It is the duty of children to wait on elders, and not the elders on children.
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My Fore-Elders
When from the child, that still is led
By hand, a father's hand is gone, ---
Or when a few-year'd mother dead
Has left her children growing on, ---
When men have left their children staid,
And they again have boy and maid, ---
O, can they know, as years may roll,
Their children's children, soul by soul?
If this with souls in heaven can be,
Do my fore-elders know of me?
My elders' elders, man and wife,
Were borne full early to the tomb,
With children still in childhood life
To play with butterfly or bloom.
And did they see the seasons mould
Their faces on, from young to old,
As years might bring them, turn by turn,
A time to laugh or time to mourn?
If this with souls in heaven can be,
Do my fore-elders know of me?
How fain I now would walk the floor
Within their mossy porch's bow,
Or linger by their church's door,
Or road that bore them to and fro,
Or nook where once they build their mow,
Or gateway open to their plough
(Though now indeed no gate is swung
That their live hands had ever hung ), ---
If I could know that they would see
Their child's late child, and know of me.
poem by William Barnes
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In The Midst Of War
in the midst of war with bodies lying on the ground
walks a band of children-their families can't be found
searching through the rubble of homes that used to be
looking for food and clothes just to survive
because of their elders who choose to live a lie.
as i look through their eyes-all i can see
is death and destruction staring at me.
these children are not to blame for what is all around
but! if its not stopped they'll be laying on the ground.
they search thru this destruction in hopes that
they'll find-others to join them.
as they walk down the streets-the elders stop their fighting
to let them pass.
but this is just temporary- they know it will not last.
other children see them marching down the streets
they dropp what they are doing to join this band
knowing in their hearts it's time to take a stand.
this band is getting larger and the children start to shout..
what is this war? whats it all about?
can't you see the lives that have been taken?
because of this war the ground is still shaking.
the elders stop their fighting as the children all sit down.
they scream'we are not moving until this fight is through.
if this is what you want we will die with you.
you think only of yourselves and not what we're going through.
and when we die-what are you going to do.
there will be no one to carry on your name
there will be no heritage to be found
it will be burned to the ground.
look at our faces and you know what you will see
death and destruction surrounding me.
so we ask you from our hearts-it's time to change.
it is not something which is hard to do
it's all up to every one of you.
poem by Louis Rams
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The Welsh Dragon
Beware the Welsh dragon,
He huffs and he puffs,
And he scares all the children at night.
For the tales of his antics
They trip off the tongue,
Of the elders who have to be right.
He rattles and roars, and wants to come in,
And sit by the fire with your Ma.
He shrieks and he squeals, makes a terrible din,
‘Til you shake in your slippers with fright.
But then comes the morning so sunny and gay,
And the terrors have passed with the light.
And whatever will happen today or the next,
The elders have always it right.
They say come on Joey, or Megan or Ruth,
He only comes out when it's dark.
So as long as you're snug
In your beds fast asleep,
The dragon can't hurt you- that's truth.
poem by Rosi Caswell
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The Younger Ones
The younger ones,
Do not wish any part of it.
The fragmentation solicited...
Or the family divisiveness.
They have witnessed what the elders have done.
And this has made many of them turn away quick.
Because the younger ones wish,
Not to have any of the negative rifts!
They have witnessed what the elders have done.
And the elders are the ones that do not get it!
The younger ones,
Do not wish any part of this.
In their hearts and in their minds,
The youngers ones may not express it.
But their actions are quite dramatic.
And observing that is obvious and emphatic.
The younger ones have had it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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unicef**united Nations Interest For Children Of Every Faith
look around, and what do you see
children of all races and creeds
white, yellow, black, olive complexioned too.
don't you realize that they all need you?
look at pictures and read the news
children all over the world
starving and without parents and love.
must they pay for the elders mistakes
must they be the victims of our ignorance.
let us give them what we had as kids.
love, food, affection is all they ask.
look at their faces and think
of your own children and if they would
survive, if they were in their places.
no matter what our beliefs.
we are children of GOD
so let us all do our part.
let us help and love one another
let us all become sister and brother.
don't let our little sisters and brothers starve
open up your minds and your hearts.
give a part of yourself that you
have yet to give
and let these poor children live.
poem by Louis Rams
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Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them.
quote by James Baldwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We really need to get over this love affair with the fetus and start worrying about children.
quote by Joycelyn Elders
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: on children
There is a smile on the lips of children;
There is a look of innocence, always;
They seem to forget and to forgive when,
Adults display a wretched, gloomy face!
Oh, how they play about and love their play!
Oh, how they long for love and words of praise!
Oh, how they dream of presents from a fay!
And how they fall asleep or cry always!
But, does this world not ill-treat children?
Do children have their freedom, entitled?
Are elders kind, giving them tender touch?
Many a time, their hearts seem anguish-filled!
How can this world deny children their needs?
What kind of trees develop from ill-formed seeds?
poem by John Celes
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SONNET: But things suit me?
There is a smile on the lips of children;
There is a look of innocence, always;
They seem to forget and to forgive when,
Adults display a wretched, gloomy face!
Oh, how they play about and love their play!
Oh, how they long for love and words of praise!
Oh, how they dream of presents from a fay!
And how they fall asleep or cry always!
But, does this world not ill-treat children?
Do children have their freedom, entitled?
Are elders kind, giving them tender touch?
Many a time, their hearts seem anguish-filled!
How can this world deny children their needs?
What kind of trees develop from ill-formed seeds?
poem by John Celes
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Vow Of Silence
Kron joins the monastery;
he must stay in isolation
and is allowed to say 2 words
every three years
3 years pass
and Kron is brought before
the Elders
and he is allowed his 2 words
“Cold room, ” he says
3 years later
again Kron is brought before
the Elders
and he is allowed his 2 words
“Bad food, ” he says
3 years later
again Kron is brought before
the Elders
and he is allowed his 2 words
“I quit, ” he says
“Not surprising, ” say the Elders
“All you have done since you came here is to complain”
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Children Of Love*************10/4/79
love is looking into their eyes
and seeing the joy of your little
girl and boy.
these are the children of love
'pure and clean' just like a dove.
they fly above their elders lives
touching all the husbands and wives.
for most of them are the parents
of these children of love.
they are the guardians of these white doves.
'children of love' young and carefree
teaching all of us what life is meant to be.
showing us joy when we are sad
explaining happiness when they are glad.
expressing to us
what we choose to hide
life and love is one of a kind.
children of love is what they are
always near, never far.
they listen to us and what
we have to teach.
but we are the ones
who stretch out and reach.
trying to touch love
'from these little white doves'.
poem by Louis Rams
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Polygamy Dillema
My Elders, listen to me
By your feet, who listened, was me
Atrophy, you got me,
She, a virgin land, and fertile
that, your names have come
and their faces, stars glow, a like.
Elders, listen to me
That, my hands I fold, down is my knee
A trophy, I have got for me
In her, my blood flows, Listen to me,
Through her eyes, I see, her heart holds me
Serene, a lone, naïve,
Other glowing stars, a promise.
Elders, listen to me
That your choice
As my choice
The same.
That none to her lands would go
Listen, the turn is mine, you do?
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Though the Jazz Age continued it became less and less an affair of youth. The sequel was like a children's party taken over by the elders.
quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Puberty.
When my grandma told me not to go out of the house,
after the oil lamp was lit at six in the evening,
I went out to see the spirits of the wolves on the loose,
but heard the howling far away while she praying.
Grandma thought I was in the study, doing my work,
I was searching for the devils that scared my grandma.
When I returned to tell her that I found nothing,
She blessed me what an obedient girl, always obeying.
When at ten, I was told that there was a black devil,
comfortably renting a Neem tree beside our dwelling,
after everyone was asleep, I went to the tree at twelve,
to find nothing and I was confused and then not believe,
my elders any more. Told them many times,
I have found no spirits and devils,
in the trees, in the farms and the jungle,
They were too tired to teach me what they were taught,
when they had given up the hope on me,
I planted the seeds of awareness in them.
When my elders had the nap after the heavy meal,
we, the children, sneaked out of the house,
to play marbles, hide and seek kites and
snake and ladder. After play we used,
to go to the Garden our king built for his children,
where we found muddy water, fragrant trees and
the Lecherous males who tried to touch our budding breasts.
Then one day our wings were cut off,
by pouring the turmeric water on our heads,
tied the long saree on the slender body,
put the perfect jasmine on our hair,
decorated as the prettiest doll that they could,
We had lost our freedom and,
our elders are awake.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Third Heaven
'For as the heaven
is high above the earth
so great is his mercy
toward them
that feared him'.
Psalm 103: 11
Winged creatures, glistered by glory,
snapped him from the peak of the earth.
Consigned to heaven:
The elders en masse, in white robes sang:
Hallelujah! hallelujah! hallelujah to the King!
'The heaven, even the heavens,
are the Lord's:
But the earth hath he given
to the children of men'.
Psalm 115: 6
Now that I am here
what will my duties be?
The elders replied:
Worship!
Worship!
Worship the Lord on high!
poem by Buxton Shippy
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The old is with lust unspent
Elders rather than lads are thirsty of women.
Elders’ desire accumulates for want of drain
Owing to their sagging physical energy.
The old is always a threat to young women.
06.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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There has been enough suffering in our country, there has been enough of children whose dreams die before they have a chance to grow and there has been enough of our elders who, having served their nation, are forced into indignity in their old age.
quote by John Agyekum Kufuor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mysteries, like the Masonic rites, are ones parents and elders are sworn not to reveal to the uninitiated, which include all children. And so we sought for signs.
quote by Anthony Hecht
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Older Than
You are not older than your parents who gave birth to you!
Neither are you older than the elders in town;
So, try to listen to your parents and the words of the elders,
Because life is full of rules!
And you may easily burn your hands if you do not listen to them.
Life is full of experiences,
And experience is the best teacher!
That is why you have to listen to your parents and your elders,
Because they have had enough life experiences! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Healthy children will not fear life if their elders have integrity enough not to fear death.
quote by Erik H. Erikson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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