"clan" poems
Sons of the soil.
Daughters of the soil.
Wake up and rejoice, for its the day of your heritage.
Celebrate your culture, for it is your privilege.
You are Africa, Africa is you.
A nation so diverse and true.
A real rainbow nation.
Deeply rooted in our tradition.
Nna ke mo Tswana, ebile ke motlotlo ka bo Tswana bame.
Nna ke mo Pedi, ebile ka ikgantsha ka go nna mo Pedi.
Mna ndi ngum Xhosa, ubona nje, ndiyazi dla ngo buXhosa bam.
Mina ngi ngum Zulu qobo, futhi ngiyazi qhenya.
On this day, remember who you are.
On this day, commemorate who you are.
Take pride in your true identity.
Let there be peace and serenity.
In South Africa our land.
Together may we all stand.
Le ga ole moTswana wa Afrika.
Noba ungu m'Xhosa wase Afrika.
Le ha ole mo Sotho wa Afrika Borwa.
Are rataneng. Masi thandaneni.
On this day, speak your mother tounge.
On this day, sing your clan song.
A moTswana eme a kgibe.
UmXhosa maka phakame axhentse.
UmZulu maka sukume agide.
A moPedi a emelle bine.
Sons of the soil.
Daughters of the soil.
Wake up and rejoice, for its the day of your heritage.
Celebrate your culture, for it is your privilege.
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 5:57 AM UTC
His army perched above in trees,
Watching the front become a feast,
Who wins, care not, in the least?
"The cawing clan of Koronos..."
The thousands black they view the fight,
Staying late for supper -feeding at night...
Picking tender morsels in illumed moon-light,
"Swarthy minions of King Koronos!"
Corvid follow Man wherever he may go,
Feathery tomes of knowledge their treasure trove,
The messengers in the House of Jove...
"His static barbizon Aves; Koronos!"
There are many kings who come and go,
Becoming part and parcel in a wicked show,
But none of them will ever match the Crow...
"Engrosser of the dead; Koronos!" *
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
I am from VapoRub,
From Goya
And morisoñando.
I am from the traffic
And loud horns,
From the Caribbean heat,
And the city lights,
From the buildings
And the towers.
I am from the palm trees
And the coconut trees,
Dancing bachata
And merengue
In the beach,
From yaniqueque
Y plátano,
From tostones
And fish.
I am from Sunday gatherings
And loud family members,
From Jose, Maria, and Primos,
And the hardworking
Payamps clan.
I am from the
Madera’s baseball team,
From Canó, Sosa, y Ortiz,
From the long summer rides
To ***** Cana
And Samana’s beach.
From “work hard
Cause life is not easy”
And “family before friends.”
From Christianity
And Saturday morning sermons,
From God is good
And He brings joy.
I am from Santo Domingo
And Monción,
From Santiago
And Spanish ancestors,
From mangú con salami,
From rice and beans.
From the grandpa
Who owns the village
Surrounded by
Chickens, cows, and bulls,
From the business owner
And the well known uncles
In my hometown.
I am from the only flag
With a bible.
From the red, blue
And white.
From the most beautiful
Island in the Caribbean,
From Quisqueya y
Libertad.
I am from the
Dominican Republic,
The country that holds
The people I love and
Miss the most.
I am from the
Little Paris box
I keep next to my bed,
Filled with precious
Gifts and letters
That make me feel
A little closer
To them.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
Good-by, proud world, I'm going home,
Thou'rt not my friend, and I'm not thine;
Long through thy weary crowds I roam;
A river-ark on the ocean brine,
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam,
But now, proud world, I'm going home.
Good-by to Flattery's fawning face,
To Grandeur, with his wise grimace,
To upstart Wealth's averted eye,
To supple Office low and high,
To crowded halls, to court, and street,
To frozen hearts, and hasting feet,
To those who go, and those who come,
Good-by, proud world, I'm going home.
I'm going to my own hearth-stone
Bosomed in yon green hills, alone,
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;
Where arches green the livelong day
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And ****** feet have never trod
A spot that is sacred to thought and God.
Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;
For what are they all in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet.
14.4k
All you have to offer me is broken English
but what you get in return is a broken heart!
"Hi cute pic u me friend?" you ping me randomly;
I am sorry dude,my picture didn't respond!
Not just you,but all the guys from your clan
have a typical dressing style that I can note from your photos.
A smug face,bright colored clothes,unkempt hair;
cigarette burnt lips and alcohol shot eyes!
Don't judge me, I am just sharing my observation
but I appreciate your perseverance of sending multiple messages!
"Hey u","Reply and expect* me","Don't put scene^","Fraandship#??","Change new pic"
and all I could think of is "Not happening bro!!"
Wondering why I wrote this ode to you?!
You are a hero man! An unsung hero in your own world!
When science and technology advances,when countries and continents fight and make up
all you can think of is this random girl who is ignoring you!Talk about goal-oriented!!
You have a dumpy old computer with an internet connection and a Facebook account
and you want to have girls who you don't even know;You are more ambitious than Shakespeare's Brutus!
You get irritated looks from all the girls you stalk,
Yet you are unaffected as you never get to know that!!
I envy your spirit, I envy your hard-work!!
Burning the midnight oil to get ignored by girls you don't even know!
Though you stalk this much, in reality you are shy to even talk!
You are a mystery, a dark knight I might say!!
Whatever anyone says, I know you wont give up!!
You are a big challenge for all those privacy setting developers,
you creep and crawl through the web so much and still
you always remain -A random stalker!!
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
A melancholy ***** we came to adore
in mournful tone, finish the tale abruptly
and sob, uncontrollably;
"Memories of my melancholy ******
including "Love in the times of cholera"
are now part of our folklore, this land
of cashew groves and banana plantations
in Indian landscape, far far away from Latin American shores.
Her lascivious days are over
death visits the house of love, blood splattered
and a haunt of dark happenings, that begets children with tails,
shame, honor and secrets creep out of manuscripts.
Gabo is no more, no more"Living to tell the tale"
the Part Two, promised before.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, after three false starts
goes to his final abode for rest, now.
A coded manuscript, written in
in classical Sanskrit,
(the language of all divine texts
of Indian sages of yore)
scripted by the mysterious gypsy,Melquiades
predicts the wipe out of Buendia clan
of five generations
Torrential rain and deluge engulf Macondo,
ends "One hundred years of solitude".
Gabo you point towards east
what is the answer to the conundrum of Buendias?
In Mexico city
they were preparing to take Gabo to his last ride
to the origin of all magical realism he'd return
In a land far away,
yet exactly the same landscape as Latin Americas
we grieve his death as that of one of our own
Gabo, in past thirty years, you mysteriously taught us
to discern the magical realism of cosmos
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
‘We live with forest’ and ‘forest live with us’!
Tallest tree of the forest is the symbol of our hope,
The Python is our messenger of past,
Blossoming flower of grassland are our depiction of smile,
Birds are the our fortune teller,
Earthworms are our marker,
Butterflies are our messenger of worship,
We design our life with them,
They are our image of clan and family,
We can’t live without them,
Our aspiration is tuned with their respiration,
We are cheerful with them!
***
Now, out of the blue, you arrived
and say we are poor!
So, you will build industry for us and give job to us!
But for that,
You occupy our land, our forest, our friends and respiration,
We never thought!
‘You are such a pitiable’
That you can’t build anything without our forest,
But you say, ‘we are poor’!
****
Please, go away from our blessed place
Don’t wipe out our friend!
We are rich and happy with the blessing of our friend
There is no need of your industry,
Please go away
Leave us alone we will design our destination.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
She, a cavernous champagne glass,
he, a weary pony, who ate the neighbor's grass--
her name Ms. Wesson,
his name Mr. Smith,
they died on a slow Tuesday--
and stop looking Wesson clan,
if looking for a lesson.
Mid-afternoon
midst a love bent 69
Mr. Smith and Ms. Wesson
committed murder-suicide--
Mr. Smith turned from a man
back into a stain,
Ms. Wesson turned from a woman
back into a chain.
And the artist-in-neighborhood did rejoice,
subject matter for a painting to hang above
his licorice-colored memorial of a prisoner dove.
And the police did gossip,
was it love? was it ***********
What a fine piece of *** that could be living.
And it took the families two weeks to find out,
they wiped their feet on dead leaves,
daydreamt open caskets and planted juniper seeds.
Talk of another woman, talk of another man,
but God himself would tell you,
they were simply bored of each other's drugs,
they were simply bored of each other's barrels,
so, they barred each other from being,
and headed west on erosion's dime.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
A haunting stare with a serious note
Originates in a lad just thirteen
Ready to command or to set to task
Obedient, mature, and quick to rule
More comfortable with adults than peers
An old soul has he, loves cars from the past
Collects Civil War relics and antiques
Spends most his time reading and researching
Reads historical fiction, lost in time
Analyzes plants, insects, and ol' coins
He could be described like Chaucer's Cleric
"And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach."
He desires, especially, silver
Yet, gold and ex-presidents faces too
Protects younger members of his small clan
Only his hand will be attacking foe
It might be his fine grades, his quirk or two
That humbles his parents. Proudly they stand
And admire their first born miracle
A babe no more, his age will meet his soul.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
Tentpole, stature tall and strong and
Firmly placed between the thin sheets
Members of the boy scouts, boy clan
Flames extinguished, his body heats
At dawn it rises, makes me wake
******* for the fire he gathers
Morning wood, embers of the stakes
Soon home; disapproving Fathers
Morning **** calls, but we're busy
Pack our bags, get all the work done
Juice of life makes me quite dizzy
Mem'ries of our weekend of fun
I'll be dish and spoon to your spoon
Spend nights together o'er the moon
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
Though authors are a dreadful clan
To be avoided if you can,
I'd like to meet the Indian,
M. Anantanarayanan.
I picture him as short and tan.
We'd meet, perhaps, in Hindustan.
I'd say, with admirable elan ,
"Ah, Anantanarayanan --
I've heard of you. The Times once ran
A notice on your novel, an
Unusual tale of God and Man."
And Anantanarayanan
Would seat me on a lush divan
And read his name -- that sumptuous span
Of 'a's and 'n's more lovely than
"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan" --
Aloud to me all day. I plan
Henceforth to be an ardent fan
of Anantanarayanan --
M. Anantanarayanan.
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One winter night
The wind blows with its might
She walks alone through the wood
Her name’s Little Red Riding Hood
The willow trees along the forest trail
Sway their empty branches and wail
And afar, the white bright moon
Tries hard to shine like it were noon
“I will eat you”, the whisper sounded near
Sending her into a state of fear
Holding her basket she spun around
Only to see darkness from the sky to the ground
Awake and alert, she waited a moment
Her fast beating heart giving her a torment
To go on or to go back, she couldn’t decide
How she wished her mother by her side
The wolf couldn’t wait to claim his food
So he started to plan how he could
For he knew which way she’s heading to
It’s probably the route earlier too
The wolf figured out a plan
He wouldn’t share this to his clan
So he ran and ran and wait for her at her granny’s place
But here comes the twist in this tale
For Riding Hood is a modern child
And the wolf is still traditional and wild
Riding Hood reached for her cellphone, and placed a call
Calling her granny in no time at all
“Im scared, Im going home”, she cried
It was a failed effort, but she tried
A wise decision, granny couldn't agree more
Soon, there was a knock on the door
“Whos that?”, Granny asked
“Red Riding Hood”, his voice was masked
What an impostor
Posing as her granddaughter
Granny picked up her whistle and blew it hard
Down came running the guard
Before he knew it, he was put in a sack
What a pity, the wolf became a catch
In a mere mobile phone
He found his match.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
Duck Dynasty has been replaced
by the folks at “A” & “E”.
we’re “GLAAD” to hear they lost their spot
to Zeus and company.
It’s felt the morals of Zeus ‘clan
Reflect the zeitgeist better.
Zeus is fond of little boys,
Swans, and shapely heifers.
Hera, his wife, of all her kids,
loves Artemis the most.
Apollo and Athena
Leave no room for the “Holy ghost”
Dionysus will do well
while hawking wine and beer.
Though Polyphemus freaks me out
Fans say he is a dear.
So tune in for the Sausage fest
And watch the hunt for ******
The role of Ganymede has been cast-
He’s played by Justin Bieber.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
Vines crawling
on the old mottled wall
fog bypassing
the fence
enveloping the entire
chalet
the mystic sky over the castle
a lightning awakening
the gloomy valley
ghosts and goblins floating
around
extinguishing white candles
a witch with a broom
the silver haired wizard in a black hat
standing in the darkness of spells
the enchanted princess sleeping
in the black chalet
prince charming leading a team of
knights
sinister roses blooming quietly
spitting murky fog
tongues of flames light up the dark tunnel
the prince kills the bloodthirsty bats witches and
a clan of phantoms
the prince kisses to wake the princess who’s been asleep
for a millenium.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
A dark past,
also my last.
memory,
of my family.
my beloved brother,
killed my father and mother.
my clan too,
and someone knew.
He only spared me,
and then he flea'd,
Leaving me,
without my family.
the love i had for him turned to hate,
I awoke my sharingan by the time i was 8.
my goal and objective was to **** him with my own hand,
then i could avenge my family and my clan.
we were close and we played,
By my side he always stayed.
I looked up to and wanted to be like him,
but my chances back then were looking quiet slim.
a prodigy indeed,
left my heart to bleed.
filled me with hate,
I just had to wait.
Lonely I use to be,
my beloved brother took my family from me.
I wondered why he murdered our clan,
I wondered if this was always his plan.
the brother i remember was always kind,
Or was i just simply blind.
one day when Im stronger,
when i can fight for even longer.
Ill be ready to **** he,
the one who killed our family.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
A white man,
he made a plan,
to make a clan,
only white man.
And this white man,
he made a plan,
to rule the land,
with his white clan.
In a world of fools,
racism rules.
It's for the weak mind,
the bane of mankind.
The KKK,
that was their name,
they showed no shame,
enjoyed their game.
Enjoyed their fame,
they received for their game,
and they showed no shame,
the KKK.
In a world of fools,
racism rules.
It's for the weak mind,
the bane of mankind.
Society has gone too far,
racism is all wrong.
Society has gone too far,
racism is all wrong.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC
If wishes could be measure,
Clem would have reign in wealth,
Before he had a date with death.
Poverty battled with him with all pleasure.
In the tribulation, all his gray eyes saw was a
jubilating future.
In my clan, the death are kings,
Their testimony barely bear guilts,
Tales of that of dove and angelic.
In these imperfect world, they are made perfect and heroic.
That of clem wasn't different,
No hair suspected him of having a great for a kin,
Who in death embraced him to a golden casket, in Italian suit, shoes and a cow killed.
His burial got what he never begged for in hundred fold
Hmm! A late beggar decorated more than a groom to a royal fold.
As all gathered round his six feet for a final bye,
The in prophesied happened, Clem breath resurrected and all flee,
Even the priest, men, women and their kids.
Clem awoke into a dream,
Agitating against mankind and why array of
fortune should perish with a beggar like him,
While there are countless beings escaping death each dawn in perpetual poverty.
Griefs stricken for his old him,
He rose, undertook his golden casket, sold it and became a king.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
I tromped across North America a few years back
Following the Mayan Elders
Listening to the powerful Lakota Brothers sing songs of mourning and joy
Building community
I was following a White Cherokee
We created clan
I was motivated by the teachings of the Anishinaabe
And represented Thunderbird Clan
We stopped in sacred spaces such as Serpent's Mound
And Cahokia Mounds
We peered briefly through the veil; Samhain
I followed the red path and eventually found I had always been on it
I met Hopi and Navajo elder's
And my friend Sea, a pipe carrier brewed a special tea
I was gifted tobacco that had been grown from seeds
Recovered from an iceman's medicine bag
She transmuted the ancient tobacco into a tea
By folding it into a sweetgrass and cedar brew
Sea gave it to me in a basic stainless steel carafe
Every time we drained the carafe
I refilled it and the essence was just as powerful as the previous brew
When I finally caught up with the Lakota brother's in Sedona
Their voices were raw
We all were
I shared the tea with them
So much magic on that journey
The joy on those brothers faces as the tea reached their throats
I gave them the carafe and told them
It was the gift that keeps on giving
Their thankfulness has been the gift that keeps on giving
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
You slay my clan so i hate you
But whats this feeling deep inside?
I will end you elder brother.
This is about more than pride
I've heard the stories and believed the lies
But I see it in your eyes
You staged this whole thing and for what reason?
As far as we know you comitted treason.
So I'll take you down just watch me.
But part of me misses my brother, Itachi
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
I have left, pig-mudding drunk,
having sipped from stock to stock on fraying cheer, stages.
I have stood in foreign basements; sweaty cellars of youth;
begot by attitude breeding spaces of the hip;
drawn circles searching for love in recreating nonsense:
a silly pupil, moon-eyed, out of breathe.
I have heard them quack, reveal their cords;
heard them whisper a thousand and one secrets,
heard them deconstruct their circumstances as pilgrims, penniless and sick.
I have their memories now, an image of a depressed,
ass-imprinted pillow soaked in liquor and a feeling of nausea
where ribs sleep on this couch tonight, every night.
I have heard one refute the weight of living, ******
on the banks of his best friends hospitality, and thought
How much is it worth?
And I have envied every **** greasy pored hipster,
the ones fixing on makingitnew now kind of clan; stared blankly at fashion,
a culture back door where pink fish scales sparkle high from runway halters
to the tops of grown men, bearded and chesty.
And your mothers pearls sit, not your mother’s pearls but your mother’s, mother’s pearls,
that old world clout ornamented around those hairy *******
Oh yes, I have seen men become peacocks, charmed animals of **********
seen them teeth at discourse in the noise they create, wide-mouthed and pointed;
I have seen them masked like frantic felines: wooly bully cats trying-to-roll their own meter,
their tobacco stained black charcoal over soft bricked lips quiver to their beats:
those painted lemmingings, without a parachute: kamikaze felons.
I have desired absolute sterility: white china,
in the egg of a toilet bowl I spewed out, shut-up my exuberance for the night;
sorry-pleaded my resolutions to gag out the naughty nouns in my life.
I have quit; turned in my lust for performing the lioness, paw-licking,
snarly creature: the predator of my youth, and now,
I am pretty-headed, tamed in bath oils and schedules;
a spotted fox, in plain view, one medium-sized mammal getting by.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
I don’t don't how much the world is tired
Of hearing again in this year that
Still tribalism and negative ethnicity
Is Gog and magog with Africa, I mean Africa
The second largest continent in the world
After Asia, being seconded by Americas,
Her only cultural overture is tribalism and tribes
Large tribes swallowing small ones
Small tribes making desperate moves
Like bush ****** in the lethal fangs of the python,
Large tribes swallowing political fruits as the small ones
In despair look, being choked by forlorn appetite,
Tribalism, listen! Leave Africa alone; stop messing up the African youth
Tell the Dinka and the Nuer of the southern Sudan to put down the arms
The arms made in the old Russia, the AK 47,
Tell them to go to Russia not to buy
Arms but books of poetry and literature
To buy Dead souls of Nikolai Gogol and
Brothers Kamarazov of Fydor Dostoyevsky,
Tribalism, listen! Am tired of introducing myself
By my clan, I don’t want to be known by my clan
I want to be known by my work; I am a poet
I sing and chant the African incantations of freedom
I do not perpetrate feelings of tribal terror
It is never my work to cement ethnicity
Tribes are good but tribalism is evil, or satanic or impish
Or gnomic or macabarous or ghastly insidious,
As its hatred is the most heinous.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
Lady of the pale pink fan
Who's covered in the faded blossoms of your clan
I'd like to see you move away from the brown tree
So I can touch your kimono as I go on one knee
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC
An Amish elder named Mullet,
And some of his ****** clan,
bore hatred deep in their gullets
for their Amish fellow man.
****** seemed out of the question,
It’s rare among Amish, folks say,
(It may be that a horse and a carriage
doesn’t make for a quick getaway.)
So Mullet and some of his minions
Invented a new sort of crime:
Shaving their bearded opponents
one Amish man at a time.
Losing one’s beard among Amish-
A disgrace before God, it’s been said.
Mullet spared no woman either
choping the hair from their heads.
His victims are speechless with anger,
denuded of both beards and hair.
Leave it to someone named “Mullet”
To offend using a Barber’s chair.
Mullet’s in Federal custody;
charged with a crime, not a sin.
He refuses to answer the charges
By the hair of his chinny chin chin.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 8:29 PM UTC
taller as a twisted fable skyscrape- - -
felt beyond the limits of a clan; yer
density is a moot point (whatdidyawant)
and heights are reached where heights are
found beneath belief in factuality- - who
wrung the cash register any apt poem could
be you to a clean home obsessive compulsive
but valid poetics - - valid music in the dharma
dance of life.
edward scissor hands with cloths on the palms
instead and 'DO YER DISHES' the psalm you
sing for cleanliness is next to godliness &&&
cathedrals of the genuine soul were never designed,
simply found an ancient artifact in the labyrinth of
yer soul (z)
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
The Billboard Music Awards took over Las Vegas last night as the celebs rocked it on the carpet and on the stage. However, there were more than a few music stars who just missed the mark when it came to the fashion.
From the barely there gowns to the colorful messes that caught everyone’s eye, and not in a good way.
The Billboard Music Awards fashion is usually something to praise, however this year things took a turn for worse. These lucky celebrities top our list of biggest fashion fails from the billboard music awards.
Mariah Carey chose to show it off in a cleavage baring illusion dress.
Hailee Steinfeld’s embraced her girly side in a black and white ruffle number.
The whole Fifth Harmony clan completely failed in their black, white and yellow matching outfits.
Britney Spears covered it all up in an ill-fitting, long, sparkly gown.
And Dencia’s outfit was a messy rainbow that had everyone staring.
It seems like some of the stars got dressed in the dark or just completely forgot to look in the mirror before stepping out on the red carpet.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 3:44 AM UTC