Lineage Poems - Poems about Lineage

The tree of life has roots to the beginning of time infiltrating depths unfathomable lost in the nebulae of bygone memories the illusion of neat lines soon tangled in a fog hiding stories obsolete and long forgotten Diluted storytelling buried beneath fresh tales and soon hazy with its clouded details the feats out of mind fade into oblivion facts turned to hearsay are...

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I sit here with guilt and recent understanding. I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I sit here with remorse, and now I’m rebranding. Because to live is to learn and to learn is it grow. It is like I stepped in your shoes when I became a mother. You were doing your best, one foot in front of the...

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“…. It’s a deep thing to find out that you belong somewhere.” Roots Dirt Black Time Roots Drums Feted Tribe Roots That you belong somewhere, is a deep thing to find out. Bill Marable 12/15/24 12:20 pm...

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A man loses his father and adulthood begins Bathwater draining the baby within A son who is sireless new destiny’s child Whose choice is to run or to stand and beguile Alone with his memories one image sustains The voice but a whisper its spirit reclaimed To carry the title his lineage holds A surname retendered —new history untold (The New Room: July, 2023)...

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I am a son of the verse and the word, the spoken and written word... ...

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to be silent even though it might hurt our ancestors, our sons and daughters to I feel the fangs of dogs ripping their shirts the hoses of hatred drowning our roots the hats we wear those imperial crowns will silence doubt and reveal our lessons to fight on both legal and sacred ground the art of war with non-lethal weapons should we stand...

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A deep pink color tinged with orange like that of a flamingo walking with our feet in shallow water As I gazed upon the sunlight, dazed and bewildered Squeezing the life out of us we believed them just like Adam and Eve were cruelty taking over like cancer Asking us to put on a mask...

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Never forsake the lineage in which we originated from because the ancestors are watching us Their eyes are on the sparrow anticipating us to soar into our excellence Wash ourselves in their royalty while remembering they were kings and queens long before they became slaves and strange fruit Society wants to wipe the slate clean of our heritage by pruning the limbs of our family...

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Describing my lineage , I'm a son of word and verse, of the sword and the shell ... I am the fruit of love gestation of the rose and the carnation ... I'm made of: bones and flowers, flesh and dreams of muscles and truth, but mainly I am made of poetry ...! lirics of the song EU CANTO below the URL ...

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forging noble timeless art brute strength and skill reverence for the forces of fire innate passion for working metal precious knowledge passed down the ages honoring with pride millennia of blacksmith ancestry AP: Honorable Mention 2020 Posted on May 26, 2019...

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In These Days, We Prayed . ************************** The Curse On My Linage Oh linage I now sit and wonder, why thou have grown so slow in progress And wasteful in resources. Ah! Then i realize our great forebears Laid too numerous generational Curses on us all, curses That now beat the drums of Our imminent downfall; But centuries ago, People from other tribes, settlements and...

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Between a castle and a moat One small goat Strays too far, too long But nothing happens Yet scared stiff, the goat is scared stiff To see this beast, this terrible monster The medieval lands have made him out to be What can this beast do to prove There is beauty beneath his sharp teeth Beauty behind his scales Beauty beyond the smoldering ash belonging...

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Time takes age and does what it will Man ages and wishes time to stand still. There is infinite turning of the hands on a clock As mortals we hear the constant tick-tock. There is a human desire to leave something behind Hoping our earthly possessions ease our greedy mind. What is gathered on this planet of earth Can not bring us...

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Discarded old car Star on Grill Still a Mercedes...

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It was set on fire, the market place: from a distance I was watching, the hieroglyphic climate of the cutouts; some shoes with yellow human feet embedded in them, were thrown on the images of gods, lying on the steps of tanks: on hills the sex workers were doing brisk business in private retreats of the holiest of towns, a golden...

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