Men can know more than their ancestors did if they start with a knowledge of what their ancestors had already learned....That is why a society can be progressive only if it conserves its traditions.
quote by Walter Lippmann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
I have often noticed that ancestors never boast of the descendants who boast of ancestors. I would rather start a family than finish one. Blood will tell, but often it tells too much.
quote by Don Marquis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some people are your relatives but others are your ancestors, and you choose the ones you want to have as ancestors. You create yourself out of those values.
quote by Ralph Ellison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today You Guys Are Just Going To Have To Wait
At times I feel,
I provoke the ghosts...
Of my ancestors.
Especially when I know,
I am not at my best!
And rest I'd rather get.
Than to impress with those gifts,
From which I did get,
As a result of my ancestors blood and sweat.
Never did I wish,
To sit...
In the taking for granted,
Of those I represent and miss.
But I do admit,
A feeling I provoke...
The wishes of my ancestors.
Those ghosts within me that make visits.
Awaiting impatiently to do...
Not what I want.
But what they insist!
'Today you guys are just going to have to wait,
And sit.
I am tired.
I need rest.
And rest I am going to get! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Haunted By My Own
Haunted by my own.
Haunted by a bloodline...
My ancestors have sewn.
And I confess...
My obsession to do my best!
This wont leave me alone.
I feel I am here,
To make their voices known.
I can not neglect a moment of respect.
To be perceived as a disrespect.
I must protect and protest indignities!
Haunted by my own.
Haunted by a bloodline...
My ancestors have sewn.
And I confess...
The challenge to please them,
Leaves me restless to achieve.
To heights of a success...
That will have all believe I have succeeded.
And my ancestors can attest,
I have done them well!
Although my haunting will continue,
Since they and I are not quite through...
To convince with proof what I am here to do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Romance
He looks at me with a madman's eyes -
It's your house and porch I know so well.
He gives me a kiss with his crimson lips -
Our ancestors had gone to war in scales of steel.
He brought me a bouquet of crimson carnations -
It's your austere face I know so well.
He asked in return for a single kiss -
Our ancestors had gone to war in scales of steel.
He touched me with his finger bearing a dark ring -
It is your dark ring I know so well.
Together we tumbled down on a Turkish divan -
Our ancestors had gone to war in scales of steel.
He looks at me with a madman's eyes -
Dwindle away, o you stars, and fade, o you moon!
He gives me a kiss with his crimson lips -
Our ancestors had gone to war in scales of steel.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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I’ll Change My Name
I give you thanks all my people
Congratulations,
For helping change my name
Which initials would not be known to our ancestors.
I’ll change my mother tongue and modify my Alma-matter
I’ll change my voice so you would no longer recognize my songs
I’ll cut all the favorable crops in the farm and plant in it new ones
Just like the frog, I’ll bathe in waters
In order to differ from the toad.
All because I’ll change my name
Which initials would not be known to our ancestors.
I write this to you all my people
That ignorance deserted me from my own land
And I’ll come back no more
I gave it in worlds that you could understand
In parables I left it with others that they would also understand
And tell the ancestors that
I’ll change my name which initials would not be known to them
Tell me if the ancestors are still alive,
Lying there and see you helped me change my name
Tell me if they have lost their eyes and years
That they can’t see and hear
If so, then my people, you those
Whose fire woods have reached your head load
Go and tell them, I say
I’ll change my name which initials would not be known to them.
Once men could now see and hear
That I’ll change my name;
Today that I’m felt with the muse of poetry
In my shabby cloths
I gave it out in words and parables
That you helped me change my name.
Thanks,
Thank you all my people
Congratulations,
Tell them and more handsome rewards from heavens
If not too far from you
Just because you helped me change my name
Which initials would not be known to our ancestors
But still, I’ll change my name.
copyright (c) Sep.2006 E. Korsi Senyo Kumedzina
poem by Korsi Senyo
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My Father's Son
I am my father's son.
And proud am I to be!
I am his namesake.
And it is up to me...
To ensure my journey,
Reflects what to me this means.
And I owe it to him and my ancestors...
To rise above any obstacles I see.
I am my father's son.
And proud am I to be!
I will do my best always.
And face those tests with dignity.
What I am given to receive...
I accept with a will to make him,
And those of my ancestors pleased!
I am my father's son!
And I want this known to everyone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Ancestors Still Speaks
Hear the Negros from my ancestors to the generation of young Blacks
Americans proudly say: Our black is united together around the world,
different ethnic backgrounds together we are one.
Our black stands strong through the evil of racism and diversity
Our black is bold
Our black is free
Our black lives on
My ancestors still speaks.
poem by Anasha Greham
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You Tell Me Of Your Australian History
You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.
The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.
Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.
I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.
You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told
poem by Francis Duggan
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Indeed, if our ancestors of millions of years ago hadn't learned how to care for one another and hunt in packs, they'd all have ended up being eaten by leopards.
quote by Robert Shea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Tasks Are Deeper Than That
It is not from a core,
Heated with an ego...
I wish adored.
My tasks are deeper than that.
My approach to life,
Keeps my ancestors intact.
It is not for adulation,
I crave to taste.
Or applause to acknowledge,
I have talents gifted...
From an unseen higher place.
My tasks are deeper than that.
My approach to life,
Keeps my ancestors intact.
It's a fact I respect my ancestors tracks.
I feel their spirits around and in me.
As if from one tree...
I am a limb with them attached.
I am here to succeed.
Not to accept defeat.
Or feed frustrations,
That stagnate my reach.
My tasks are deeper than that.
My approach to life,
Keeps my ancestors intact.
Impatient with waste.
And with those who procrastinate.
No excuses do I make...
With those who fake life.
And seek ways to escape.
I am here to succeed.
Not to accept defeat.
Or feed frustrations,
That stagnate my reach.
And no emotional limitations,
Will interfere with my deeds...
In a preventive escalation.
That within me,
Gets no empathy.
I'm not here to sob and weep,
To have insecurities of others...
Stop this stride in a movement I keep.
I am here to succeed.
Not to accept defeat.
Or feed frustrations,
That stagnate my reach.
And it is not from a core,
Heated with an ego...
I wish adored.
My tasks are deeper than that.
My approach to life,
Keeps my ancestors intact.
It is a fact I respect my ancestors tracks.
I feel their spirits around and in me.
As if from one tree...
I am a limb with them attached.
And these deeds from me I promise to deliver!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Caged Prisoners
They take a vote to decide,
Whether or not they should move forward?
And another to decide if they should abandon,
Those limitations of thought and the process of it!
This may seem ludicrous...
But people like this actually exist!
They think of themselves as being progressive...
With an exactness,
Even caged prisoners would petition against.
And despise they do,
Those who protest their degraded quality of life.
They prefer that such issues be kept quiet...
And not attract attention.
Lessons received from their ancestors.
With content and comprehension...
Has been released and is nonexistent!
And yet...
At odds with the delivery, purpose and perception.
When in celebration of historic events...
Although clearly maintaining the routine of values meant!
Nothing more!
Just the pretense of it!
Even though an hypocrisy kept,
May be in conflict with the hip hoppers...
Unwrapping disrespect gone unaddressed.
With presentations that expose cracks on naked butts!
As minds fly high around warning signs posted on trees,
Above the pictures of missing neighborhood children!
But who really cares...
When there are still those who are trying to 'project' traditions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Afrikaner genetics (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
Maybe wild trees grow
the yards of your ancestors,
their worth have become nothing
like stale salt,
their faces are yellow
and most of them are squint,
they walk without words to nowhere
but I have a God that stands with me
and my ancestors,
with brave men that do not disregard their duty
who do not imagine them above others
who had chosen their wives
out of a people that God himself planted
and your insults of my people and me
make me raving mad, worse that just angry.
[Reference: Afrikanergenetika (Afrikaner genetics) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Twinkling In the Heavens
These days I find it exceedingly easy,
To praise you.
My ancestors.
You who have come before,
To lay down a smoother path
Through those doors you have opened,
I am grateful.
My obstacles are not as great,
As yours have been.
And this is the driving force I keep within.
These days I find it exceedingly easy,
To praise you.
My ancestors.
Twinkling in the heavens.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Cherish Those Steps Taken By My Ancestors
I cherish those steps,
Taken by my ancestors.
And I do my best...
To reflect against their shadows left.
I hold my breath,
With wishes to please.
I am here to uplift their spirits,
With a selfishness to receive...
Their blessings.
And to leave my mark,
To enlighten the brightness...
Given to me to spark,
A continued greatness...
My ancestors afforded me.
To fulfill with a belief I can and will
A destiny achieve!
And feeling proud I am allowed to labor,
In this quest with a life...
Blessed with such an honor,
That ignites to incite an encouraged insight!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Grave You Dig Is Your Own
The tears of our ancestors fall upon our graves,
In which we have placed ourselves by our own decieving hand.
We are to be hung by the gallows, of which we build ourselves,
With jelousy and pride our noose has been woven.
The winds of time gone by, and time to come, blow past our funeral’s march,
Attended by those who also attend their own,
Generations to come wait in wonder of our knowledge,
Lies and deceit we have written and call truth.
Dreams of dreamers, whose lives have flowed past us, create a parallel reality,
An impossible event like that of a circle encompassed in another whom touch.
To the grave we march, an army of ourselves, to an inevitable fate we’ve written.
We join the graves we’ve dug, headstones we’ve set, our own names engraved,
And let the tears of our ancestors’ rain down and water our daisies of dying hope.
By: Bethany J. Maxwell
December 7,2010
©2010
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Based In Demonic Ways
If you are not playing sports...
Get out.
If you are not attending school,
On a scholarship.
Get out.
Visit but do not stay.
Those who give...
Are the least respected.
And that is projected in the atmosphere.
The people sit in dens of sins and wickedness.
And those in control,
Have done their best...
To protect the wishes of their ancestors.
Those who lie, cheated and stoled!
If you are young...
Have fun!
And get out.
Those too old in their minds...
Have been confined!
A sniffing dog will not find life lived wholesomely!
Not within the boundaries.
Not from these folks.
With traditions based in demonic ways!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Treat the earth well: it was not given to you by your parents, it was loaned to you by your children. We do not inherit the Earth from our Ancestors, we borrow it from our Children. We are more than the sum of our knowledge, we are the products of our imagination.
As man left the shore (Reply to Anthony Delius)
As man left the shore
venturing over the first horizon
the open blue sea
laid unknown, without route,
even a map in front of him
and it was not in his mind
that he sailed beyond where he
at first could see
and ventured further away
from the know quay
and through the fog in the west
came upon other beaches, other shores
explored new lands, found other places
set his foot on other sand
constructed buildings, shelters,
planted seed for crops
and gathered in families
and the last man still knows
what experience, knowledge
and tales of his ancestors he have learned
and prays and yearns to do service
to his God who created every thing
and in perfection
do not have to recreate or invent again
in a universe that exists without end.
[Reference: Reply to Pessoa by Anthony Delius.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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We Trace Our Roots
there are ways of tracing our roots
where we come from
why we are here
how our forefathers braved
the seas and survived the big waves
of uncertainties
the cold, dark nights of their fears
how they all believed in dreams
how they trusted the direction given by the stars
how they solidified their hearts
with faith and hope
and love
as i listen to all of you talk about the stories
of our ancestors
my mind begins to to grow and travel
like roots
deep down the earth
tracing some humus
where i must live again
perhaps ever braver than the pioneers
they are our ancestors
and i think, they still believe that since we come from them
we must all be like them,
my dear cousin, now we have become the roots ourselves
and another child shall come
in the future
and listen some more, wanting to become branches and leaves and flowers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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