Best Origin Poems
Where do I come from? Well we all come
from somewhere. I was born in a small
town, here in in good old U S of A. South
to the border, by the Rio Grand. Mission
Texas is the town's name.
My real parents came from Mexico. My
grandmother, it was said - she came from
Spain. My grandfather was indian. He fought
in the Revolution. Both were on my mother's
side.
On my father's side, never knew too much,
only that the grandmother died kind of
young. The grandfather died years later, but
I never got to know them.
My father left my mom, when I was only three.
He never came back. My mother gave away my
sisters, than later she gave me. She only kept
my brother, maybe she couldn't keep me.
I was raised with a nice lady and her husband.
I learned to call her mom. That title she had
earned and my respect most of all. My parents
that raised me were poor, but made sure I had
something to eat. My mother made my dresses
so that I could go to school.
I learned to read and write and enjoyed school
very much, but I had to quit at fifteen to help my
parents out. Years later I went back and finished
my High School.
I did not go to college , or mastered in any degree.
I am what you might call self taught. For about thirty
years I worked with electronics and did my job well.
I gained respect from my bosses and high top
engineers.
My parents taught me good values that have helped
me through out life. I am not ashamed of my
origin, of Mexican Heritage I came. I am what you
would call a TEX. MEX. and I live up to my name...
Just a little about myself. Hope
you enjoy it.
written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
People are commonly different
Symbol of diversity piece
Pure race doesn’t exists
Color and creed are just an identity
Believe only in human history
God sculptured them from clay
People are equally created
Having many opposites
But respecting others taste
When everyone is treated equal
Nothing appears but peace in hand
Discrimination, disunity and, suffering won’t be born anymore
Written to advocate to suppress racism
Bandar Sandakan, Sabah, Malaysia
10:30-11:00 am, November 13. 07, Tuesday
Did you ever feel out of place
Were you the only one in the room
Not faith, sex, root, or race
Had to do with this gloom
You say something no one heard
With eye’s staring through your face
You dare not utter a single word
Did you ever feel out of place
As if they want you to fail
As if they want you to loose
Such a feeling of utter pale
Is this the place that you choose
If you leave this situation
No one would even know you were there
But since you have no real temptation
You use valor instead of flair
Did you ever feel out of place
No place for man to be
No soul’s true space
Move on there’s more to see
In silence where no echoes roam,
Before the stars were carved in dome,
Before the seas had learned to swell,
There stirred a Light no tongue could tell.
Not born of flesh, nor bound by clay,
Nor measured in the light of day—
The soul emerged, so pure, so still,
Breathed from the depths of Heaven’s will.
A whisper from the Heart Divine,
A spark of love through sacred line.
No greater truth was ever known—
That we were never, ever alone.
The soul, a flame without a name,
Fell gently like a golden flame.
It kissed the womb of space and dust,
Entrusting all with sacred trust.
It wrapped in form, forgot its flight,
Became a child of day and night.
It laughed, it wept, it broke, it bled,
Yet felt a pull from Light ahead.
A homesick ache within its chest,
A yearning not for food or rest,
But for the arms that once embraced,
The Source it knew, the Face it faced.
Through lifetimes layered thick with pain,
Through joy, through loss, through sun and rain,
It carried deep, though buried far,
A memory of who we are.
Then came the hour the veil grew thin,
When grace awakened truth within—
A voice, not heard but deeply felt:
“You are the Light in which I dwelt.”
“You are no orphan of the stars,
No wandering ghost with shattered scars.
You are My breath, My sacred gleam,
A verse within My endless dream.”
And in that touch, the soul could see
It wasn’t bound, it had the key.
The chains were thoughts, the walls were fear—
But God had always been so near.
The soul then bloomed in quiet grace,
With tears that washed the inner space.
It rose in love, and there it knew—
Its home was not a place, but Who.
So now it walks with softest tread,
With stars above and Light ahead.
And in its chest, it holds indeed—
The bloom of God—The Divine Seed.
Once there was nothing called universe,
From a Big Bang the present universe was born,
The earth was small in size,
The temperature of the earth was in extreme condition;
At first it was thousands degree Fahrenheit,
After the course of time it came into present cool situation.
At first there was nothing but carbon di oxide,
From the sea water oxygen started to mix with the earth's atmosphere ;
The tress started to be grown for animals abide .
That time dinosaurs started to be roamed everywhere,
Suddenly different types of esteriod started to fall on them.
They started to run from here and there.
Once they were disappeared because of the extreme heat,
Some animals were capable to survive;
Rest of them were alive who were able to avoid natural threat.
After that extreme period of time,
A unique beings started to raise their heads called Homo-sapience.
They started to make their own regime.
Now we are called human being,
We are super creature indeed;
We will destroy our own world for the results of continuous bombing.
Back in eighteen-eighteen upon Christmas Eve,
Father Joseph Mohr just baptized a child,
Oberndorf’s Parish Priest then walked on home
within peaceful silence he felt quite inspired,
so he wrote a poem about how he felt;
and organist friend Franz Gruber in town,
put a tune to the words sung to the children
behind a guitar; the organ had broken down.
The Oberndorf people at Christmas each year,
would join in together singing this song,
and many years later, since it was written,
at a Leipzig market a man walked along.
He heard the song by the voices of children;
impressed with the choir, and what he’d seen.
The Royal Conductor then asked the children
to sing this song before the king and the queen.
In the Cathedral their song book excluded,
the author, composer; unknown and unheard.
On a visit to Vienna the Cathedral choirmaster,
heard the very same tune sung by a cage bird
whose owner declared the bird came from Salzburg,
where the master met a choirboy who knew the song.
He was Felix Gruber, the composer’s son who’s amazed
that the tune for these words still at Christmas is strong.
But Father Joseph Mohr from that peaceful eve,
would never know that his powerful write
on his feeling for Christmas will be evermore …
So please join me and we’ll sing Silent Night.
Silent night holy night,
All is calm, all is bright,
‘round yon virgin mother and child,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Back in eighteen-eighteen upon Christmas Eve,
Father Joseph Mohr just baptized a child,
Oberndorf’s Parish Priest then walked on home,
within peaceful silence he felt quite inspired.
The nagging thoughts of my sleeping heroes haunt a chamber of my hearts
Weary of guilty mind, I decided to appease the heads of our string
Like a prodigal I walked as stormy cloud envelop the tranquil path
Totem of my clan stood proudly, gazing me their repented offspring
I kneel before a head stone as solemn tune toll from mystical instruments
My tear drop touched the sympathetic hearts of the late
Gently pearling breeze signaled their invisible present
I felt their caressing touch as my heart pulsates
I am guilty oh fathers of the greats
For I was lost in modernity-age of excessive pleasure
Accept my plea oh noble men of late
For thou hold the key of our eternal treasure
According to African Igbo mythology, one must be in good term with his ancestors in order to be successful in life
For Francine Robert's Totem in the darkening sky contest
How Beautiful Humanity is,
A Piece Of Wandering Souls
Looking up for Immunity, Upon a Soul
Which had been long lost with it's Origin
The Origin is but, The Struggles of our Ancestors
To make a divine living, Beautifully crafted
Out of Love and Affection
The Staff of Oranmiyan, exploring down
The Heart of the flourishing city of Oyo
Dictatorship in it's strictness, So gripping
It dries out the Blessed River of Álàsé
Like flowers fall out in Autumn, Bedridden
We are the Crafts of Life longing for itself
We May house our body,
But the Origin houses our Soul
Which had fallen, Abreast
Maybe I see a lot of Perfection,
In Kahlil Gibran's
He surely is, but a bedrock
Which I set out my tender feet
Into the world of Muses in their most brilliant creation,
The world of Poetry,...... The Rythm of Poets
Our Origin as "POETS"
@ThePoeticMembrane
????
Origin of the name Swahili
Or " Kiswahili" ,
One person said , " Iswa ile"
Another person said," Iswa iyi "
Swahili is one of the Bantu
Languages
Like isiZulu , Kifuliru,
Kinyindu, Kikuyu
Xhosa, Chewa, Kivira ,
Kinyarwanda Lingala ,
Tchiluba, Kimakuwa,
Kibemba, Kimasanza
Isivenda, Luganda, Kiluya
Kirundi, Kishi, Kibwari
Kinyamwezi, Isiswathi
Isindebele, Kibembe
Sotho, Kikongo,
Kimongo, Chiyawo
...... so on.
Swahili has little influence
Of Arabic due to Islam in Africa ...
Which does not stand
for its origin
As some people spoke
here
and there
To underestimate
Swahili in the World.
Arabic
And
Swahili have
Different strictrures
And
Grammar
Which prove their big difference
No matter few arabic vocabularies
Are in Swahili,
Same as
In Urdu,
Hindi ,
Persian,
And
So on.
I have never heard
Some people who quoted
About Persian to be originated
From Arabic because of few
Arabic vocabularies
Which are in Persian.
Swahili is Bantu language,
With strictures and grammar
As the above Bantu languages.
June 10th 2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
Note:
Iswa: it is a flying insect
which majority
bantu people eat.
"Iyi , ili, " means This...
"Ile, hile" means That...
Iswa hile"ile" means that flying insect,
Iswa hiyi " iyi" means this flying insect.
That is where the name Swahili found its origin.
Swahili people are called
" Baswahili or Waswahili "
Which can stand for Swahili speakers
also.
Authentic Swahili is of DRCongo ,
because it has 1% influence of Arabic as
Muslims don't reach 2 % of the populations.
For years, not a few, and long overdue
I came to this realisation
how little I knew, in fact not a clue
of Classical Civilisation.
So out there I flew, on holiday too,
to garner familiarisation,
to study anew, a modest review
of Greece and her rise as a nation.
In a car which was blue and not very new,
but offered me mobilisation,
I stopped, it is true, for a breathtaking view
to savour my rustic collation.
The wine was a brew of dubious hue,
which said it had fermentisation.
It wasn’t a cru nor vintage I knew
but offered anaesthetisation.
With no more to do, the cork I withdrew
to satisfy liquidisation.
I drank the lot through, my mind all askew,
it banished my guilty sensation.
When thinking it through, I knew what to do;
emboldened with this revelation,
bethween me and you, I now can shay BOO
to Clathical Shiverlization.
~
by Charles Clive
for 'Politically Educated Free Poetry Contest'.
And under the moonlight , your eyes shone in mirth.
I could decipher an impish twinkle in your coffee-brown eyes.
You hauled myself ; put your arms around my waist.
Forming locks with my miasma dark hair which brandished on my shoulders , you whispered those three words which nearly changed the meaning of my life.
They were not the typical I LOVE YOU. It was something unusual , ***** .
I could sense the veto your voice as when you uttered these words :
I feared the worse.
Amidst the aches and the pains , the night and the day , heaven and abyss
Those words dwelled into my being like the wicked salt in the sea ; there , where it all began...
There's this little fuzzy wuzzy bunny,
Who all year round eats loads of honey.
Now you’d expect his tummy to be runny
This fuzzy wuzzy little bunny
However, the honey has an adverse effect
And when I tell you, you will not like it I expect
The poor sod suffers from severe constipation
Until he feels a bowel movement sensation
He seeks a discrete place to release
The load that make him look obese
His baked in for a year in his tummy
The poor fuzzy wuzzy little bunny
With his hind legs astride, bunny squats just a bit
Knowing the pain he has to suffer when it's time to have a sh-t
First, come out as little pebbles then follow the great big boulders
The kind that gives him the feeling his been split from his a-se to his shoulders
He chews grass as a medicinal lozenge
To numb his a-se that now looks like a blood orange
Fuzzy wuzzy little bunny knows it all over when he lets out a great big fart
Then picks up his mess discretely and hides it in isle 14 at Kwik Mart.
==============================================================
~*~
" one blood's flowing in veins ... one heart's beating in rhythm - a MOTHERLY LOVE "
thirsty? blood is here to quench my thirst
hungry? starving? body's here to fill my tummy
life is here to sacrifice
breath is here even its very last
tears fell in melodious harmonic beat
laughs jibe in embellishments of lyrical blithe
cries mourn in echoing hymn of woe
words sounds in profound cyclic tune
love flows incessantly ...
my queen, owning the golden crown of my life's honor
my sculptor who shapes and molds me up
my painter who puts the ravishing spectral hues in my flawed life
my architect who builds the home of my life's essence
my doctor who cures every imperfections, weaknesses and frailties
and my number 1 fan ... who's always there to be proud at my BEST .
thank you for what you do unconditionally~~
now,
when you're at thirst, my blood is here to quench yours
when you're at hunger, my flesh is here to fill yours
~~you and I as 1 ...
one blood's flowing in veins
one heart's beating in rhythm
a motherly love that keeps me breathing in life~~~~
"I LOVE YOU MOM"
~*~
==============================================================
*-* JUN-JUN VILLANUEVA
*-* "MOTHER" contest by A Rambling Poet
There once lived a friar,Thomas of Aquino
in latin,did his poetry flow
In a prayer anapestic
this form was to tick
until Lear gave AABBA ,a go
A rock thrown in the pond
makes a splash, vibrations sent
from its origin
depending on the force
determines how long it lasts
an accurate reflection of what just
happend
you came in the middle of the
storm while sailing in the seas
when all hope was gone
you pitched a stone made
of what it felt like to be in love
before impact there was a spectrum of bright lights and sounds
adding what needed added and subtracting what needed subtracting
as the force knocked me off my feet
I arose pulsing and vibrating
with your energy.
Abruptly, it was gone.
It was nice for the moment to know what it felt like to be in love
Again, searching for the origin