heredity gave me my eyes, my face, my teeth, my hair.
Also my father, who looked exactly like me said O’Hare
O’Hare is a fabulous red head, her father was a blonde.
I wondered at that moment, what planet she lived on.
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
Genome
I roam.
Passed down
Types known.
From face
From grace.
From eyes
From pies.
From hair
From air.
From skin
From grin.
From shape
From tape.
From noes
From knows.
From height
From right.
From head
From bed.
From hands
From stands.
From voice
From noise.
From health
From stealth.
From lips
From quips.
From cheeks
From peeks.
From joints
From points.
From tongue
From young.
From feet
From meet.
From taste
From waste.
From ears
From tears.
Heredity
The lamp that hangs from the ceiling
is made locally, one of a kind, and
it shines bright.
On the wall hangs its shadow, as shadows go
it is strong and has many details.
The shadow too has a shadow, a bit to the left,
this one is shifty pale, but one can still see
where it originated.
Alas, the shadow´s shadow too has
a shadow, so pale it hard to see its
ancestor was a lamp as it disappears into
the white wall and history.
A memory of – once upon a time –a dynasty,
until a new locally made lamp appears,
one that is not mass produced,
and has its own bright light.
When I was a child, all the neighbors said,
“He looks exactly like his father! ”
While back at home, said all my kin
“He looks exactly like his mother! ”
Then came the age I went to school
Teachers commented in perfect scroll
And wrote back then, “All things considered,
He is, in many ways, his sister! ”
So to home I scurried and found a mirror
To know which one was true, and what a wonder
And curious! Yet surprised I should not be
To find my father, mother, sister, all three—
—staring back at me.
The family album from times ago
Has faces I never knew,
Except…for a tint-type I feel I know
From eighteen fifty-two
The mouth is like mine and eyes as well—
Our cheekbones are high--the same;
But he was reputed to pact with Hell,
And shamed our honored name.
And I shrink at the mention of sorcery—
(The Devil’s work on Earth!),
But whisperings in our family
Have shadowed me since birth.
when all truths shall surface will you stand brave by my side
while ignorance still stands impervious to it,s pride
where no litenany or proven disgraces disrupt
those who where it,s been shown are corrupt
our triumph will be conscience and humble worth
for it is written the meek and the earth
liars dancers prophets,from birth were crippled and mute
your tongue your stance your pros
you are the wind to piccolo or flute
i hear you playing can you play what i hear