Best Forbears Poems
All's not about Darfur
I've seen it, eerie winds
Moonlight through our thatch
We kissed round, one *palmie gourd
Kigali was but a miss
Waist-beads - beats to love
Have you heard the talk-drum,
*Fela's horns of brass,
Or the *Aladuras' joy of Alleluia?
My grandmother still walks miles
Just because her forbears did,
And shame on malaria
For the dearth of men
Oh, on Mandela's earth
Of Soyinka's nobel ideas
Africa - a big breast,
the good, the bad, the ugly. . .
all, as sucklings!
*palmie - palm wine
*Fela - Celebrated afrobeat musician
*Aladura - a popular african instituted christian sect noted for heavy prayers
What is this resplendent thing that sparkles ahead,
Pacing faster than limbs of incapacity
Beyond the all-pervasive dakness of want?
Could my eyes be playing upon me some sly pervasity,
Seeing things untrue, askew and errant?
Or is it a reality that they will be resewn
The torn bonds that linked me to the world of bounty,
Where I may be returning soon?
I've had a glimpse of the future;
What a beautiful and gorgeous sight!
Streams of milk do freely flow,
And pots of honey glitter bright
Against the blinding rays of a rising sun.
This days of plenty seem set in the Promised Land,
For I see the fertile shoots of a germinating future
Guarded by an armed angelic band
Recruited from beyond the azure;
A fulfilment of a trashed prophecy.
And children of fate weakened by ages of plight
There do sing day and night;
Feeble frames malnourished for centuries
Enrich themselves from celestial treasuries,
Where the obedient minions of the sky
Gathered in response to their cry,
While they laboured on the red soils of Egypt
Before God heard their cries and His mercies leapt.
Who else can see this vision
Of relief from pandemics of fate
And the gaping gallows of death?
A time coming when sons of men
Shall storm this ogres den
And avenge the murderous terror
Inflicted upon their long gone kith and kin!
And the forbears long dead,
Shall be awakened by cries of war,
And with might reserved for decades
Shall avenge the pain inflicted before
By their wicked adversaries
Who maim parents and drink the blood
Of their offspring left behind.
A time is reached in life if one remains
Alive to tell the tale: those certain things
He once performed routinely, ascertains
The notion, habits must desist which brings
About awareness: His mortality.
Employment ends; Retirement is here.
The monthly saving wanes. Frugality
submits to lavish tastes. The thirty year
Installment loan is paid. But now he’s glum.
He now forbears purchasing bananas
That are unripe for fear his death may come
before they ripen. Shakespeariana
Unfolding: Final act that yields a frown:
The man’s demise, they ring the curtain down.
Sleep our glorious ancestors, sleep!
Do not be disturbed.
We,
your descendants would never betray
The blood you have shed to liberate
Our land.
The Land of:
Homer and Hesiod
Aeschylus and Euripides
Socrates and Plato
Hypocrates and Alexander
For
We would never let another enemy,
No matter how powerful,
To invade our holy motherland-
The birthplace:
Of Philosophy
Of Democracy,
Of Tragedy, and
Of the Olympic Games.
Sleep you, immortal heroes of freedom, sleep!
Let your blessed souls roam onto the Elysian fields, and
Let yourselves enjoy the company of our
Forbears:
Of Hercules,
Of Achilles
Of Odysseus, and
Of Agamemnon
For
We stay vigilant guards instead of you
Ready to safeguard the values and ideals
For which you have fallen.
Ready to follow your footsteps, and
Ready to die for our land: Greece
Which
You have liberated after four hundred years of
Insufferable and tyrannical occupation.*
©Demetrios Trifiatis
25 March 2021
*The Ottomans captured Constantinople (Istanbul), which was
the capital of the Byzantine empire for eleven centuries, on the
29th of May 1453. Greece remained enslaved till the 25th of
March 1821, when we Greeks revolted against the oppressors' tyranny and after a long war, we managed to liberate ourselves!
Long live Freedom. Long Live Greece!
in silence
the shire plods his path
in footsteps of the past
Note: On holiday recently,we took a trip by canal barge pulled this way.Very evocative for me, as on my mother's side,her forbears were canal people,and thats how they happened to arrive here in my hometown.
In the dark of night
The monsters came
Creeping and creaking,
Breathing my name.
Peeking through windows
Slipping under my bed
Upon closing my eyes
They entered my head.
Coming out of the fog
Intending to kill
Chasing and racing
Craving blood for a swill.
I’d wake to my screams
Coming out of my throat
Heart beating fiercely
Like a drum to the note.
Then they’d be gone
Heading back to the shadows
Waiting till dusk
Like death for the gallows.
They'd always be back
Taunting my mind
Scratching and scraping
Whenever inclined.
As I got older
They changed how they fed
Feasting on doubts
Their method instead.
Using my forbears
Their sins and their crimes
Planting the seeds
In the back of my mind.
Could the sins of the father
Be the sins of the son
Promoting the notion
Wrongs may be rerun.
Could the demons from past
Walk to the future
Festering inside me
Much like a tumour.
Maybe this blood
That courses my veins
Is genetically soiled
Carries a stain.
So if you hear screams
In the dead of night
It’s me and my terrors
Please consider my plight.
Bought at an antiques store for a song:
unframed print #225 of 750, signed by the artist
Number III of the family name, all painters,
(presumably) Those forbears hard to discard--
"Stay Awhile" its title, hospitably captioned by
a country boy, like my father, perhaps-- posing
beside his favorite horse on the back roads
of Race Pond, Georgia, his playground by
birthright, the Okefenokee Swamp.
Staying awhile, I place myself in the painting,
its cool morning mist in the hills beyond.
The white clapboard house, red-roofed, six
front windows, one dormer peeking out
from the eaves; four steps up to the porch
from the under-the-house black earth the house
was built on; its checkered slats at the base
prohibiting the crawl space where the doodlebugs
hide. Kitchen matches to be left untouched,
heeding the grownups chide. Only to the bugs
is it dire: "Doodlebug,doodlebug, hurry
on home--your house is on fire.
Two Christmassy trees hug at opposite ends
of the house, awaiting December decoration.
A grassy knoll rolls down to masses
of white and yellow sunflowers in a frenzied
welcome. Past the grayed barn where
tools are kept and the horses are tethered,
I place myself in the painting, flying Superman style,
spread eagle, arms out, facing downward
past clapboard house, barn. Then, into the hills
with their pale promise of perennial dawn where
there is no sorrow, no pain, no heavy heart
unshared, no loss we cannot bear.
1.cinquain.- love at first sght
Adeaide Crapsey cinquain form first motivated my interest in poetry
2.imagist- viduage
Capturing an enigmatic image into words upon my page my continuing inspiration
3.shortform. footle bonie&clyde
creating the footle form encapsulated my initial novice learning curve as a poet
4.openform-sound poems
Open form organic style marked the change in style to longer forms
5.tribute poetry- to be or not
my fascination for origins of inspiration leading to this form of poetry, in tribute to my forbears therein.
6.christian - litany prayer
My committed Christianity led me naturally to use God's poiema giftings
7.ekphrasis-descriptive the form
I discovered this form enabled me to combine my hobbies of art &poetry
8.found poetry -beyond love
The inspiration of others actual words enabled the creation of my unique poetry therefrom
9.humour/wit -silence for a clerihew
Light hearted poesie was a key part of my formative discipleship as a poet
10.love/passion -amatory ayre
Poetry is an natural vehicle for love expressions to my first & lasting
love of my life
Forbears,Edie,Kate and Ann furnished apiece with brush and pan.Each
Victorian 'Miss' tied in service's abyss.Far off days,now long gone,their toil each
day was lengthy and long.With fires to light,floors to scrub,and carpets to brush
and drub.Mops forbidden,as they smeared the dirt and begrimed their prim
alpaca aproned skirt.They cleaned 'his' tub,emptied 'her' commode,a regular
chore in a housemaid's daily load.Must rise at six but never to mix and no matter
what,keep a stiff upper lip.Never lose your cool,a formal curtsey the perpetual
rule.Half day off once per month,so free to roam and catch the omnibus home.No
other opportunities in store except a marriage at eighteen or before.Upstairs and
down stairs ,no in between,starting out at just thirteen and just there to please as Master and his Lady take their ease.
Where Are You
I stand upon a precipice
Where once a battle raged
Between just two... the rest of us
Still searches...unassuaged...
So many questions torment me
(I should or should not done)
A constant torch of agony
Forbears a love unspun...
Still nothing fills this empty space
Where promises once were
You vanished! Gone! Without a trace!
In echoes...now you stir...
Faint silhouettes lost in the dark...
Hope's murmurings decried...
This longing bleeds without a mark
Or traces...since you died.
2.1.2017©deborah burch
Quatrain
CONSIDER, THOU BRAIN
Would thou consider, Brain
How much is the worth
I have strived these many years
From childish curl to bristly grey hair
In other for thee to reason and
Be the base of ingenuity to life?
For this, I schooled thee
Here and overseas in alien soils
Larning to enhance thy noesis
Journey round climes and sites
Of earth for thy exposure
And get thee conform to the times.
For thy sake I have subject
The other members to suffer
From sleep, food and labour
From leisure and exercises
All for thy restless quest
To discover, know and create.
But thou hast not yet reached
The end of thy quest and suffer
With all thy conjectures.
Beware to what thy reasoning
Is leading unto…thy own demise
For there is no end to knowing.
Thou hast become apathetic
And prone to apoplexy
With all features aged before time
Because thou hast failed to realize
Einstein is common sense by which
Thy crude forbears have rest!
Cornwall is my homeland
And will forever be,
Its pulse and mine in unison
With the pounding of the sea.
Cornwall is my homeland,
My roots run tin-mine deep,
The connection to my forbears,
A treasured link to keep.
Cornwall is my homeland,
Of my being it is a part,
For it resides within my soul
And it beats within my heart.
Cornwall is my homeland,
Its sea, rivers, land and sky,
And when my days are over,
It’s where I shall forever lie.
he came, his sword unsheathed
like his forbears in -deed
cutting through thickets of injustice and oppression
he plunged deep into
the hearts, and the heart of corruption
he came, a priest in lyrics robe
made an altar of music
he called forth saxophone
horns and drums did his bidding
lyrics, rhythm and harmony were his adornments
imbued with power of music
he cast off cassock of white lily thoughts
and embraced the gourd of black wisdom
necklace of cowries adorned his neck
he pulled down frontiers and fortes
of imperialisms and all isms
he lived Africa
bought and thought Africa
he died African....
FELA ANIKULAPO KUTI
Forbears,Edie,Kate and Ann furnished apiece with brush and pan.Each
Victorian 'Miss' tied in service's abyss.Far off days,now long gone,their toil each
day was lengthy and long.With fires to light,floors to scrub,and carpets to brush
and drub.Mops forbidden,as they smeared the dirt and begrimed their prim
alpaca aproned skirt.They cleaned 'his' tub,emptied 'her' commode,a regular
chore in a housemaid's daily load.Must rise at six but never to mix and no matter
what,keep a stiff upper lip.Never lose your cool,a formal curtsey the perpetual
rule.Half day off once per month,so free to roam and catch the omnibus home.No
other opportunities in store except a marriage at eighteen or before.Upstairs and
down stairs ,no in between,starting out at just thirteen and just there to please as
Master and his Lady take their ease.
Artfully dodging explosive solutions
pretending shackles restrained prisoner
lobbed pseudo Molotov cocktails
kindly, loosely, and mutinously linkedin
liberal short (make believe) chain
leashed faux abysmal isolated confinement
former courtly poet,
who consumed prison fare
equalling bread and thin gruel
poetical, quizzical, and rational thinking
wrought eventual gladness!
Meanwhile elsewhere within
another complex edifice
Stormy (Daniels) reign
came and went
accompanying barren
cruel don, trumpeting
issuing expansion fiat
wielding, gesticulating, brandishing...
ironclad golf club spouting art of the deal,
whereby might versus right
simultaneously Putin on the ritz
song and dance routine
crooning Ivana mock up Earth,
especially figurative roasting statesman christened
Elijah Cummings, an American politician
and civil rights advocate who served
in United States House of Representatives
for Maryland's 7th congressional district
from 1996 until his death in 2019.
That oversized ego freezer
with pouffed hair,
who shall not be named
made abominable destiny manifest
regarding eminent domain
dominion, he forcibly
relocated natives to Cajun shelters
charging them admission fees
manumission granted serving
white supremacist conveniently optioning
kids as scapegoats
re: Deferred Action for
Childhood Arrivals (DACA)
labor away migrants
grunts passive pluperfect targets
no matter forbears indigenous
to America unfortunately
been man-date to bite bullet
within badlands of El Paso
meanwhile oblivious hermit aging
barnacle encrusted manacles
absorbing cumulative dampness
no longer granting resistance
to life nor limb
timely manumission lovely bones restored
swallowed potion frothing colorful brew
contrived exquisite firearms.
Ah redeemed character
(any resemblance between
initially mentioned unfortunate soul
and living persons purely coincidental)
mentioned at outset of poem
broached out Alcatraz replica
free and clear fresh air revived
fifty shades of gray
immediately sieged moment
weakly hollered carpe diem
elixir imbued immunity
against taken hostage at gunpoint
freedmen impressed into service
while waved magic wand
whereby enslaved women
retaliated hashtagged misogynistic
took appropriate revenge
as apprenticed warrioresses!