How great the grandfathers are, but how regretful what they left behind.
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An Old Man With His Hat
There Little Robbie found him in an old yellow album
A blurred picture of a half old man with his hat
Standing in front of the coffin
He smiles shy but wide with his teeth gone making a hole like Little Robbie when he lose his baby teeth
Little Robbie doesn’t recognize him and he wonder where he is now
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his big sister
But his sister doesn’t recognize him and she wonder who he is
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his mother
But his mother doesn’t recognize him and she wonder how he was there
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his father
But his father doesn’t recognize him and he wonder what he did there
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his uncle
But his uncle doesn’t recognize him and he wonder when the picture taken
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks hopelessly to his grandfather
His grandfather takes a deep look to that picture and wonders why Little Robbie asks
Little Robbie says, “I want to meet him! I want to know about him! I want to play with him! ”
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
But his grandfather shakes his head, “No, he is not.”
He is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
He is just an old man with his hat
“He accompanied your great grandfather when he sick until his death. This picture is taken in a burial of your great grandfather.”
His grandfather stares at little Robbie
“Now, are you disappointed? ”
He is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
He is just an old man with his hat
Little Robbie shakes his head, “No, I am not.”
Though he is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
Though he is just an old man with his hat
“But I still want to meet him, I want to know about him, and I want to play with him! ”
And then he could be one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The British descended
The British descended
on the Transvaal and Orange Free State
from their island
on the other side of the sea
and in thousands
they came to ruin the land.
The British descended
on the Transvaal and Orange Free State
and from the sea they came
and an entire empire
send its soldiers to destroy,
to pillage and scorch the earth,
to rape, and imprison
the women and children
of the Afrikaner nation.
My great grandfathers rode on horseback to war,
with Christiaan De Wet, Cronje
and De La Rey
and they fought hard pressed,
to drive the British
and soldiers from all her colonies away.
My great grandfathers rode on horseback to war
and landed in prisoner of war camps in St. Helena
and although the second Anglo-Boer war was lost
and the Afrikaner nation paid the highest cost
in the destruction of the land,
the death of men
and the murder of innocent women and children,
a time came
that once more we were free.
My great grandfathers rode on horseback to war,
but one was from and with the enemy
and a highlander was he
and a more decent man
is still hard to find
and one that hated the English
for the dreadfull things that they did,
at times I see the restored Martini Henri rifles
taken from the British
during that bitter war
and the legacy and great spirit,
of my great grandfathers
still stays with me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ancestry
ONCE I saw mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Ay, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
“Will he prevail?”
“Surely,” replied this other;
“His grandfathers beat them many times.”
Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers,—
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the mountains.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Chosen People
Glory is on our way[? ]
Worship the sun, great spirit.
Born of the mother earth,
Seek for the true white brother.
We are the chosen people, give back our sacred land.
We are the four grandfathers, a destiny for man.
It is written in our prophecy,
[it is written in our prophecy]
That we shall find the true white brother,
[we shall find the true white brother]
Who will help us, joined together, to build humanity.
There is a place for everyone.
We are the chosen people, give back our holy land.
We are the ever forest, we are great spirits hand.
She will call us soon,
She will shake her body,
Bringing your land to ruin.
Why will the world not hear us?
We are most ancient teachers, we know great spirits plan.
We learned by natures secrets, the inner side of man.
We are the chosen people, give back our sacred land.
We are the four grandfathers, a destiny for man.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Once I saw mountains angry
Once I saw mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Aye, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
"Will he prevail?"
"Surely," replied this other;
"His grandfathers beat them many times."
Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers --
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the mountains.
poem by Stephen Crane
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The Butterfly Is Dieing
After the fall
I am left cold, shivering, a mess
And as the leaves crawl
I am naked in winters cold breath
After the dive
That left me breathless, unspoken
There's nothing left to revive
A heart that used to flutter is broken
After the chase
I lay myself at your feet
Batting my wings against this small cage
Refusing to admit my defeat
After the dusk
I'm curled in what's left of desire
Trying to capture an evaporating lust
Your smile has soured-always the regretful buyer
After the question
I posed-thinking the answer I knew
You forced me to swallow my lesson
The only love here was the love I had for you
poem by Aria Siren
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Maybe I Know My History A Little Bit Better Than You Do (In Answer To Sipho Sepamla)
Maybe I know my history
a little bit better than you do.
My friend, you are talking
about stories being heard
around coal-stoves
concerning animals
and no real facts
are expressed in your poem.
I know when my ancestor Joost Strijdom
arrived in the Cape of Good Hope in May 1678,
that I descend from the lovely brave Maryna Ras,
when your ancestors
were migrating from a place called eMbo
at the big African lakes under
leadership of chief Dlamini
and later under chief Nguni.
I know how my ancestors battled
against wild beasts, fought the zulu-impi
at Blood River
and overcame by the help of
the almighty God
and that I would not have existed
if they died at the hands of the Zulus.
I know how my ancestors build
farms, churches and houses
while yours were living
in thatched grass huts.
I know how my great grandfathers
and one of my grandfathers
was enveloped in a war against the British,
how they survived
and how my great grandmother
died in a British concentration camp.
I have even faced Cubans
under Soviet command
in the largest mechanised battle in Africa,
apart from those in the Second World War
and we had a decisive victory
that is now being denied
while history books are being rewritten
and fiction is creeping in
and maybe the new propaganda, the lies
of the new history suits you far better.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A long time ago, when all the grandfathers and grandmothers of today were little boys and little girls or very small babies, or perhaps not even born, Pa and Ma and Mary and Laura and Baby Carrie left their little house in the Big Woods of Wisconsin.
quote by Laura Ingalls Wilder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love's Loneliness
Old fathers, great-grandfathers,
Rise as kindred should.
If ever lover's loneliness
Came where you stood,
Pray that Heaven protect us
That protect your blood.
The mountain throws a shadow,
Thin is the moon's horn;
What did we remember
Under the ragged thorn?
Dread has followed longing,
And our hearts are torn.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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I'm not regretful about dropping acid, but I could have stopped it a little sooner.
quote by David Carradine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deeper, My Love...
Since we have met,
And both of us have professed
Our happiness.
There is one thing left,
On this flight we choose to take.
We must be open to our faults...
And forgive heartaches.
We must appreciate flaws,
In our 'awe' we overlooked.
We were then looking to feed desire...
When the fire cooled and left our minds,
And hearts hooked!
I would like to look at it that way!
With the thoughts I have...
And how we have grown from those days!
From looking to feed desire...
With minds and hearts hooked.
We began looking at romance,
As a dance eternity took.
Then we began looking...
At each other,
Like a sister or brother.
Competitors and not friends!
We both noticed that happening...
And I am glad that came to an end.
We have been looking at each other now,
With hopes of always being together...
Somehow.
But along the way we got off track!
We can not go forward
By holding secrets back!
If our love is to stay intact...
We have to unload any baggage,
That might exhaust this flame...
When unpacked by irritation,
And regretful games.
We must not only maintain our love making good!
We must also be good at maintaining it.
And we do.
It's great! It's the best!
We have been looking at each other now,
With hopes of always being together...
Somehow.
Under gold dust weaving into a nest!
It is about to get deeper,
My love...
Deeper inside goes this emotional ride,
This love...
We have to give.
And we hold each other's hands.
Electrified and Synchronized,
Our love we love...
This way that lives.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The offers I get are for grandfathers, uncles - and they often die very quickly in the script.
quote by Max von Sydow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our grandfathers had to run, run, run. My generation's out of breath. We ain't running no more.
quote by Stokely Carmichael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not a tenth of us who are in business are doing as well as we could if we merely followed the principles that were known to our grandfathers.
quote by William Feather
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every generation revolts against its fathers and makes friends with its grandfathers.
quote by Lewis Mumford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Forget who is your Father
God is Great
He created you and me so ladies and gentleman
he is the only person to praise and pray
Cause some of us we pray Alan people you pray him
who is him God is the one who created us
so guys help me to Thank him every time i'm sick i call him cause
he is the hiller the killer of diseases in the world
Help me to sing.
How great is our God sing with me how great is our God
all we sing is how great is our God age to age praise his
Great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great great great great great
GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD..
Thank you Help me pliz.
poem by Ruvimbo Daisy Matsika
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If i Died Today
If idied today i would cry
i would cry for all the time i spent being sad
when i could have been smiling
if i died today i would weep
i would weep for all the love i never felt
when i was alive
If i died today i would be sad
sad that i never really got to feel special,
loved and cared for
If i died today it would break my heart
break my heart for all the times i have cried,
cried because i was in pain
if i died today i would be regretful
regretful for all for all the time wasted on vanity
and worrying what other people will think of me
if i died today i would forgive myself
forgive myself for being my best enemy
forgive myself for hating me so much
if i died today i would be devasted
devasted that i never really got to appreciate,
appreciate myself
if i died today i would feel lost because,
i have never really known
or found myself
if i died today i would miss me
i would miss me because i forgot all about mealong time ago
if i died to day i would cry for me.
poem by Elizabeth Jacqueline Mpanga
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An old Talisman
This is an ancestral object from my great grandfathers and it goes as inheritance.
They wore for a better fortune but they all lost their wars and the horses died in vain.
These crucial wars never stopped.
Very seldom I used to wear this and hide in the turtleneck.
Yes, a harmless war and I stick to myself.
But it's very hard to control.
Mind looks like a sticking plaster.
This talisman won't reacts for my stillborn yearning
And the both I buried in the isolated garden of old love.
To my poet friend Duncan.Wyllie
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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We Share Our Grandfathers! !
The land of mine, where my greatest of all grandfathers had matured,
There he played with my equally old grandmother, he clamored,
We all prayed to the same Gods who have been kept,
In the palatial temples, built with the salt of their sweat,
A capped man arrived six hundred years ago,
With the notion of spreading his belief on our soil,
Earlier a confused Hindu Prince, who was a coward,
Afraid of sickness and old age, suddenly enlightened,
Under the tree of pothy and talked about our doctrines,
With out mentioning the names of his Gods and attested,
As a God himself and safely sitting in hearts of many,
We should agree that we have flaws but our religion is good,
We should agree that our elders tortured the people,
In the name of caste and other customs and rituals,
Then came many sectors of Hinduism, a few of our grandfathers,
Who were so poor, believed in everything that was mystic,
And thought conversion could bring them wealth,
They have started to practice the home grown religions at first,
The dynasty, was so cruel and killed our grandfathers in mass,
Destroyed our beautiful temples to the ground,
We had to hide our Gods under the ground,
Still our priests have done the prayers silently,
Without ringing the bells and our women,
Started to cover the head as our converted grandmothers did,
For more than two centuries the men with the cap and crown,
Had messed up our land and married our grandmothers,
Who were Hindu Princes and beautiful innocent ladies,
Then a company came, pretending to do the business,
Cultivated opium and marketed in China,
The drugged Chinese became helpless and gave up,
Hong Kong for ninety nine years for the drug debt,
Along this company came the missionaries,
Not from Middle East, but from Europe and Vatican,
To display what they had and they had a mother and a child,
Our grandparents were excited with the new photos,
That attached with a few kilograms of wheat and milk,
The company's intelligence spread the thorny plants,
Across our region to buy the land at cheaper cents,
Where our young girls had cut off their hair,
And become nuns to spread the teaching of love,
We have the houses of worship everywhere,
Where we pray to our Gods of many faces,
When we look at our brothers and sisters,
Who are holding the books and rosaries,
Still we think of our grandfathers,
What ever our brothers and sister believe,
We treat them as one of us,
They are one of us now and always.
They could have forgotten their roots,
We still remember the days that our grandfathers,
Grouped together to build those temples,
That still stands as majestic as the Sun,
At one place, the planets go around it,
Let them be anything. They are our still brothers,
and sisters and we share the same grandfathers.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Great golden chikalas graduation
GREAT GOLDEN CHIKALAS GRADUATION
Grandfather’s clock has changed
Bring back grandfathers clock
Grand jury on trial
I name you grandeur
Give us courage
Destiny never lies
We shall take our progress to the pinnacle
But separation was between us golden chi alas
Graduation came in between us
Missing flies dark to light and light to dark.
poem by Jamila.i. Bello girei
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