondered at the worry of a bard,
Whose penchant for making mosaics
Of dead and living shards,
Might wax a bit prosaic.

But 'tis nothing too commonplace for me!
I live in such a new land.
And look back where my roots might be,
Standing on a sunlit strand
And strain my eyes for thee.

And my ancestors who, distant, pass,
Clouded with poetry and pride.
The latter mean nothing, not even my last,
Grandparents who came here and tried.

Shoemakers, firemen and their wives,
Learned to dwell in a sprawling place.
But huddled like old Celts, converted, shrived,
As Saxon fires round them paced.

But all of that ended or so we thought,
One April day on a Lexington span,
Declared was freedom and dearly bought,
And a ****** new history began.

August 7, 2012
I was thinking about the ideals of some English colonists (and others) who thought that a revolution would change the New World into a paradise. We all know what happened, but the dream is still there...
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!
From under the magnolia’s dark green leaves,
I saw Her. For the first time I recognized a face
Of someone who wasn’t familiar; I was
Comforted by a stranger. She showed me
A vision that would one day become mine.
I was 5; She was ageless.
We danced and told secrets and
I walked along her roots
Until the street lights came on.
Then I’d be gone, only to return to her
Branches’ embrace, coming to know her divine face
Day after day. Like it was my own. She told me that I
Was a warrior; She told me that I
Would never be alone; that my own roots would always
Guide me home; that my mind contained
Knowledge that I didn’t yet know; that through me
Healing love and creation could flow, in and out.
I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew She meant well.
I didn’t see her for many years. Until:
After 17 rotations of the sun, after thinking
All I was was said and done, She returned to me
In a dream. I was
Down and out, seeping self-doubt.
I looked upon Her face but saw my own:
She said to me
     “Come in through the leaves. Sit at my roots.
      Look at me: look at my blooming flowers that will soon wither;
      Look at my deep, entangling roots, that have held on for many storms;
      Look at my leaves, evergreen, but always growing.
      I am proof things remain but there is no way that
      You will stay the same. You will yield to change.
      To feel joy amid all the strange
      Is a feeling you cannot feign,
      A feeling foreign to your brain
      There is no way it will sustain. But, find peace
      Knowing that your soul’s moonlight won’t cease
      As the same light was never extinguished in
      All those who came before you:
      Your magic is ancient. Your roots are deeper than
      Any pain you may be feeling now. You carry within you
      A potent medicine, passed down to your in your life’s blood,
      From mothers, midwives, magicians, mighty warriors
      Who bore you, who birthed the essence of who you are,
      And are becoming yet.
      Like you, I, too, was once a sapling, just beginning to feel
      Our great mother’s earth, not yet knowing what it could offer.
      She ensured my growth was not stunted; that I was not lost in the forest.
      For every snap of a branch, there have been ten more that grew;
      For every season I went without, my blooms doubled the next.
      It is not in your mind’s eye now, but it will be:
      The day when you come to know Her as you know me,
      The day you fuse your old and current selves, to meet
      Who you will become:
      The past, present, and future selves as one
      Fluid transition to your newfound position
      Giving recognition to all parts: those without and within
      To strive, to seek, to dream
      May you never lose steam
      To achieve, to fight for what you believe
      To pursue all things with hope, all things
      With love, in service to below and above.
      Illuminating dark spaces, to seek familiar faces
      In unlikely places and cherish the embraces
      That you may never feel again.”
And She is gone. The coolness of the air, not Her branches,
Wraps around my shoulders
Much of what surrounds me serves only as a placeholder
For the connection that yields direction.
The signs and prayers could all just be deception
But is believing in something not better than despair?
It’s a game of Lotería, but it keeps matters fair
But magic and all is coming, with no shortage in sight
And I can change the course of fate if I will it.
Still, for now, the Fool’s fortune is greater than my own
What power can I possible conjure when I’m all alone?
I am left with only my intuition and sheer volition
That’s wearing thin, but I’ll search for more within
Even if nothing is revealed, even to examine my scope of field
It may yet yield all which is past and now healed.
I remember the pact we made when I was five,
But, oh, how much harder it is now to keep hope alive.
I’ll continue to dream
even when I’ve lost all steam,
even when the light narrows to a single beam.
I’ll continue to hope
even when the Universe says nope,
even when I’m seeing only a limited scope.
I’ll continue to pray
even if I don’t know if I’ll see another day,
even when the response is after much delay.
I’ll continue to dance
even if I’m not granted a deserved chance,
even if my moment’s magic fails to entrance.
I’ll continue to create
even if I share my art too late,
even if my efforts are met with hate.
Magnolia’s gaze reminds me of my earth’s view
This vantage point above it all
But keeping close to those I’ll care for
Nurturing with compassion and intuition,
Healing by soft light,
Providing others with gentle protection,
Remembering my ancestors’ loving lesson
Of rooting, and growing, from deeper within.
This poem was guided by my Mexican ancestors and by the magnolia-scented memories of my childhood. Root in make room for growth.
Lora Lee Oct 2016
Last night
as I sat in
the ancient temple
atop the mountain,
my people surrounding
           me, generations
upon generations,
  voices ascending
       in the wispy and
            earthbound solidarity
                 of ancient prayers,
I felt the words
               rise up
around me, protecting, loving
their intonations
           tingling inside
the doorways
         of my brain
expanding the limits
through glass
and sacred ceilings,
       up unto the stars
celestial understandings
pushing through
my crumbling
walls to break
through barriers
         from the thickness
of night
reaching out
      into purity, a beckoning
             of light
and the words, the singsong tones
passed down from the ancients    
like candlelit incantations
         grew soft, invisible wings    
             that touched my cheek
                   the silky presence of
               the grounded power            
             of my ancestors
welling up in the
         dark caverns within
and as we sang
of new beginnings
         and listened with one heart
to the call of the shofar,
        that ram's horn of blessings,
                            my knotted
loops of longing
resonated in musical notes
strands of the primordial
               in the deep forest
echoes
             of my being
linking my soul's cry
to all the people
           of my book
in a long swirling line
              down to the river,
the desert, the oceans
a tight braided chord
of solidarity, of lineage, of blood
the flesh and bones of heritage
pumping crimson freedom
Yes,
somewhere,
          in even the most
                broken chords
                   of heartstrings
                tiny wings
beat                    
        hope
I am not religious at all. But I found a beautiful light energy in an unexpected place (ironically..for most people very expected but for me not), during a holiday that celebrates renewal. Perhaps the concept of renewal is prticularly significant for me at this time; I think it is significant for all of us, at the right time..:)

* shofar- ram's horn, blown into on certain Jewish holidays to "remind us of the primordial scream, the eternal voiceless call of the soul expressing its desire to return to its Creator."
Sean Hunt Jun 2016
I think I am an Irish man
As mum and dad both come from there
But only mum knew with certainty
All the blood that flows in me

I could be Greek or Israeli
Or I could be a ****** Brit
He could have come from over the sea
I may not be proud of it

I don’t dance well, and I’m not mulato
So African blood doesn't flow
I’ve never pinched my pennies
So Scotch blood there’s not any

But I had such a ****** big swallow
I drank so much whiskey and wine
I think I must admit it that it’s all
Irish blood in these veins of mine

Sean Hunt   June 8 2016
Sindi Kafazi May 2016
Love, love, love
It runs so deep like the roots of a tree
Connecting together

A flower attracting a bee

Love, love, love
Runs so deep
Heals you and cleans you
The way alcohol does a wounded knee

Love, love, love
You will see
When my gramma looks at me

Love, love, love
smells so good
My grammas  baked goods
My grammas pillow case
My grammas hair
And her whole face

Love, love, love
It's everywhere
From the smile formed with her lips
And the softness of her strong gramma hips
To the apron that she wears
And the so tantalizingly familier scent my mother shares

Because

Love, love, love
Paves the way
It will never lead you astray


Love, love, love
It runs so deep like the roots of a tree
It is embedded in you the way it's embedded in me

Love, love, love
Has us entangled
From the inside of beating hearts
To the dirt under the earth.
Love, love, love my gramma
Tafuta Atarashī Mar 2016
It's hard to look,
It's hard to see.
The great pain in my history,
The conflicts within my ancestry.
My past encompasses centuries
and while some did and do,
I've been taught and I've chosen not to flee.
I accept the weight with many tears
and no broken backs.
For it is a great part of the strength that I have.
From across the sea, to the ships of warped wood and mast.
From the stages with spotlights of sunshine and blue eyes
To the places of of the merciless mans leather whip crack.
From the war for our bodies, to the war for our rights.
From the war for our culture to the war for our minds.
The war to take our knowledge, and disgrace our lives.
These things could I ever deny?
To sacrifice for to unborn children, an agape love truly.
Blemished and distorted history that it is.
Made a fantasy trip by those that write the books
from which we teach,
Ours must remain, still, an oral history.
And should I break away, I lose what I am,
and the strength given by those before me;
those strong founding African Americans
Who, for their descendants, stood on their feet.
Never to surrender spiritually.
I look not over the sea for my forefathers.
No, I began with the survivors
who refused to be beat.
From the slave to the free man.
From the mixed child to to *****.
From the hard worker, the soldier, the enlightened,
to the one's that made it to and through college.
To the one's who endured the racist and the hatred.
It may be hard to look, to see,
but it's because of these
That I can look
I can see.
I am.
And I can be.
Just watched a video of a woman character being whipped ( on her arms) for the most ridiculous of reasons and now that I'm older and can understand now, the feeling I get is that much more intense. It's a sad kind of uncomprehending hatred I suppose. Such hatred is hard to understand, and the fact that my ancestors survived just so that I can sit here at this laptop getting my education practically for free... So I was inspired to write this poem. #fucktrump #fuckhatred
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