One Ancestry
One race...one ancestry
One place...one history
The importance of all these -
The start of you and me
Our family is like branches of tree
Some remain in Palompon, Leyte
A place where we can feel and see
Our great ancestor's merits and bravery
Others grow in different lands
Yet, our roots remain as one.
Each of our lives will always be intertwined
The breathe we take
The blood that flows through our veins
Is like a song that will never change.
A tear in my eye
With a heart full of pride
And that I cannot hide.
As I'm so blessed to be a part of history
A history that will be remembered and treasured
Not only today but on the next generation..
All of the information
Gathered from the past
Through your help & coordination we made it at last!
So, thank you for all you do,
I appreciate it and that's true!
poem by Amor Olorvida
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Tales of my past
Don't write me down in history,
In reference to my past deeds,
Works I derived no joy from,
Or mistakes of those years.
Don't write me down in history,
The ages gone show little of what I am,
That part of me is truly done,
My dreams now can say it all.
Don't write me down in history,
The lessons of life flows in my blood,
My blunders are now my teachers,
The scars now my daily pledge.
Don't write me down in history,
I am yet to achieve perfection,
Still I strive for redemption,
Searching the soil for my lost glory,
Don't write me down in history,
The tales of my past I recall,
That was then, this is me,
Woes to your judgment.
poem by Venessa Ambrose
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History!
Spoken words are history
Records of some remain a mystery
And when today and tomorrow
Row bitterly over yesterday
Today will become history
With just an empty space
Enlightened by a darkened face
History reminds me of a repetition of events
Dancing to the rhythm of the same kind of achievements
A battle is won or lost
Every love or hatred will eventually be buried in dust
I love you
You love me
Soon our love goes down in history
Someone else will find love a new discovery
So the theory behind is history
Is to have a story that commands all glory
For the inevitable past that will last!
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Our Own Kin
our own kin
name tags on my chest
genes in my flesh
our own skin
bearing our own family names
tattoos of our
marked existence as part of this
and that
roots
on our feet
and vines in our hands
wherever we go
we are us
our own kin our own skin
our identities as sons of these fathers
and mothers
as favorite grandsons
hope of the family tree
integrated
not grafts
but twigs and tendrils
despite our hatred
of the roots
we still are
leaves and
branches
how can we get away
from these that made us grow
into treetops
overlooking the mountains
of our lives
somehow there will be change
to norms
new laws for family ties
the right to take myself
from a name
to have my own house
inside my body
to get rid my veins of the
bad blood
to remove their nails
embedded on my toes
and fingers
somehow
know me as i am
and not a part
an extension of whom and
where
i have my on why you know
listen to me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The History of Now
The recording of culture is history;
but our culture is more than that.
It's the world of human action,
and the myths we make of the fact.
The recording of history is culture,
but our history is more than that.
It informs a hidden agenda.
Unconscious of motive we act.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
It's only the present that exists as endowed.
It's the history of now. The moment - KAPOW!
That knocks you right over and muddies your brow.
Through the prism of language, we know what we know.
We carry our baggage and stories of woe.
Victor and vanquished pride cannot budge,
the dead weight of hatred and ancestral grudge.
We fight our good fights with our hand on our heart;
the music is swelling as loved ones depart.
As sheep to the slaughter, the script cannot chart,
a course more ignoble: the propagandist's art.
The recording of history is culture,
but our culture is more than that.
More than the great individuals,
the scholars so love in their tracts.
The recording of culture is history;
but our history is more than that.
Not simple dates or statistics,
the full horror and gore still attracts.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
A strange contradiction that makes sense somehow.
It's the history of now, a mystery and shroud.
The past and the future: best fiction allowed.
poem by David SmithWhite
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The History Teacher
Woman!
Where exactly
Did you put me
In the women's history?
Am I History?
Or a part of it?
And for how long you are lacking me in;
Between
Your History,
Women's History, and
Your archives?
Does time make sense to you
As a History teacher or
As a History professor?
Cause', History, buying time, and rejuvenation
Are for emperors.
Are you making me
An emperor?
Or a Faeroe?
If so,
How precise your are?
And if you can't feel my present presence
how possibility could you feel me through your archives?
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Our Family Tree
We class ourselves as branches
on our family tree,
each person has a branch
and each branch has its branches
growing out of it.
Let’s go back to the beginning,
who would be the base
of our family tree.
In being logical,
we take the first names
in our written history
and those first two names
have to be Adam and Eve.
Now if they are the base
from which all families grow.
That makes everyone
on earth one big family,
and that makes everyone we talk to
part of our big family tree.
7 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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It's The Conquerors Who Write The History
As they chased the wild bison on horse back they whooped and cheered loud
And they were great hunters so noble and proud
But now on the prairies the bison are rare
And the people who hunted them no longer there.
Of the great Northern Land the first people till the invaders came
And their tragic dispossession is a thing of great shame
Conquered and put into reservations for to grow old and die
The rights of Indigenous people to them did not apply.
It's the conquerors who write history as we have been told
And men they have murdered for Land and for Gold
But what matters most when history we trace
That a Country's first people must take pride of place.
You great country singers with your golden guitars,
You politicians and tycoons and billionaire movie stars
There once was a people far greater than you
And to Mother Nature they were far more true.
And the workings of Nature they did understand
And they were the people who cared for the Land
And they were displaced and oppressed and down trod
By those who believed in a different God.
They once were great warriors, wise, noble and proud
And they gave us Chief Seattle and wise Chief White Cloud
And their profound words of wisdom still living today
And such things of great beauty will never decay.
The truth may seem bitter but the truth we must face
That a Country's first people should take pride of place
And around the World Indigenous people are not treated well
Though they have such marvellous stories to tell.
The conquerors write the history as conquerors do
But to the true history they never are true
And the conquered the history never will write
And we are conditioned to believe that might is always right.
The changes keep happening and nothing seem to last
And the great herds of bison a thing of the past
And those who once hunted them were locked away
And in reservations were forced for to stay.
Out on the lone prairie their ghosts still reside
At midnight the hunters their spotted horses ride
As they chase the wild bison across the great plain
The past in the moonlight comes to life again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Winners Write The History
That the winners write the war histories should not be the case
For war is a tragedy a human disgrace
And the losers in war see their Country destoyed
And the war history never written by the losing side.
Look at Oliver Cromwell victorious in war
The deeds of his glory from England known far
But those who write on Cromwell they never do tell
Of one who for poor people made life Earthly hell.
To the Catholics of Ireland Cromwell was a brute
The poor rural peasants he did persecute
Yet streets in his honour distant from England today
The winners only write the history so true what they say.
Efrain Rios Montt became President of Guatemala even though he
Was guilty of serious crimes against humanity
An old man now but for his crimes yet to pay
The winners write the history it's always been that way.
Augusto Pinochet in Chile has blood on his hands
And that he may die a free man seems hard to understand
And though loathed by many in Chile for his crimes of shame
The winners write the history and their's is the fame.
I've just mentioned a few for there are many more
Who have committed crimes against humanity but like it has been said before
that the winners write the history and that's how 'twill remain
And the mistakes of the past are repeated again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Library
That is why it is called library
Where stand all books buried
Built with huge grant amount to carry
Impressions of dead poets for all that past sorry
New generation wants fast result
Press the Google button and everything is built
Right from old warriors to new breed if politicians
History is on hand and can be seen as produced by the magician
Time is not far off when "library" word may become extinct
Boards may remain with sign but not more called distinct
All work and manuscripts may be stand converted
Into "e" governance and whole of the past may be subverted
It is our glorious past and heritage
We have maintained it as history on page
Many old scripture still find their place
They are the sacred heritage and must be preserved in any case
"Go and have reference from library" may become thing of past
The past may not only remain as past but soon deteriorate last
Few of the pages may speak about glorious death of civilization
Where as we need them as our only witness for old link and new relation
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Tye
I was once a great queen of Egypt,
Though I ‘am just a lifeless mummy now,
I was once at the heart of Egyptian life,
I became first queen of real power,
I helped shape history through my actions,
My name still lives on today,
People still carry my name after all these years,
I have become as close to immortal as any human can,
History still remembers who I was,
The Tye name lives on across the world,
People still us my name with pride,
Though I died so long ago I still live on,
Showing the world what I achieved,
I was the first woman to become an equal to men,
People respected me for my wisdom and intellect,
I paved the way for all those who followed me,
I was the first of many great queens though-out history,
I ‘am a sign of what could be achieved by one person.
poem by Christopher Tye
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What Of The Person Remains?
WHAT OF THE PERSON REMAINS?
What of the person remains?
For tens of thousands of years
Not even a bone.
For a few thousand
For a few a name and a story,
And for most, dust and nothingness.
But then
Portrait and family history
Photographs and then films
Clips of a life.
And now more and more detail
Everyman immortalized in each tweet and twitter
Eternity in an electronic file.
And yet with all this
With all the remnants and reminiscences
With all the recorded interviews
With all the tons and tons of information
Gathered around each name
What of the person remains?
All these images and information
All this non-erasable digital paradise
Has not made one single human being
Breathe again with the full breath of life.
The person does not remain
No matter how many memories and how much information
Is left behind.
Death is not defeated yet
As we record and record and record
Every passing instant and action
Of what one day in an instant
May all suddenly disappear.
We will forever be unable to do-
What only God
May do for us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Love: The History (Radha-35)
The history will not speak of you
No one was aware of it
Though
I had known
The history today,
so embarrassed and unprepared
had not been able to cuddle you
In its lap
Who will it answer?
And you refused to be a goddess
You were well aware
That
It was not useful for you
To be a goddess
After waiting for someone
For unlimited ages
You still aspire to
Continue waiting
Still frozen as an unknown monument
Half destroyed
Just because
You can remember me in your mind
You chose to remain human.
Had the history knew
History after history would come up after
And would be accountable
To the successor.
The questions would only return
To the history itself
Striking back the infinity (emptiness)
The history stands with bowing head
In front of you
Not able to measure your emptiness.
How will it understand your waiting?
Before so many ages
And so many ages ahead
You keep searching to whom
round and round
With your unflickered eyes.
poem by Subrat Pradhan
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England
We are a family in England cherish land,
When I look out upon the grim houses
A sense of fear entraps the confine soul
And duty force my will to pray more earnestly,
For providence we joined the search for freedom,
Together we all have some mournful tones,
Of cage birds public concern on toiling pinion,
England pride itself with its coats of arms,
Bearing the insignia of crest and fames,
See the banner flames waving in the skies.
Although heroes may fall, they are not forgotten,
In folklore deeds written their names shall rise,
And all who dare to be brave, a crown is theirs,
Over each town their golden names will wave.
All the games of men and women our history claim
Evoke the meaning pass from parents to children,
England branches go far and reach other lands.
Our ancestry surname the winners in heraldry gain,
Their heritage lies within the walls of England.
Seeking a warmer clime upon the narrows roads,
I see the line grass of stately garden trees.
That runs through the highway of the town,
Darker stones stood out from a shadowy past
History that forms the memory that once had been,
The past unite with the present and the future.
Like footsteps hidden in the sands of time.
That is seen on either side of the dispenser,
Through which they descend to search the archives.
Beneath English lands and the trampled ground,
Nothing is lost and much more about history to gain
In the place where we lay our names can be found.
poem by Gerry Legister
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We Affect Forever
We Affect Forever
We are making history, through every day we spend.
We are here, leaving our mark, a mark that will not end.
Others before have left behind this world we now obtain.
Though it’s changed since way back when, the old shall always remain.
History is how we got here, history is who we are.
History is what led to this, yes history is not far.
It remains within our families, its tradition and unchanging ways.
It’s Christmas day, Thanksgiving, its countless nights and days.
History is what you’re becoming; it’s what you are soon to be.
And history never dies; it’s a part of everybody.
We fight to maintain who we are, to maintain who we’ve always been.
And while we fight we know this fight is not easy to win.
Many forget the past, and many never even know,
Many people never hear of how times were long ago.
Those thousands of years before us, are more than just time spent.
They are filled with real people, real feelings, and real places that they went.
The People had different life styles very different from our ways,
But it is true that there is nothing knew under the sun’s golden rays.
Stand proud to be alive, know you affect forever.
Every act that we commit we all commit together.
We are entrusted with this earth; we must love and cherish this life.
We must remember to love our existence lest love becomes our strife.
Yes we are becoming history, through every move we make.
We are here, leaving our mark, a mark ……or perhaps a mistake.
poem by Mary Murphy
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History why do we care
History
a famous person dies
History
a war rages
History
a new invention
History
a building opens
History
what happens if something happens to me
is that history?
no....
So why do we care.....
poem by Andrea Thepoet
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History Never Repeats (feat. Neil & Tim Finn)
History never repeats
I tell myself before I go to sleep
Don't say the words you might regret
I lost before, you know I can't forget
There was a girl I used to know
She dealt my love a savage blow
I was so young, too blind to see
But anyway, that's history
And I say, history never repeats
I tell myself before I go to sleep
And there's a light shining in the dark
Leading me on towards a change of heart
You say I always play the fool
I can't go on if that's the rule
Better to jump than hesitate
I need a change and I can't wait
I say, history never repeats
I tell myself before I go to sleep
And there's a light shining in the dark
Leading me on towards a change of heart
Never repeats, whoa, oh
History never repeats (x2)
Deep in the night it's all so clear
I lie awake with great ideas
Looking about in no man's land
I think at last I understand
History never repeats
I tell myself before I go to sleep
And there's a light shining in the dark
Leading me on towards a change of heart
Ahhh
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peace Messenger
Thousand of rulers have come and gone
thousand of conqueror have conquered the world
most of them have become the chapter of history
history has lost some of name
but the history remember those
who have done for the sake of mankind
amongst them one more name will be added
who shall always be remembered
for his solitude administration
to conquer the peace
the messenger of peace of the present world
His Highness name is
Mr.Barack Obama
the Hon'ble President of USA
who is above all race and religion
May God bless him and his family
with Love and Peace.
poem by Ramesh Rai
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Patriarch
For generations of families by marriage
There are names that are given to children
It’s the names that are coupled to lineage
That builds a tree as the branches begin
Those who carry a family banner
And shoulder the name and the trust
Of courage and knowledge the giver
For all those who follow, a must
As long life will see many seasons
It’s those who are open to more
Pondering whereas, therefore and reasons
To hold a family’s treasured folklore
You, the patriarch of the family
To honor your place in the line
We move with grace and step quickly
As we thrust upward on history’s incline
(2011)
poem by Loren Page
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I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers at their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever knows. Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves. Perhaps some deep-rooted atavism urges the wanderer back to lands which his ancestors left in the dim beginnings of history. Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest.
quote by W. Somerset Maugham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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