"forerunners" poems
1995 saw the start of Generation Z,
the ‘iKids’ with a knack for this new-fangled technology,
Millennial 2.0,
caught in the limbo of the World Wide Web development and Rose Gold iPhones.
They say we’re adaptable,
but apparently we can’t make our own decisions about anything.
They say that we don’t care about anything
except for our tiny little screens,
but they forget who put them in our hands,
and they forget who they run to for help
when they forget how to troubleshoot.
They forget what kind of technology we need to keep sustaining life in the Information Age,
Caught in a crossfire because
Yeah, we’re 90s kids—but the 90s never really actually ended until 2006,
the only difference between two decades being
how much neon versus how much chrome,
and just how expensive accidentally opening the internet app on your mom’s blackberry phone was.
We’re nostalgic for all the things we can’t quite remember,
and half these high schoolers weren’t actually born until 2000 or 2001.
Most of us aren’t old enough to even remember 9/11, nothing outside of the news clips that our teachers show us in history class every single September.
I was born in the same year as the Columbine shootings.
The United States has not been at peace for a year of my life.
We are always fighting— fighting for everything.
Human equality,
posing arguments about micro aggressions and refugees, seeing the inhumanity in the past that we’re living.
None of us are older than 21,
under such hard scrutiny while Baby Boomers Wave 2 still run our country.
We inherited the Millenial’s exhaustion,
the generation before us spending our childhood fighting for all the things that we have never really believed in.
Fairytales.
Generation Z.
The ‘iKids’ who are going to one day be making leaps and bounds with technology,
the generation to nurse this dying planet back to health,
Millennials 2.0 who know how to learn from our forerunners’ mistakes,
who know how to adapt from Sidekicks to iPhone 6S Plus in less than a decade.
We’re the kids who have realized that fun is found in safe spaces rather than invading each other’s personal spaces.
They say we’re too sensitive,
but at the same time they claim that we’re desensitized.
And I thought we were the generation that couldn't make decisions.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
The bonfire was loaded
With exiting tales
Our forerunners legendary
Exploit's these daggers
Cut deep trenches in
Our mindseye we felt
Like the next generation
Of wrath true tales from
A culture of devil worshippers
Yet the tongue's wielding
The blade was non the wiser
Our innate minds chewd
Every word our lives Satan's
Recycling bin two five ten
Deaths and many generations
After we now realised that
We have to cut out the blade
From these forked tongued
Folk tales that whispers filth
Unto the unsuspecting ears
Of our beautiful children
Heroism emenating from
The subculture of criminality
And gangsterism must no
Longer be tolerated it have savaged
The Innocence of young lives
For far too long
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
#
My father said believe in nothing
My mother told me everyone will do you wrong
I thought to be taught a wise lesson
Sang along this song for far too long
Wasn't sure I'd know how to forget
or how to move on
My father cried only once
My mother never stopped her tears
Are we just vessels to be filled
with our forerunners' endless fears
Of a life that is begging to be lived
Just to be dead on arrival at the piers
My aunt said do what's asked of you
In the end no one could tell me how it's done
I jumped off the boat of broken ones
and got washed up at distant shores unknown
Though since then I saw many bright suns
never has anything clear been shown
Endless days of wondering
endless ways to go on pretending
always kneedeep in my head, always pondering
and how fiercely I'd like to be defending
the fragile insides of my chest but I let them keep plundering
hearts and hopes are constantly breaking and mending
To this shell I'm bound
for now my heart is cold and my ghost is still
in awe of what I haven't found
sitting on my mind's windowsill
wishing for a wind of change. May it be profound.
#
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 9:24 AM UTC
Long I followed happy guides,—
I could never reach their sides.
Their step is forth, and, ere the day,
Breaks up their leaguer, and away.
Keen my sense, my heart was young,
Right goodwill my sinews strung,
But no speed of mine avails
To hunt upon their shining trails.
On and away, their hasting feet
Make the morning proud and sweet.
Flowers they strew, I catch the scent,
Or tone of silver instrument
Leaves on the wind melodious trace,
Yet I could never see their face.
On eastern hills I see their smokes
Mixed with mist by distant lochs.
I meet many travellers
Who the road had surely kept,—
They saw not my fine revellers,—
These had crossed them while they slept.
Some had heard their fair report
In the country or the court.
Fleetest couriers alive
Never yet could once arrive,
As they went or they returned,
At the house where these sojourned.
Sometimes their strong speed they slacken,
Though they are not overtaken:
In sleep, their jubilant troop is near,
I tuneful voices overhear,
It may be in wood or waste,—
At unawares 'tis come and passed.
Their near camp my spirit knows
By signs gracious as rainbows.
I thenceforward and long after
Listen for their harplike laughter,
And carry in my heart for days
Peace that hallows rudest ways.—
2.2k
We shall speak, and by speaking loudly and fervently enough, we shall be heard.
We shall be heard, and by being heard, we will be dismissed as the lost denizens of a failing society.
We shall be dismissed, and by being dismissed, we shall not disappear quietly into the night as our forerunners have done.
We shall be branded "Communists" & "Traitors", and in doing so we shall aquire the attentions of those we aim to educate.
We shall not be silenced, and by refusing to be marginalized into a portion of "freaks and outcasts", we shall be known.
We shall not be paid off or coerced into "negotiations", and by maintaining unity, we shall be outlawed.
We shall not accept the scorn of those whose power seems unassailable,
and in so doing, we shall be feared.
We shall not accept platitudes and half measures as answers to our grievances, and in so doing, we will be persecuted.
We shall not accept a world where our worth as human beings is measured by GDP, and in doing so, we will become that which we seek.
We shall not accept that "Some people are better than others", rather,
we KNOW that liberty is born from knowledge.
We shall speak, and by speaking, be heard, and by being heard, we will effect change, and by effecting change, we will be victorious.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
Ancestral healing appealing my thought
Your forerunners leading lives in relation
Looking into the battles that have been fought
Looking into the events worth celebration
You forerunners leading lives in relation
An affinity for the homogenity
Looking into the events worth celebration
Releasing all the creativity
An affinity for the homogenity
The pain that helps us all to see
Releasing all the creativity
the courage to continue and be
The pains that help us all to see
Looking into the battles that have been fought
The courage to continue and be
Ancestral healing appealing my thought
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 6:03 PM UTC
The old gods watch in muted
fury, their statues abandoned
to live on shelves instead of
temples, seen as reminders
of a more ignorant time, when
men needed guidance more
than truth. Men now believe that they
know better — their god of science has
replaced his forerunners: those who
guided Man in his early days.
Those who weep in anguish, but,
forgotten, can no longer even
speak.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
From the incrimination of the whole
they gave us a paved road to nowhere
the Victorian homeless cougars
have only recently found their hearts
(undoubtedly to the honkys)
and who escaped
for the sky
was not alive
or sopping
or green
this miserable workplace
over the edge
for butcher's lines
~was not raven black
the spoons
or forerunners
(from dazzling peninsulas)
left alone
off the center
of the parking lot
the real city
of buggy stalled wanderings
~was not flesh stained
off the front of
private beaches
stood resplendent bottoms
sprung off low ebbs
for the dark world
and our fathomless silences
trumpets and banjoes
and electric mandolins
are thrown from the solitude
ear studs
and obscurity
out of the footsteps of
spontaneous supporters
the vital blood arrayed
without moonless stasis
and desert buckets
woodlands unkempt
against the mountain run
halted plains straightened
after the catch
***** martinis
and stiff bowlers
valley the single marcher
shetlands
and peasants
see clear to the horizon
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 9:56 PM UTC
This is my monument
My body of work
My Legacy
You are the fleshy materials through which my design is fulfilled
Your bones are the structures upon which my palace resides
Your hearts are pulverized into crimson paste
The walls are smeared in this grotesque essence
The ceiling drips with remnants of your soul
Feel the foundations shake and the rafters shudder
They tremble with the radiance of my power, of my sheer magnitude
I am the architect of demise
The carpenter of unequivocal destruction
I bathe in blood and mark my creations similarly
There is no escape from the Pandora’s Box that is my psyche
I will transform and transcend this world from its shriveled forerunners
Bricks of sinew are lain-held together by tendon
They reflect the solidity of my resolve
They are reminders of my Legacy
For after all
Genocide is my Magnum Opus
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
Gutsy-tyrants
In a black sky; people of politics,
With darkened and gruesome policies;
Monitored by moons their enemies,
With the heart of a tiger in conflict.
Thugs and forerunners of Boko-haram;
Hijackers and defaulters of Greenland;
Foolish wise men and corrupters of mankind;
Ye all, are engineers of bloodsheds .
Due to the crying bloodstream of the innocents,
The forest of the three-wise-men died away...
And the heaps of grace in Heaven hollowed heads;
Because nature necked nails like one who's gone astray.
In a black sky: people of politics,
Murdered kingship and belted tyrants,
Politicians wrecked worthy warriors...
And sojourn into complete catacombs of crisis
©AUTHOR KELLY JUUZ
[A SALIENT PROLIFIC AUTHOR...]
08/08/2017
08:52AM
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 4:57 AM UTC
Blame it on the wine and on
the roses
This is the city of angels
Blame it on the killers and on
the embezzlers
This is where they come to
rest, so let them rest
This is where they come to
die, so let them live
Sup on wet flesh and sip on
sweet blood
Grip green cash and step on
the graves of the forerunners
They built this land and these
angels are not yours
Sinners, unite.
Why blame it on the virtues?
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
So I was thinking aloud I was thinking about
All the evil in the world
And I had my doubts
To an extent of losing words I don't know if that's allowed
I was thinking of Pandora
Sent by the gods to humankind, but failed to see the best of both worlds
Her disobedience laced curiosity unleashed a plethora
Of all kinds of evils, vices that no words
Can describe. And taught my feet
To follow in her footsteps
In the beginning there was perfection
In Zeus' higher
Domain.
Prometheus caused distortion, Stole fire In a bid to assist
Mankind
A gesture that Zeus would resist
And bestow a punishment of some kind
Eternal ******* with a rock
And sent an eagle to mock
And with its beak poke at his liver
Forever I am many steps behind this offender
But our boats are harboring in the same dock
Does it not tell the all too familiar story
Of retrogression, so inexplicable
Of evils that come before glory
Only to pave way for peace that is never reachable
I was imagining Atlantis
And how it must have been the epitome of perfection
The ultimate Utopian sensation
Only to disappear, something seems amiss.
Yet nonexistent is that eminence in the present
All dwelling in the ocean's depth, death so imminent
No more footsteps, no more hands Just faint footprints among the sands
Yes I was thinking of the reasons for all the unhappiness
That remains mystified,
All the heart breaks
That never seem to be justified,
The feelings of emptiness
That can't seem to be fulfilled,
And how the days of old reveal
What it was like in the ideal
Two halves conjoined
Separated because they challenged the gods
Failing to avoid
Eternal incompleteness against the odds
Who am I to wish for change
My foregangers never even gave me a chance
Speaking of change
It probably doesn't exist
Not then, not now
Like prisoners in a cave,
Plato tried to reason
All we see is a shadow
Of reality in and out of season
And when we do see the light
Let alone the enlightened. Blinded still
We may,we might,
We most certainly will
Fail to realize our ignorance
Fail and never see the glory days
We are forever losing our feet
Falling head first
Supposedly moving forward, but realizing the worst
We are steps behind, following in the footsteps of forerunners we'll never meet
Miss Fit
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
The first rustlings are upon us
forerunners of the impending storm
the lull lulling lullaby quiet
all creation cradled in its song.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
reality can turn evil in an instant
your thoughts & mine
are what keep us distant
with my whole heart & soul
I embrace our free land
for our courageous soldiers
and my great liberty I will stand
to the forerunners of self-will run riot
stop pointing to the sky
in his eyes you are the Pontus Pilate
you're venom
like an open sore
on a ******
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 5:43 PM UTC
Travesties of tragedy
There was once beauties in my land,
very fruitful from clouds to sand,
And advocates of bossmanship rode-in;
dust of sands began to cry in sin.
When nature refused to be caged;
walls of my nation began lying in heaps of ruins,
When gold could not find a path for seizure;
Calamity of integrity clash will flood amidst entities.
Goddess of "what-else and priestess of "pretence"...
all I have seen lurking around our honeyspace;
For knights of blood is our rulers in distress,
and forerunners of seven-headed mistress.
Again, when nature refused to be caged;
politics became carnival of blood splash,
When peace, love and unity rejects immunity;
female wombs will contest for "the best weaponry arsenal" .
©AUTHOR KELLY JUUZ
[A SALIENT PROLIFIC AUTHOR...]
30/07/2017
01:49 PM
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 11:48 PM UTC