Ancestors Poems - Poems about Ancestors

When the mind slowly decays It doesn’t just affect the mind It affects the body, the spirit, the soul The spiritual horror of psychological torture Is how you treated black people The way you penetrated our minds with accusations of inferiority Treating us less than animals Less than the dirt on your shoes Generation after generation You have tortured my people Psychological...

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We dont have to use our voice to scream Because a voice isn't just words It's art, it's our presence, it's how we exist It's being unapologetically black Our presence is like the rain after a drought And the rain nourishes the ground It's like walking into a room and it's brought back to life Where once was darkness, has now been...

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Loitering around at the expense of my parents back, I too wish to be at the resemblance of hardworking thumbs, those same fingers that sewed the futile grounds back home, my mother’s yuca farm, my father's dying crops, dance taking their final waltz with the tumble- weeds in direction where my ancestors sleep while their bones continue...

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We forget we are like trees, our roots run deep, and far they reach Unseen they mostly are, hidden out of side, so deep Some forget them, and their histories and from where they came Their mothers, mothers, mothers name And their fathers, fathers, fathers name. These roots our foundation, have many names Without them,...

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I am all the people who came before me And I am all the people who will come after me This is an ode to all of our ancestors Just because we don't all share the same blood Does not not mean that we are not one To me inheritance Isn't just about family But communal experiences I...

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I opened my mouth to let them speak They told us their story of black fatigue I let their words seep through me Pen to paper their stories complete The words flowing My need for purpose growing The words I'm seeing We're full of meaning The stories the words told I let them unfold They had me in a chokehold I knew they should be known...

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Under massive beams ...

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A journey To the land of the dead A journey never to be forgotten Memories always popping in So many lives lost along the way An adventure into the forbidden land. It was a horror movie Watching my colleagues Being slaughtered by beasts A bloody journey It was a blood bath Started by many Survived only by few. We went seeking for...

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Today I’m grateful to have so may ancestors those I know and those I’ve never had the privilege to see.… Blessed to know they are somewhere watching over me. ...

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If you want to know why our ancestors are important… here’s a little rule of thumb… It’s difficult to know where we’re going… If we don’t know who we came from. ...

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We’re all born with a conscience and wherever we go in life our conscience comes along. It’s that voice inside our head that lets us know If what we’re doing is right…or if it’s wrong. As we grow…if we listen closely to the voice we hear it’s not always the same voice that whispers in our ear. Sometime it’s our parents,...

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Rolf was born in Wallertheim, in an optimistic year Progress seemed to be everywhere, and not much to fear. Then the reds took Russia, shook the world to the core Millions killed when in power, a crime you can’t ignore Drafted in World War One, every moment was a scare French came at him in bright red uniforms, too visible,...

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Every year for me begins with an earnest goal, One only, which I genuinely aim to achieve, This year I attempt to accomplish my life-long Poignant dream, an honest tale, a memoir to weave! This true story my passion for a few years, Fuse my unfeigned thoughts as sincerely as I can, Memories turn into reverie, stem from soul, my Humble quill...

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Native American ancestors join hands Chanting their mantra into the evening Most in sky rises have no idea what is happening Select three are empaths, they hear the chanting When they look out their windows they see power Giant native American ancestral shadows holding hands Showing their strength, love for the land Not caring to own it, but caring for it. No one...

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#Ancestors__clay_pot Vibrations under my foot, the magnetics takes course in my upper body, my mind shrivels thoughts, my third eye activated, before me a Sotho voice electrocutes my attention From my mothers side a palm appears, another from my father's side, I lay my sacred eye on the fore , a clay pot they present; take this...

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