Long Ancestor Poems
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To everybody, but especially -
I write this poem for the elderly
who like to wield their awesome pen with might!
Make poetry your legacy and write.
Imagine this: you come upon - one day -
the “gem” of an ancestor passed away.
How thrilling knowing what brought them delight.
Make poetry your legacy and write.
I think that even though change comes with time,
the past still teaches in free verse or rhyme.
Past mistakes might set our future right!
Make poetry your legacy and write.
We’ve much to learn from those who went before.
Words to descendents ought to be the door
that brings so many vital things to light.
Make poetry your legacy and write!
March 11, 2021
for Line Gauthier's Poetry As Legacy Poetry Contest
With a call like a Kuia,
the wail commenced our ride.
Gently bathed by mighties
Marama and Matariki,
our path lay clear and bright.
Ko Te Tohoraa, the nurturer,
hikers nestled nicely by her nipple.
Strolling on with Te Tohoraa,
on a breathless yet perfect stride.
Honoured journeys
both near and far,
are lovingly remembered with aroha.
Memories remain with such sunny smiles,
and a staunch salute to
Te Tohoraa.
______________________
Ika Moana: Traditional name for a Whale.
Kuia: an elderly woman, especially a female relative or ancestor.
Marama: Clear, light, moon.
Matariki: Matariki is the Maori name for the cluster of stars also known as the Pleiades
Te Tohoraa: The Whale. Also, the name affectionately given to a 1998 Toyota Dyna - campervan that I recently had the utmost pleasure of driving (and holidaying) for 1300km. Hence this tribute!
Aroha: Love
wing's spread for morning flight
catching the wind at first dawns light
wings take me high , so high i might
see the place to end my flight
soaring above forest grandure green
scenes of mountains and glorious streams
only birds can see these things
for the eye's they were given
were made to be keen
like a bird leaving Noah's Ark
searching for land just a small part
and perhaps a little something to take
back to the Ark
of long gone ancestors i dream
like all birds, i dream
i dream of a bird sitting in a tree
i dream that that bird is waiting just for me
when i land she will not flee
she will have something just for me
there it is the tree
with one lone dove waiting just for me
i'll ascend , like the spirit
of my ancestor before me
that landed upon the Messiah, gently
and rest with her i will not leave
from now on to her i'll cleave
The color of blood remains unchanged,
flowing for eons in the stream of time evolved,
as the ancient singular ethnic ancestor etched
the diverse footprints of humanity on the globe.
The splayed common heredity thriving insulated,
flourished into different lineages of humankind,
the physical traits diversified to get typified,
while melanin played with color on the skin.
Born to breathe the free air of the blue planet,
equality pines under the shroud of deprivation.
The unkind human history gets modulated
with the misplaced sense of superiority.
Evolution produced physically distinct groups,
the construct of race isn’t grounded on biology,
but is a socially invented concept used to exploit
the people of color who are not less human.
In the egalitarian framework the critical paradigm
recognizes the banality of racism afflicting social norms.
People born under the free sky deserving equity
like to see the human race becomes color blind.
July 18, 2021
Contest : Critical Race Theory
Sponsor : Anthony Biaanco
GAME CHANGING
an intimate
portrait
the heart
&
the core
an audacious
scattered
gesture
in a stylistic
spirit
an indescribable
experiment
continues
to speak
as
never-before
with creative
courage
to illuminate
the
groundbreaking
impression
of
surprising
abundance
endlessly
devoted
enthralling
landmark
of accidents
&
surprising
narrative
of the
conventional
reborn
through
the eyes of
art
a decipher
to the
ancestor
made
abstract
a blurring
of art
with
life
in a palette
of
freedom
&
liberation
made
manifest
&
caught in
paint
in
an
imaginary
universe
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
The Jester
The castle page sent for him
And the jester could quickly conclude
That despite a life of grandeur
The king was in a sad mood
His entrance was swift and grand
Sweeping gestures as he advanced
A job all his own, to uplift the throne
As he cavorted about and danced
All the while he couldn’t help but wonder
Why the King always had a sad face
How can it be? If that could be me!
What I’d give to sit in his place!
The king appeared quite amused
Gone was his dark gloomy shroud
As the sure footed merry jester
Delighted both he and the crowd
The Jester proved quite the performer
A minstrel and fine acrobat
He regaled the king with tributes
While wearing his three pointed hat
But secretly the King was longing
Condemned by each royal ancestor
He’d gladly step down and forgo his crown
In exchange for the life of the Jester!
Waiting around, heart’s failing, to death I’m resigned
Lying in a bed, someone wake me, going out of my mind
I sense sharks swimming below, angels are flying on a high
Staring into my taped shut eyelids, tis hard work wanting to die
Machines keep me breathing, pumping air throughout each lung
Different tubes stave off urges, sponge moistening my tongue
Buzzers bleep, my family whispers ‘we love you’ I can hear
Overcome in sheer emotion, trickling out one final tear
A soft breeze caresses my face, then appears hazy light
Warmth wrapping itself around me, boy this feels just right
Whatever you are, I give myself freely, I’m in utero once again
My umbilical tube forms a tunnel, eternally looping without an end
Crossing through the multiverse, trillions of portals swirling around
They can feel my presence, it’s so beautiful, only love abounds
Each portal either an ancestor, or a descendant yet to come
A welcoming of open doors, I will enter them all at once
Consciousness pervades everything, I’m part of the sum
Death cannot stop an equation, to continue on and become
There never was a beginning, just another cycle, here’s a clue
Birth’s a conduit to infinite hosts, perpetuating through me and you
By
David Kavanagh
Amandla Stenberg
Prologue
My eyes often
Have been whipped with beauty:
Eyes graced with illuminations,
Smiles stirring emotions,
Lips as of the soft hay,
Caressing the voluptuous day.
But beauties are flawed:
Distinct from yours.
I
Your pupils are like the sun
When peeping at prime of the day-
Liveliness it strikes in turn,
As her gaze touches the summer's day.
Your smiles are like honey,
But not like honey:
Sweetening a battered heart.
Yet, it's your cheapest art.
Your voice is the communion
Of the waves and the sea,
Apt communication,
Driving attention in crazed velocity.
Your steps are like the gazelle's,
A point in time: another the next.
Comportment of aligned structures:
The most contentious infrastructure.
II
All guys would want you:
Those bound by sanity rule
Those whose pupils are rid of scales
Tinted in darkest blackness' shade-
For your makes are of the cherub,
Perhaps you missed your way to earth: once a cherub.
III
And this is your plight
With whom you often fight:
" All men are caught in the spell of my beauty,
And all would come to use and dump me.
Better of, I'll be a gay,
Lesbian or any save lay,
To avoid what will not avoid me,
To keep my virgin dignity."
Well, you've got a point,
But you've missed sundry points.
IV
Amandla Stenberg of all.
Come! We really need to talk!
©2018
#Magicalpen
Josh Berry(Ancestor)
[email protected]
Each leaf is a lyric,a hymn; each petal is a melody,a prayer for return. The King Protea, royal and still, holds its face to the sun like a proud son of of Africa saying,'' I can survive fire, drought and wind- still I bloom''.
King Protea
burnt hills whispering-
the protea unfolds again,
queen of rebirth's crown
The Fynbos sings in many tongues. Its scent fills the valleys from the Cape to the Karoo,a low and endless choir reminding us that beauty can both be fragile and fierce.
The Fynbos (The Lowland's Breath )
soft winds brush the hills,
fynbos holds the rain's memory-
small flowers,vast memory
The Baobao,the ancient one,stands in the North like a monument to time-thick trunk wielding the secrets of millenia, arms wide like welcoming all creatures of the plain.
The Baobao (The Timekeeper)
beneath the old shade,
The ancestor speaks in wind-
silence with heartbeat
The Fever Tree grows ghostly, by the rivers, where the spirits of elephants and herds come to drink; while the Marula gives both fruit and story-for beneath its branches laughter, love and song have long gathered.
The Marula (The Joy Giver)
fruit falls,-laughter rings
children and elephants dance
summer tastes like peace
[The earliest known true mammal and hence man’s
earliest ancestor was a creature very similar in both
size and appearance to a modern day shrew]
*
The years since the rock hit are sixty-six million,
the dinosaurs died and the sky was vermillion.
Finally, out from the shadows, there came
rodent like creatures that look much the same
as many that still crawl the Earth to this day,
surviving that rock that had hurtled our way.
*
But fallout ensued and the skies filled with dust
and the journey from mice into men took a thrust
but these tiny steps to mix up nature’s law
began many millions of years before
When boulders from space hit primeval shores
And wee bitty things mixed with huge dinosaurs
*
They’d travelled in convoy, arriving in droves
Though most of the others were not wearing clothes
And though one had suffered a crash landing blip
It seemed they had given their chaser the slip
And as they slept, enveloped in ice
they might have imagined they’d wake in a trice
But Antarctic ice would see no diminution
And safe landed colleagues would face evolution
Who might have guessed what ‘mice’ could become
Or that the mice in the ice were not done?