Long Lineage Poems
Long Lineage Poems. Below are the most popular long Lineage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lineage poems by poem length and keyword.
"Saddo...Saddo...",she kept calling me,
Yeah,I was sad,
So I was named Saddo,
Flowers fell from highest branches,
Fruits fell from tall branches,
My days were full of worries and mess,
Series of bad occurrence,
Many that laughed with me,
Same see me and mock about what I've lost,
The blame is to be,
Toes stiffed in wet shoes distort,
I'm not pitied,
People to whom I exercised religiosity to,doesn't account me as to be tricked,
Mortgage at last have all my belongings outside the road,"Disgrace...disgrace...what a disgrace",
No one want to see the shadow of a race,
'Tom the finest',your end is someone's beginning,
Gone are the days when they use to call me a balloon,
I lacked nothing,...my name was a tool,
Is it a spell they've used on me?
"Join my fraternity,and you'll stand tall again",
Proposal comes in from friends and sympathisers vain,
Even my wife want me to avail myself to that,
Who is on my side to caution in fact,
Hope and trust in God is not allowing me to give up on gust,
Situations of life is ridiculing fast,
Which road should I pass?
A billionaire is now an outcast,
Every night I count the stars,
I see so many falling,
Who saw my star fall?
Who is ready to tell me everything?
People wowed only seeing me in bad condition,
Others to wonder of how this perdition came to being,
Hands are at a speed to raise sanction,
And based on the tenet They've written to me,
I prefer being down,
Dad died leaving me not even a pen,
Advice he gave,is shielding four whole men,
"Everything has its moment",so this agony is now demonstrating a fact,
Moving through a formless cloud,vainly does fowls in the air matters act,
Like an iceberg on fire,Slowly is the torment fading,
Hard work admitted me to chamber of wealth,
A short while,I'm outside here fenced by poverty belt,
"Funny...funny,clearly this story is funny",
Will my children also be left without a sheet of paper?
"If so will present the case,it maybe notched to grandpa,
A lineage",said softly to my youngest daughter,
Replies to me"Don't assume",
Words were lost inside room,
"Your consolation to me is not palliative",
Made that point fairly to a comparative,
One step that took me to thousand miles drown,
The same number of step left me down,
Closing myself in the coffin,
"Vanity is satisfying,but baseless",the mourner sobered in.
It begins at home
even closer: it begins "I"nside
I have forgiven failures, failing in faith, inside me
Have you? Until you do, it is almost too hard
To forgive your imperfect parent, and therefore Father-in-Heaven
Lest it seems, I speak ordinary, old, old-fashioned sermon or speech
"Remember Mandela, South Africa, TRC? I was there!"
While billions only speak it, I have to live it
I did not want to; Mandela (OUR BELOVED MADIBA) made it policy
In the bad old South Africa, poisoned by a white Minority, 300 years
Still wanting NOT to share anything today; but we must for ourselves
And for Jesus (or for Mandela, or for Gandhi: both graced South Africa)
Yes, I have grown to love Forgiveness and Reconciliation in my heart
There it must begin, or it cannot come out into this bloody world
From the blood pump inside you, pure Jesus lineage can overflow
Once the mind and heart come into agreement, concord, one accord
(That's what happened at the Pentecost that birthed Christ's Church -
When the disciples, dreading death after Jesus's Crucifixion, locked doors
In the Upper Room, in Jerusalem, tarrying still: Fire in Holy Spirit fell!)
The Holy Spirit tells me to love like Jesus and Mother Theresa (now Saint)
Love till it hurts (and once hurt like that, NOTHING will ever hurt you & me)
I forgive because I see the forgiveness of Jesus (What does it mean? Sins?)
LOVE may begin in sin; but it flies with eagle wings, near the SON, forgiven
We reconcile with the Parent Above; who is really everywhere, doctrines do
not tell us all, only a start: God loved and offered reconciliation, but Truth
Demands we confess: I was a dirty, dastardly sinner, until He washed me
In the pure, precious blood of a Perfect Man, High-Priest after Melchizadek
So, dear brother and sister, I do not list sins to make you mad
That is only to assure YOU the Jesus way: Confess, Receive Grace, Live Free
TRC in RSA: TRUTH and Reconciliation (& Commission Under Archbishop Tutu)
Said anyone, white or black, who confessed their murders and sins
Would not be taken to court; only one was (Wouter Basson)
A whole nation forgave the white Minority under Mandela's mighty mandate
To Love and forgive like Jesus, for BIGGER things: like saving a country
From the kind of civil wars that rage on and on, fed by hate, all about US
Some are mothers, reflections of love
Poured out on children who abide in hope
Remembering that Mary, the mother of Jesus,
Gave us all a sense of the wonder uncovered
By the women who give their hearts to children
Some are wives who give their husbands
Their hearts, their blessings, their kindness
Like Ruth, the Moabite, who was great-grandmother
To the King after God's own heart, David,
Who played such a great role in the lineage of Jesus
Some are followers of the King of Kings
Those who know He is the best there is
Believers who give their entire lives to Him
Like Mary Magdalene, who Jesus healed and who
Was also the first witness of His resurrection
Some are women who love with all they have
Through joy and pain, in spite of everything
Giving all their lives to their beloved
Like Rachel who knew what is was to be childless
Sharing her beloved with her sister, Leah
Some are women who have a desperate yearning,
Like Hannah, who yearned for a child of her own
She prayed, promising to give her son back to the Lord
When Samuel, her son, anointed King David,
He gave the entire world a new direction toward redemption
Some are women who fall into great sin
Like Eve, the mother of Cain and Abel
She was deceived by the enemy of us all,
And changed the entire fate of mankind
Including the way we would live in this life
Some are like Deborah, who was a judge of her time
Others, like Esther, who changed the heart of the King
Some are like Miriam, prophetess and Moses' sister
Others, like Sarah, who had Isaac at 90 years of age
Some are like Elizabeth, who bore John the Baptist.
Then, there is Priscilla, who was a powerful church leader
Also, there was Mary who was sister of Lazarus
And, Martha who was rebuked by Jesus so her sister,
Mary, could sit at the Master’s feet and hear His words
All the women of the Bible were strong and blessed
By the One who gave each one of us the chance to have
A personal relationship with Jesus, our Lord and Savior
The One who taught all women that they could be a light
Guiding others through the darkness, into His grace
Praise God for women of the Bible and women of today
Who share the faith that Jesus is the only way!
TRIBUTE TO WOMEN Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Beata Agustin
March 23, 2022
I thought poetry is
-name of Mesopotamia which was the first civilization to emerge in human history
-ancient cave peoples surviving life struggle
I thought poetry is
-an immortal love story of Yousuf- Zulekha, Shirin-Farhad, Laila-Majnu or Romeo-Juliet
-a telephonic or open love conversation of smiling postmodern girls
-drying wet colorful clothes of beloved in the courtyard of the house
-haring of beloved with tuberose garland before a mirror
I thought poetry is
-lizards chirping from the deserted house; cockroach flying
-quarrelsome cats in the black dark or barking dogs
-the struggle of mosquito for human blood
-traveling of the arrogant indecent animals all over the night
I thought poetry is
-thrilling venturous ghostly stories of J. K. Rowling
-self-expression of known-unknown writers
-unspoken tale of a war-wounded soldier
-the regret of the thousands of dead soldiers
-the unwritten fantasy of an isolated poet
-the lonely guitar or ektara of dead singers
I thought poetry is
-without reel tie an independent flying of a kite in the sky
-in the blue sky sovereign flapping of birds
-movement of invisible winds everywhere
-hearing story of fairytale crossing of green forest
I thought poetry is
-handmade airing of newly married girl to a new groom in lunch time
-dyed hands of nubile girls by mehndi,
-captivating sounds of jingling anklet and kamarband of dancing damsels
I thought poetry is
-classic music of Pandit Ravi Shankar
-immortal tune of Ustad Bismillah Khan's shehnai
-compilation of humanitarian lyrics of the legend Bob Marley
-heart touching reciting of the Holy Quran of Qari Abdul Basit
I thought poetry is
-unforgettable philosophical discussion of Socrates with his disciples
-the philosophic lineage of learning such as Socrates-Plato-Aristotle
-immortal scientific creations of Newton, Galileo, Einstein, Nikola Tesla, Hawking
I thought poetry is
-unremitting prayer or worship of any prevailed religion devotee to get heaven
-inhuman history of bombing on the Hiroshima and Nagasaki or brutality of 1st or 2nd World War
These all are just my thinking,
my thinking is free
on my path
but poetry is poetry,
more than any thinking, many more;
on its path
Poetry is independent fully
-June 27, 2019 Chattogram
THE LAST STAND
Where have all my people gone, the Navaho, Lakota, and the Sue,
Smothered beneath the white man's blanket,
Chocking for a breath of airs life's sustaining oxygen.
The beating heart of native drums, are stilled frozen,
In the middle of it's rhythmic thumping, no pulses echo,
Can be heard on the open plain.
The weeping women kneel on sacred ground, shedding
A river of bloods tears, burning a permanent scare across,
A baron landscape.
Death's black raven shields itself, under it's crimson soaked wing,
Against shames immoral injustice.
Greed's insatiable hunger for land and riches fuels lusts desire,
Behold exterminations holocaust of the native inhabitants,
Nothing remains alive except ignorance blackened shadow.
How much blood can mother earth be forced to drink before,
She drowns herself or spits up everything undigested,
With sheer disdain and hatreds malice intent.
On a black and white chess board the winners takes it all,
Strategies grand masters playing with living pawns.
Treaties written in vanishing ink, promises disappear in thin air,
Revealing a liars sharpened tongue.
The odds have always been stacked against those believing in fairness.
A rogue tidal wave of humanity has wiped out a nation,
And it's culture within the blink of an eye.
Flights appendages are clipped on the dove of peace, leaving it
Unable to soar above it's own habitat.
Wreckage’s refugees stumble in the ruins after math,
Rapes victims of civilizations civilized,
Are left devoid of their heritages lineage and legacy.
Elders chieftains representatives of a great nation,
Smoke peace pipes in the white mans hunting lodge
In Washington.
As human beings are hauled like cattle's cargo,
Taken to reservations burial grounds.
Ancient ancestors lit up the heaven's vast expanse,
By torches flame,
To guide the souls of the dead unto their great spiritual
Plain beyond.
The pale horse gallops forward without a rider,
And the red people become a phantom tribe vanishing
Upon the winds shifting tides.
Giving one last final tribal battle war cry,
Why my father but the great spirit answers not.
Behold America's legacy, a world trampled beneath
It's heavy iron fist, all in the name of progress or for the cause
Of Manifest destiny.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Oh immortal sorceress, daughter of Lilith
She is a prism in the moonlight, a deity
Darker than the Sargasso sea, her fury is
Unforgiving as the Titans came to
Recognize all because of their jealousy
Over her lineage and limitless validities
War was declared and with one wave
Of her hand mount Olympus went down
In flames she just laughed and laughed
Devouring their celestial transcendence
Future generations should have learned
From the fall of the Titans fall but them
Didn’t learn anything at all...
Cleopatra tried imprisoning her so she could
Discover the secrets of everlasting life to be
Queen of not only Egypt but the whole wide
World but the daughter of Lilith turned herself
Into the cobra that would be Cleopatra's
Demise, you thought it was Rome well
You were wrong; it was her all along…
Angelique from Martinique, a timeless
Beauty that even Venus would envy
Frozen rose suspended in time, high
Priestess calling out to you, messin’
With your mind, she’ll tell you she loves
Then she will rip out your heart...
'Cuz hell has no fury like a woman scorned
And her magic is like lightning you never
Know when it comes, her spells are forever
Binding and she feels no shame in her game
She’ll make you regret the day you were
Ever born, she may look like an angel but
She is the devil in disguise and she will have
You right where she wants you with just one
Look into her icy blue eyes 'cuz hell has
No fury like a woman scorned especially
When the woman is ANGELIQUE, ANGELIQUE
From Martinique...
Oh immortal sorceress and daughter of Lilith
She is a prism in the moonlight, deity darker
Than the sea than lies below widow's hill
You may think she is just a legend but me
Assure you she is very real...
ANGELIQUE from Martinique, a timeless
Beauty even Venus would envy, frozen rose
Suspended in time, high priestess calling out
To you, messin’ with your mind, she’ll tell you
She loves you then rip out your heart...
'Cuz hell has no fury like a woman scorned
Her magic is like lightning you never know
When it comes, she’ll make you regret the day
You were ever born 'cuz hell have no fury
Like a woman scorned especially when that
Witchy woman is ANGELIQUE, ANGELIQUE
From Martinique!
Oh immortal sorceress, daughter of Lilith
She is a prism in the moonlight, a deity
Darker than the Sargasso sea, her fury is
Unforgiving as the Titans came to
Recognize all because of their jealousy
Over her lineage and limitless validities
War was declared and with one wave
Of her hand mount Olympus went down
In flames she just laughed and laughed
Devouring their celestial transcendence
Future generations should have learned
From the fall of the Titans fall but them
Didn’t learn anything at all...
Cleopatra tried imprisoning her so she could
Discover the secrets of everlasting life to be
Queen of not only Egypt but the whole wide
World but the daughter of Lilith turned herself
Into the cobra that would be Cleopatra's
Demise, you thought it was Rome well
You were wrong; it was her all along…
Angelique from Martinique, a timeless
Beauty that even Venus would envy
Frozen rose suspended in time, high
Priestess calling out to you, messin’
With your mind, she’ll tell you she loves
Then she will rip out your heart...
'Cuz hell has no fury like a woman scorned
And her magic is like lightning you never
Know when it comes, her spells are forever
Binding and she feels no shame in her game
She’ll make you regret the day you were
Ever born, she may look like an angel but
She is the devil in disguise and she will have
You right where she wants you with just one
Look into her icy blue eyes 'cuz hell has
No fury like a woman scorned especially
When the woman is ANGELIQUE, ANGELIQUE
From Martinique...
Oh immortal sorceress and daughter of Lilith
She is a prism in the moonlight, deity darker
Than the sea than lies below widow's hill
You may think she is just a legend but me
Assure you she is very real...
ANGELIQUE from Martinique, a timeless
Beauty even Venus would envy, frozen rose
Suspended in time, high priestess calling out
To you, messin’ with your mind, she’ll tell you
She loves you then rip out your heart...
'Cuz hell has no fury like a woman scorned
Her magic is like lightning you never know
When it comes, she’ll make you regret the day
You were ever born 'cuz hell have no fury
Like a woman scorned especially when that
Witchy woman is ANGELIQUE, ANGELIQUE
From Martinique!
My Roots
As dark as charcoal-as dark as rich soil of Africa -
Is the core of my traditional and beliefs – it’s obscure
Knowing that deep beneath my skin, soul and spirit is hidden the lineage
My unborn children and the forgotten ancestors–I cry and search for
The battle between my ancestors and my offspring is exploding within my soul
Ancestors are battling and asking –will your children remember us, our names
Pardon me, your seer of spirits and custodian of our culture–chant to ancestors
I beg you to utter to this generation the ancient path to our ancestors
You that lay beneath my skin – you that runs in my veins
Speak to me grandfathers, how did express love to your wife
Grandfather what was the root of your faith and how did you pray -
Before the white man told you who your God should be – please initiate me
It will be outrageous if my children will perform rituals to the god of this modernization
Grandfather what was your secret of longevity–this generation is perishing prematurely
What was the root of your morals and how did you humble yourself before your architect
Did you also share the calabash of good traditional wine to your neighbors because -
I live in a greedy and selfish generation, who would even poison their neighbor to get everything
I beg you; you bear of children-utter to this generation the ancient path to our ancestors
Our roots will not revive or remembers themselves – unless we chant them
Who cares in this careless age – no roots just rotten, no fears just fictions –
I care so much of my roots, traditions, beliefs – so I dig deep within so I may feel related again
Your children will not remember you if do not teach them to value your roots and beliefs
Sit around the fire, sit around the dinner table, tell them your roots, your identity and your pride
I can hear my father, grandfather and great grandfather saying my son certain things are worth not forgotten – they are like tree leaves and roots that will heal your running stomach
It is a taboo to ignore what will sustain your society morality, values, ethics and beliefs
I beg you; you bear of children-utter to this generation the ancient path to our ancestors
By Anthony Ngabwe (Tony The Poet)@2015
Oh beautiful Gypsy,
I see you there, in amber campfire mist.
On the banks of a crystalline pool, a bronze skinned lovely moving with intoxicating rhythm to the strum of guitars.
Sable eyes, gleaming with wanderlust, transfixed on distant dreams. Raven hair sheens cobalt blue, in glow of a pale full moon.
The tethered babushka and brilliant layered skirt, your banners of freedom. Knee high boots clad dancing feet, in a feverish itch to perform on new stages. Your opulence, jingle jangling from dainty wrists and pierced lobes, echoes the hypnotic song of rattling tambourines.
A blissful celebration in your enchanted home of nebulous walls forged of the four winds.
Oh beautiful Gypsy;
Last of the true migrants, paying homage only to purity of your clan. The devout mystic, whose babes suckle the nectar of white magic.
Your larder bulges fat, having labored a deconstructed nine to five.
A harmonious oneness with nature, your forte, honed to perfection in compassionate artistic crafts. With gentleness, you bring calm obedience to the untamed steed. In thoughtful consideration, parleying the fate and fortune of the gadjo, eager to lay down their silver and gold for charms and spells.
You trade in good faith only to be slandered in whispers of vagabond and theif. Your colorful lifestyle, jaded to a monotone hue of envious green.
A hopeless romantic smothered in Judas kisses.
Oh beautiful Gypsy,
Even as you celebrate in this newly discovered place, it's freshness grows stale to your delicate senses.
A bohemian lineage begs you go before the next cock crows.
The insatiable hunger to feast your eyes on unfamiliar lands pangs your very essence.
It has proven to be far too great for you to abstain; for it is the morrow.
A radiant sunrise reveals an abandoned starry eyed reflection lingering on a lonesome pond.
The scent of pungent garlic, rich brew and sweet tobacco hovers, as a perfumed phantom, in the desolate air.
Tracks of your wagon wheels flow through emerald meadows like a lazy river, avoiding stagnation.
Conformity lies choking in the dust of your painted caravan.
A nomadic soul in dreamy persuit of the horizon that looms forever in the distance.
Till we never meet again,
Oh beautiful Gypsy
Nigeria.
The country of my birth. Beautiful in youth. Wrinkled as the years pass by. Through no fault of hers. But by the doing and undoing of her children, consciously and unconsciously.
Blessed by God. Impoverished by mankind.
Struggling for self-liberation but incarcerated by wicked and egoistic souls. Souls who prefer to squander and milk the nation today with the goal of enjoying life and securing the future of their lineage.
Nigeria.
Everytime I read the dailies, the thought of what might have been makes it all the more pathetic. A nation whose citizens should ‘swim’ in milk and honey. Whose name should be revered amongst the comity of nations. But for the myopic thinking of our leaders – past and present – we are where we find ourselves; in the woods. The genesis started with their actions and inactions.
Directly or indirectly, the fault is ours to bear. Forget colonization. Forget its offshoot, neo-colonization. We can be what we want to be. Fortune favours the prepared.
Nigeria.
A weak giant.
Clueless leaders.
A country with no respect for history. For the rule of law.
Whose citizens are permeated with a brief memory span.
Nigeria.
How can looters still have the temerity to contest elections after their misdeeds some years ago! And people will vote!
Another election is forthcoming; we will forget the ordeals of the past. And vote these insatiable, power-hungry, monstrously greedy, sinister people called ‘leaders’ into power!
Posterity will judge. If it can’t, then God.
Nigeria.
Girls are being kidnapped. Maybe raped and dehumanized. Students are on strike and the government does not give a hoot. Some governors are forever enriching themselves by passing bills that will pay them billions of taxpayers’ hard-earned funds. Pensioners are being owed. Poverty is on the increase. Unemployment too. Crime. Name them.
All these in a sane country!
Nigeria.
Until our ‘leaders’ are stopped from travelling abroad to treat headaches.
Until a law is passed mandating their children to school in public institutions.
Until every politician is made accountable for every kobo spent.
Until the rule of law is supreme.
Until our votes count…
Things will sure fall apart in this country.