"forbears" poems
Cornwall is my homeland
And it will always be,
A large part of it surrounded,
Surrounded by the sea.
Cornwall is my homeland,
It’s where my roots are deep,
And this connection with my forbears,
I feel a strong desire to keep.
Cornwall is my homeland,
Of me it is a part,
For it resides within my soul
And is branded in my heart.
Cornwall is my homeland,
It’s where I will always stay,
And when my days are over,
It’s where I will surely lay.
Jun 5, 2021
Jun 5, 2021 at 11:33 AM UTC
They came one day from where I know not.
Unholy structures came to ground, certainly from another world.
They wasted nothing of their time to cast affliction upon us.
We ran away in terror in certain fear of our own lives.
Many were seized and thrown into confinement, others inspected and probed, many of us were taken away and subjected to internal examination even dismemberment, anatomical scrutiny.
We had become the source of food for our invaders.
Additional crafts came from the heavens joining their forbears.
Havoc was extreme as their weapons did their worst creating carnage in every different direction.
They lay waste to every surface and their vehicles cast out foul pollutants which poisoned the very air we breath.
Our world was quickly becoming an inhabitable, desolate disconsolate place and extinction our future.
Some of the braver of us tried to fight back but this alien nation had weapons and tools the like of nothing we had ever seen.
The lucky ones escaped into the nether regions and watched from afar as piece by burning piece their birthplaces were destroyed.
These Humans intend to colonise all that they see and our world will never be the same place again.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path be there or none,
While a fair region round the traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene,
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.
If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
With Thought and Love companions of our way,
Whate’er the senses take or may refuse,
The Mind’s internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.
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I struck the board, and cried “No more!
I will abroad.
What, shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit?
Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?
All wasted?
Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.
Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands,
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law,
While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away; take heed:
I will abroad.
Call in thy death’s head there: tie up thy fears.
He that forbears
To suit and serve his need,
Deserves his load.”
But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,
Methoughts I heard one calling “Child!”
And I replied “My Lord”.
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Steps these beginning steeps unavoidable the stains of water and mud clearly from Noah’s flood
Seeds crushed into the cracks from earliest civilization fiery ones left black shadows on the walls
Faint touches of red as clear as rubies square holes like those used in crucifixion could it be his blood
Beyond earths plain the steps are blocks of diamond burnished by the glory that brushed over them
Spirals that know no parallel in earthen design etched loves burning flame scenes of two worlds intact
The rise and fall of battles waged evil repelled the cost by sacrifice unto death they tread these steps too
From parapets of stone their souls ever bold made their way and vulcanized the heights adding impact
God called legions they left behind the puny Himalayas uncharted stars they pass still the steps rise
Rend me wool to hang among celestial worlds the maidens can weave this from mountain doll sheep
It will drape this spiral in great detail masters will add the flaming achievements a banner of honor to all
Hard places of the wall softened by showing perilous dangers overcame through eyes so fond that weep
Not one single foot will be lifted on this way who knows not the way of sorrow and pain only by this gain
The winds would tear you loose as you climb to those terrible heights the hands are steadied by might
Keep up the pace ever mindful of the race yours is not a level one but a crested one of brightest morn
The long days are fading all are nearing following those who from their climb know joy of almost flight
Look down look up these tiers look no stronger than thinnest silk not so this is an unbreakable ancestral chain your forbears forged that leads to heaven your place is add to this living chain
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
the dregs of your spotted smiles somersaulted in an elegant arc
fell in helpless array and landed nine planets away from my feet
and something slightly old still feeds my anger at your impatience
I forage through my grace to keep my tongue from spilling mess
and my heart feels all squiggly as I sneeze my way to your mocking silence
I gladly offer sweet indulgence while you openly despise my faults
I forage through my fantasies, not wishing to appear so trivial
lesions swell on the plastic head of revulsion
let not depression eat at your sweet magical pulse
still strongly beating in the sometimes sepulchral coffers of life
scorn not the honey bee buzzing or the hummingbird flitting
embrace the nuisance of calamity
for it helps along the way
to make vigorous the spirit
to wedge a cardiac space in place of pillowcase full of stones
where giants sleep in silent meadows across the land
sensing no sharp slingshot from no nifty bottle legged creature
and disappearing into the thicket would be the right time
on a heavy back, a child carries a burden made of toxic crayons
to melt away the awful prejudice of its forbears; undo the chains
the bringer of rain stands alone in a puddle, or is it a lake?
are YOU awake?
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
Will archaeologists dig
For veins of code
Lost scripts of forbears
In dead machines
Of love and grace.
On clear days will fathers
Hold children aloft on hilltops
with the render up high, no fog,
And proclaim legacies
Of digital lego.
'Soon child all this will be yours'
Will meaning be found
On a plastic thumb
Under a fingernail of silicon
In a Chain World
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 5:14 PM UTC
english is called a salad in irish / hardly Gaelic, but worded for a toast, and the poor treat the poor as might be a drowning traveller on the titanic without pearl or a four-leaved clover.
and might not be the tears
of haka forbears
be the light
worth sharing when the europeans
that looked stupid
in bleached worth a colouring
in foreign culture
they thought it was worth being televised;
salad / sushi wording...
you immigrant? you irish? no?
oh well... you dodo? the end!
idiot pole didn’t outsmart the irish muscle
or potato! gave way to mash and tartan
of lamb mince... and still the irish
"communicated" leaving the poles
and engaging with *******
to be cheap in terms of worthy slavery:
two patron saints an Irish... one **** marley
one irish double with rye bread...
then there's Ulster, half of Dublin might mind,
and a percentage of Poland under russia prussia or austria...
you ******* leprechaun!
hey! mediocre me with a ceilidh:
make that ireland on the rocks...
the queen of the e.u. where the rainbow
where u2 where the *** of gold?
in iraq... or so i'm told.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC
Don't walk on my side of the street,
we do not want to see your feet
pounding down on this sidewalk.
We feel no need to mix or talk.
Here are the rules that we send,
if you're not like us you're no friend.
So take this threat and do not stray
or with your life you'll surely pay.
We want our race line to stay pure,
we're happier when you are fewer.
So die you ******** do us a favour
for we don't like your cultures flavour.
These thoughts have always been in mind,
our message passed from kind to kind.
Children taught how they should hate
and never enter in debate.
We're happy just the way we are,
with bullets from a drive bye car.
Machine guns we can lock and load
Dead bodies lying in the road.
Why would we ever want alteration
and mix with lesser denomination.
We keep the streets clean as we sieve
sooner than integrate we would grieve.
It makes good sense that's what we learn
and then pass on when it's our turn.
Our children we do educate
and their forbears they emulate.
And on and on and on and on
and through this course so many gone.
They die because they cross a road,
or move out from their postal code.
We **** because he looks at her,
they die 'cause they decide to care.
Rather to **** them than to alter
we choose instead to maim and slaughter.
This is it, it's what you do
to those who do not look like you.
We must step forward and be brave,
and if they mix they choose the grave.
We are there to teach and show
for without this no-one would know.
Cultures they would amalgamate
then we would have no cause to hate.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
The endless sands bulging over and breaking
in undulating form
shifting in the winds language of low wolf whistles
and sensual whispers
stretches as far as the minds elasticity
into a sheltered cove where sits,
a desert prophet dreaming of strange rituals
in the mirage of waters and wastelands.
Come time and temperament he will rise
in the chill night to gaze upon the stars
moving within the spangled galaxies
between The Milky Way and Cassopeia,Andromeda,
with Sirius suns rising in a another world
where secrets lay buried in the papyrus
of ancient astrologers who understood
how the earth was born and
other peoples left their mark
for a discovery of millennium future.
The prophet was here once.
Twelve feet tall and striding
between giant obelisks and pyramids
walking oceans, crossing land bridges
and land masses escorting
his forbears to seed the earth.
"I will return in time
ten thousand years after the Aztecs
Machu Pichu, Indus and Empires
built on carved gods and seven headed hydra,
to rule again unquestioned, as before. Think.
Till then -leave what I have left behind
for you to caretake. Stay still. Understand.
Author Notes
Return?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
Ancient Stairwell
Steps these beginning steeps unavoidable the stains of water and mud clearly from Noah’s flood
Seeds crushed into the cracks from earliest civilization fiery ones left black shadows on the walls
Faint touches of red as clear as rubies square holes like those used in crucifixion could it be his blood
Beyond earths plain the steps are blocks of diamond burnished by the glory that brushed over them
Spirals that know no parallel in earthen design etched loves burning flame scenes of two worlds intact
The rise and fall of battles waged evil repelled the cost by sacrifice unto death they tread these steps too
From parapets of stone their souls ever bold made their way and vulcanized the heights adding impact
God called legions they left behind the puny Himalayas uncharted stars they pass still the steps rise
Rend me wool to hang among celestial worlds the maidens can weave this from mountain doll sheep
It will drape this spiral in great detail masters will add the flaming achievements a banner of honor to all
Hard places of the wall softened by showing perilous dangers overcame through eyes so fond that weep
Not one single foot will be lifted on this way who knows not the way of sorrow and pain only by this gain
The winds would tear you loose as you climb to those terrible heights the hands are steadied by might
Keep up the pace ever mindful of the race yours is not a level one but a crested one of brightest morn
The long days are fading all are nearing following those who from their climb know joy of almost flight
Look down look up these tiers look no stronger than thinnest silk not so this is an unbreakable ancestral chain your forbears forged that leads to heaven your place is add to this living chain
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 3:58 PM UTC
The Celtic Cross
Around my neck is often seen
An ancient sign
Of where I go and, too, have been
The cross more ancient
Than the Christ oft signified
A mere expedient
To Rome when Jesus died
Although I wear it in His name it further goes
To those whom Hadrian so feared he built his wall
The land where rivals are the thistle and the rose
Where the blood of all my forbears once did fall
As their mingling souls in Heaven thence arose
The stones within the mist cast silent pall
Cori MacNaughton
8Mar99
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
Inevitable, that the circle be completed,
celebrating our seasonal return to the
sheltering abode by river, bearing winded
surround sounds to our isle of near-perfection,
where slivered tongued foamy waves deposit
new & used poems on beach, emptied from
now repurposed sea shells and hardened
conchae's, evidence that the truest inhabitants
never leave, always return, with their markers
Inevitable, that I write this in premature
anticipation, amidst the towers of babble,
& honking taxis, imitating Canadian geese,
who await our presence to refute any paper,
that we fool human claimants, before Nature
pretense of ownership, are not mere renters, albeit
but for a few centuries, which by larger definition,
is an interim short term lease, writ in invisible ink, that tho it
yellowing disappears, the orange summer heat magic revives
Inevitable, that decades of worshiping this
place, now mindbound, as temple, shrine, to
a place extant in our minds, wherever we be,
as land that owns us; here, we have buried
super~hero figurines, sanded, polished memories
of loved ones, parents, friends, adventures, times,
confusing generations, for the children of earlier
children, whose children, now too scream with glee
& courageous abandon, familiar+identical to forbears
Inevitable, that we live here, though life demands
our presence elsewhere, in our minds,* for each
year burnishes our genes with sun rays, while sand
smoothes our roughened skin, and we are only refresher
modifications of our earlier selves, when we first were
lost, and stumbled upon this grail, with shovels and
red plastic pails, with which we commenced erecting
foundations, homes, gardens and vines, and images
that are always at home in our minds, living on,
in real time…
May 4, 2024
May 4, 2024 at 9:37 AM UTC
Deliver me, with magic spell,
with gliding bow and ringing bell,
from this dark and dreary mood so fell.
The clock counts its minutes and its hours;
we obey its rhythmic, ordered powers
in the prisons of our shining towers.
The clock is but an artifice
from a tyrant’s workshop’s abyss.
Time was made for more than this.
Count not the hours, but the beat,
tap it with your dancing feet,
clap it, sing it, in the street.
A flute of bone was made before
the timecard and the clock kept score.
Our forbears knew what time was for.
Apr 13, 2024
Apr 13, 2024 at 9:31 PM UTC
you are resting, at long last,
your journey done,
and all that's left are memories
good and bad.
i needed you, and you were there,
as a father should be for a child,
to nurture and grow and discipline -
to be an example.
and now,
as i have done many times before,
i lay myself to rest,
another version of me taking up space
in the cemetery of my forbears,
all laid to rest with the same loving care
as a new me takes his rightful place.
i carry the torch, now,
and know that one day this will be my home, too,
as another generation will
take up this standard.
my son, i lay no burden on you but this:
live with the heart of the fire,
love with the depth of the oceans,
fight with the strength of the mountain,
and speak with the breath of the wind.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 8:08 AM UTC