Best Ancestor Poems
Yesterday, I took out my new quill pen and
a bottle of ink.
I sat down at an antique table,
lit a half-burned candle and dipped my quill;
I wrote on a yellowed pad of calligraphic parchment.
Swiftly jettisoned into the past as,
the room began to change;
the table appearing to be brand new,
sported different legs.
The candle sat burning in a silver holder
instead of a cheap aluminum one.
This had happened before;
this visit to the past and
I had found an ancestor there.
This time, I found myself;
a writer in a past life;
penning olde English…
imagine that!
Family history
Is mostly a mystery
To those researching their genes
Your DNA tree
Does not seem to be
Worth more than an hill of beans
Women toiled in the clover
With Neil Down and Ben Dover
And though it could be a bother
Despite every fear
DNA makes it clear
Someone had it in for your father!
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Words From A Dying Ancestor
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2015
This is why
I
rebelled,
Dawn to Dusk -
It's why
I
was
malcontent,
over
the
cruelty
of
America's
enslavement -
Dawn to Dusk
Mopping
o u
r n
a d
neck
in
iron ring's,
chained
to
waist....
handcuffed
Dawn to Dusk -
Risking
life;
seeking freedom,
from
the lashing
cuts
of
a
Southern
whip -
Dawn to Dusk -
I fought
to
my
last breath,
against those
who
oppressed -
and
who stared
at me,
scornfully
Dawn to Dusk
I fought
back
those
evil eyes
of
hate;
even though
my
sable skin,
beaten
raw -
I fought
for
the future
of
my people
until
breath left -
Dawn to Dusk
Someday
we
won't
have
to
fight -
we'll be
free
At Last -
Psychopomp led me into afterlife
into the souls' of our forefathers,
into the dire grave, spiritualism,
i saw spirits, deities, the deads;
the beneficient dead of the night.
i laid on the ancestor's cult below
resting returns of darkness of the
ancient historical cult of culture.
i was introduced to the angelic
beings of ritual magic, the spirit
guides of theosophy and mysticism
the aliens of ancestral Ufology, Africanism and the neopagan gods which are the thought of soulsm.
my soul shattered and I found hope.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
Let the junky day pass
Much fret and tremor
The sound and fury
Shall die down
We shall return
In our sleepy self
Sleep
Deep sleep
And yet in deeper delve
We shall wake in time farthest
Our far ancestral fathers
and mothers
Are out on hunting
And we the eternal brothers
Hand in hand
Shall play
Shall paint the caves in mirth
When Our fathers and mothers
And the all
Are Gone to prey
I am not the magic of the Sorcerer's scepter
I am the luminance of certainty
The truth in all, the element's nectar
Carbon - iron - oxygen
Helium - nitrogen - hydrogen
Cast to burn in life's timeless trilogy
I am, I was and will forever be
Fixed in the vastness of time and solitude
An endless void among an indefinable multitude
A blazing point of light to see
In the silent loneliness of space I wane and swell
The immortal icon of all that is and will be
The fire of life's burning legacy to dwell
As the flame of all eternity
July 4, 2020
Musings on Space Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Be amazed by your strength;
it was given to you before your name was spoken.
Your strength is adored upon you by many;
many who knew of your arrival.
They waited, patiently, knowing that you are their merit.
Humble, mighty people who paved your way.
Now you stand on their shoulders, forever looking high.
Never turning back, only to regain their strength.
They walk with you; hold your head high;
for many are aim to follow.
A ripple across a pond
Disturbs the calm
A snap of a branch
Tells the hunt is on
Colored in earth
The prey dissipates
Absorbs the world
And imitates
The hunt draws near
He can sense his prey
The taste of fear
Lead this way
Not far now
Dinners near
Around the bend
Behind a brush
A clever beast waits
For the signal,
Begin the ambush
The hunter tries to escape
More prey stand in the way
Suddenly he feels fear
As spears draw near
Doric columns supported the xyst
with ancestral plane trees and boxwood
lining the spaces between and whispering
the secrets of ancient polished stone.
The promenade led to the gymnasium
where zealous athletes of strength and valor
practiced their regiment for the Games
to earn enhanced esteem and station.
So compelling now to amble and hear
their eager, raised voices of so long ago,
echoing through the walled garden
if one remains silent, and listens.
You were my sunshine
on my darkest day
You kept me super grounded
when I didn’t know what to say
You often tried to tell me
just what I should do
But I only nodded my head
because I am like you
You saved me from myself
on more than one occasion
You listened to me carefully
when I had to make a decision
Tragedy struck for you
and I wanted to be there
I wanted to tell you what to do
but I didn’t dare
You’re mind started slipping
and you knew things were not right
You thought you’d take a drive
and you ran a traffic light
We took you to the doctor
and got a startling diagnosis
You had a devastating disease
Lewy Body Dementia
It took you from
one extreme to another
We never knew who we’d be dealing with
an ass or a father
You slowed down on your eating
backed it way off
You started losing weight
because you weren’t eating enough.
Three bites turned to two
your nose running through and through
You starved yourself to death
now we despise Lewy Body too
I am wearing heavy feathers
with the gaze of the day lit to my backside.
A rotisserie routine,
hot with punishment and prayer.
Prayer for punishment,
punishment for prayer.
Answers from a sky beaded in blue birds,
upon gods’ supposed pretty blue fabric.
Crowned crows and drowned geese
barking their bird songs—
like god’s dog, a dog’s god.
Feedback fed back to my waterproof back.
Backed by waterproofed ears.
No water, no proof.
Not even of the air.
Myself, essential as an appendix,
wise as a wisdom tooth.
A modern sticky taste of evolutionary distaste.
An undriven itch paraded down a forked road.
Forked, ed;
I ask silver why,
silver when?
All it knows is where,
the non-knowing of a mouth.
Only a stabbed, spoonfed reflection,
down a downed throat.
Only, gagged.
Only, only, only.
One and only,
twice and only,
third and only.
Words like a broken car,
braking on my tired back.
Treaded wrong,
treaded right in the in-between spot.
Stubborn and beige as the day.
Shining with the sheen of a hydrophobe,
a homophone,
a synonym.
Silver seal skin,
sealed in,
sealed out.
Worn—all worn—over unmatched elbows
dripping dropped drops.
Pointed pens drawing the ink
down from my cupped jaw.
Southern drawn tears
written on a northern face.
Tearing torn words on the papered table,
cornered into torn corners,
soiling the bread on the table.
The bacon,
this belly fat.
Migrations rations.
A seasoning.
Sprinting, flying flavors
chased to the next season.
Only less of a lesson when school’s out,
only school’s never leave school.
Schools make students,
and fish,
and pheasants,
and flies,
and men.
Always an agent,
always a pharaoh.
Concealing the pyramids,
stealing cerulean.
Never claimed,
never claimed to claim.
But claimed clams
and bitten birds,
spun on a spit and spat on;
We all are—
all we are.
One poem of mine that warms the heart,
And reveals wondrous secrets from the start.
If I am enraptured you by my verse,
Remember, I was born in Zhylioy first!
To those who delve into life’s deep essence,
And find joy in its boundless presence.
When my poems shake through the earth,
Never think of me as dead of worth!
I resonated with my ancestor, Tonykok's lore,
And conversed with Kultegin, spirits of yore.
I shall not perish while Kazakh blood flows,
Through centuries, with you, my spirit grows!
I awakened one day with ancestors' might,
Hence my tongue remains fearless and bright.
Freedom’s pulse beats in my veins,
A rhythm alive, unbound by chains!
Centuries-old traditions, steadfast and wise,
We sought freedom under open skies.
Let not outsiders corrupt with their filth,
The pure waters of our blood and its wealth!
Open your eyes, rise, awaken, Kazakh!
Your name was always free, bold Kazakh!
To roam like the wind, across the earth,
Do not break the oath of your ancestors, Kazakh!
Losing track,
I ended up in an ancient cemetery.
Passing through rows of crumbling graves
stamped on sods and nettles strewn.
There I spotted,
a tomb bearing a name
of my ancestor, long forgotten
like an archaic script.
When neo-Nazis make their racist attacks
We need to remind them of some basic facts
Remind them there’s just one human race
And that we all originated from the same place.
She didn’t come from Bavaria or Alabama
An African woman was the first mamma
A woman with beautiful black skin
Was the source where all our genetics begin.
It’s good there’s diversity in nature and life
And sometimes it leads to trouble and strife
But you can’t really argue about the fact
That our common ancestor was a woman who’s black.
We find deep inside ourselves
The traits of ancestors therein dwells
Grandpa’s eyes, our Mom’s hair
Our stature from … who knows where?
What we claim as thought process
We may be forced to re-address
Twas Grandpa Lee that caused, you see,
Our newer minds to think like he.
Our gait, as we walk around
Has origins in history bound
Great-aunt Edna, strolled about
With identical strides – long and stout.
And talents that we think so fine
Are not all yours, not all mine
For somewhere in our ancestry
There lay originality.
Our composition, it is made
Of melded steel that made our blade
For all our ancestral kin
Provided steel to place therein
We flaunt individuality
But in truth, it’s not just we
‘Tis ages of posterity
That comprise our totality