REINCARNATION

Many religions or sects of religions believe in REINCARNATION.
If you believe/or pretend you believe in reincarnation.
Describe your previous life or lives ( up to 3 poems )
Reference: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reincarnation

1 poem new, 2 others may be old

any form of poetry that is acceptable to DUP
is fine

An example of a reincarnation poem....but again it should be your feelings....


LIFE IS A STAGE


If i could travel through time,

What would I see?

A thousand familiar faces

Staring at me.

_


Was I Napoleon?

Alexander the Great,

Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard, maybe Henry the Eighth.

_


Maybe, just maybe

I will fly to the moon

Or just become famous for drawing cartoons.

_


Each day we star

In our own special play,

Step up on stage,

Be king for a day.

_


Then right at the end,

The curtains come down

Step of the stage,

Hand back the crown.

_


That day may be over,

But surely you see?

The king may be dead,

But that wasn't me.

_


Tomorrow i'll change,

Step back on the stage,

Open the new book,

And turn the first page.

_


Start a new chapter

From Heaven to Earth,

Life turns a new circle

From death to rebirth.



_

Poem Copyright of M. Loveridge

http://nell-rose.hubpages.com/hub/Many-Lives

Ah! Most of my poems are on this subject (my past lives) so this will be a fun contest for me to take part in. Thanks for thinking of this interesting idea for a contest!

Here is one of my two older ones for the contest. It is called "Feudal Memories" and is about my past life in Feudal Japan during the Edo period...

- Feudal Memories -
Based on some of my past-life memories…

Part One: Garden Tryst

It was not, so very long ago, in all time’s turning,
That the scent of your perfume was as lavender!
Even lifetimes cannot erase the sting of yearning.
The eternal spirit within me, will ever remember!
The heat of another summer, caressing my skin…
Like the caressing of flowing silk against my legs,
Reminds me of how all my longing did first begin.
Memory is a wave that crashes but never breaks!
The taste of the tea we shared, sweet like apples,
And yet, sweeter still is the peace of the gardens.
Beneath the Torii arch, where the heart so swells,
We walked there asking not of gods for pardons.
Past pagodas and shrines, through deep forests…
Whilst the Sakura trees bore witness to our love,
We walked, we danced, and we lived as if blest!
No lord was there to demand of loyalty to prove.
None saw our meeting, except the errant birds…
Or, mayhap all the night’s fireflies: in their season.
For some memories there can be truly no words,
And for our tryst I can give not any deep reason.
My father had been a Ronin, but no rogue was I!
Though my path would prove much darker by far.
I would oft long for the gardens’ clear blue sky…
Even as I strove against my destiny’s terrible star!

Can I tell her or anyone the things I have beheld?
The tryst passed in another time, and I am lonely!
Herein, I shall record some of what, of old, I felt.
The better to share them, with modern company!
Shall I tell of the roaring of the ocean near Hara?
Or the snow-capped heights of distant mountains!
Each tree less green, the grass become so barren,
Because battle came, to bloody pristine fountains!

The greed of Tokugawa or the pride of rebellion!
Some chose his side in tradition and obedience…
And we fought him with courage like a fierce lion,
As we died, our blades conducting, a final dance.

Part Two: Fallen Legend

I remember the distant hills of the old prefecture,
Crowned with trees, far above seas of tall grass.
So far, from Edo: here, so wild was all of nature,
And silent the breeze, which blew never too fast!
Where the river flowed out, to meet the water…
My thoughts wandered, wondered, even drifted.
I was and am: the son, as well as the daughter…
On my journey, I beheld much whilst a veil lifted.
I still saw the faces of the fallen: who fell, for me!
In one final stand, where they fought: for Heaven.
Was it my head, men saw on a pole in Nagasaki?
That was how they told the ending of my legend.
Even in times of peace, I remember old battles…
Wherein, my white robes became stained scarlet.
There is turmoil in my heart: that nothing quells…
Except, for moments of love, and of gentle quiet.
Mine was a fallen legend, as from it I did rise up,
Changed and yet the same in spirit as ever I was.
At a table with death, warriors oft will go to sup,
But I did not seek her for I served a fairer cause.
Her scent was not lavender, but crimson tainted!
I saw her visage in a statue of the Virgin I beheld,
Which made me tremble, so that I nearly fainted!
In a tiny village: where oft I had prayed and knelt.

The statues later eras made of me: have no life…
No one could know, that I would not stay gone!
They are dead, inanimate, lacking peace or strife,
The images erected, long after wars lost or won!
Can they convey the horror of sword upon bone?
There is no elegance in slaughter, no divine merit!
Only the dying, and the dead, seeking to atone…
Their spirits, seeking, like the way fireflies will flit.

Where had the peaceful times gone that I adored?
The scent of your lavender perfume so fleeting…
Yet eternal in my memory where all this is stored!
Mayhap, one day, we will meet again, in greeting.

Part Three: Risen Colors

Do others rise again from death as I have arisen?
Or is it uncommon, for one to recall their doom!
We all have many colors, just like unto a prism…
Shining brighter, than the rabbit high in the moon.
All light, all dark, and a multitude of vibrant hues,
The spirit glows with an aura only the gifted spy!
Where do all the colors go, when battle ensues?
They turn red as if all of nature men would deny.
Where is nobility, when honor is soon forgotten?
I strive for benevolence and let compassion rule.
Without love, the spirit of man becomes rotten…
As in the absence of kindness we do grow cruel.
The cross I once fought for was broken asunder,
Where the bones of the slain lay heaped around.
And though I fell, before the Shogun’s thunder…
My spirit would never remain long in the ground.
The colors of love rise like a rainbow, in glories,
Long after the smoke of war has fully dissipated.
There is much that is not recorded in old stories!
The truths I tell, only the truly wise have awaited.
As a child in that life, I remember this sparrow…
Which alighted on a branch I so held in my hand.
Like a miracle, and yet my sight was so narrow,
For I could not know the course of time’s sand!

It has been long since I laid aside my old sword,
And taken up the pen which touches other souls.
There is so much power in the sharing of a word,
Power, that even the author never truly controls!
When the sun set on the bygone era now passed,
None imagined I would rise with a distant morn!
But here I am, with knowledge I have amassed…
Pen in hand, yet of old battles my spirit still worn.

The age of the old wars has departed; I am glad!
Though the scent of lavender haunts me always…
Reminding me of you, sometimes making me sad.
A mark of my rebirth: that my soul ever displays!

If you've read my semi-fictional account "Legend of the Undead Samurai" parts 1, 2, and 3... which is elsewhere here on this site... then you proabably have a good idea who I was back then. That account contains a LOT of my real past-life memories from that incarnation of mine. So it isn't just a good story. ;)

This is my second older poem about my past life in Feudal Japan. It deals with the same life as related in "Feudal Memories" but tells about a mostly peaceful memory I have from that life and how it is contrasted by memories of my death in that incarnation.

- The Well Maiden -
Based on some of my past-life memories…

I knew a sweet maid once, so long ago it seems,
When in feudal times past, I was adored by her.
She was like a sister to me, beloved to my heart,
And through the centuries, I think we have met…
Sometimes, as poets, but always as dear friends!
In the feudal era of Japan, as the rising sun gleams,
She watched, as by a well we poets met to confer.
I saw her listening enthralled by words of such art,
Which I knew not I could weave, my mind so set…
On humility and honor, which never once offends.
A poet in spirit, with a heart as keen as any blade!
That is how she saw me, and she was not afraid…
Though some said of me things so dark and light,
Which were born from truths revealed in the night.
We had not any love for the Shogun’s harsh rule…
And my words were weapons, so kind and cruel.
I am glad if she does not recall that life in that age,
For the past can bring sorrow, regret, and rage…
At the things, we think, we may have done better.
To remember is a burden that can become bitter!

I remember, the castle you could spot from sea…
Hara, was its’ name, and there we made a stand.
Few against many, with swords and rifles drawn!
The food grew too little, and time was against us.
For our beliefs we perished, a poem in my soul…
I thought once of you, before my spirit went free.
You, sweet maid, who walked across that land…
To fight by my side: to secure our brighter dawn.
All battles must cease, and old swords shall rust!
We are at the mercy of fates no one can control.
Such is the passionate spirit, such as we possess,
And so this small memory, to you I shall confess.
In that long ago life, I thought in a hundred years,
I would return to wash away all my bloody tears.
It would be longer before I could be born anew,
But eventually, my personal prophecy came true.
There were many following my banner’s calling…
Who were with me at Hara as doom was falling!
But I never forget the kind girl I met by the well,
In our quiet, rural village, untouched by any hell.

I wore robes of white, my black hair so flowing,
Behind me, whilst I strode from the ruins of old.
I stood tall before the rising sun even to the last,
Whilst the fires consumed the castle I defended!
The sun set, rising not, on the era we fought for.
When it rose again, the flames were all glowing,
Amidst dolorous ruins where we fought, bold…
Engraved perhaps, on our memories of the past.
Words you wrote of me once, I commended…
Since they reminded me of all that came before.
My katana sword was so sheathed at my side,
As I met dark destiny, with my shoulders wide!
My eyes looked oft to the horizon ere that day,
When Hara Castle fell and many came, to slay.
Like ebony curtains, my hair tumbled on down,
As my head fell with it, to meet a rough ground.
To remember such things, of my own demise…
Is a harder thing, than many people may realize.
To be born again is a blessing and so I savor…
All of life’s joys, every breath and every flavor!

I'll be back presently with my third poem, the new one I must write, for the contest. Ta for now!

Jennifer - I am so pleased to have your submissions because you really believe in reincarnation.
Gypsy Red - thank you for the beautiful poem and presentation.

My thanks, somelikeithot! As promised, I have returned with my third poem and it is a brand new one. I call this one: "Blood at Hara", and it deals solely with the darkest moment of my life in the Edo era of Feudal Japan. As such, it was a difficult write, but I feel a necessary one to conclude these three poems on the right note. I ended it with a vision of death leading to rebirth.

- Blood at Hara -
Based on some of my past-life memories…

I stood, within a hexagram etched on the old floor,
Before an altar where stood a large wooden cross…
In the castle of Hara, where I so waited once more:
For God, to come to my soul’s defense at any cost.
For, the Shogun was wrathful, because of our faith,
And brought the armies of his nation to Hara’s gate.
He did not know me, and had never seen my face…
Nor had he need to, in order to indulge in his hate!
It was enough we were different, to warrant death,
In a time of conformity and tradition growing staler.
I would defy such sterile law, until my dying breath,
But my people grew hungry; their skin grew paler…
As we fought off our enemies until supplies ran low.
We were betrayed from within, and from without…
And there was blood at Hara, and a mighty bellow,
When the Samurai came against us with loud shout!

God never answered, so to the Devil I had turned…
Damning myself to return, denying myself a final rest,
As my sword tasted blood whilst the castle burned!
I watched my people die and it pierced my breast…
For I could not save them, despite all of my praying,
And so I could only avenge those who fell so vainly.
The Samurai and their Ninja all came cruelly slaying,
And even Miyamoto Musashi would regret sanely…
His part in destroying the innocents who were killed!
But my hand was as bloody, and not of my accord.
It was the plan of some divinity that so cruelly willed,
Their ends to be at the point of my own keen sword:
Women and children gathered about me, eyes wide,
Begging me to grant them a merciful end, ere long…
There was no place left to retreat to or to even hide.
So I granted them their desire, though it was wrong!

By the siege’s end, my white garments were so red,
That I looked like a demon, and not the angel I was.
I do not remember how many enemies that day bled,
Nor how many friends I sacrificed for our lost cause.
Musashi would not remain, for his honor was great…
And the Shogun could not force him to be a butcher!
But he had taken his share of lives, red thirst to sate,
Before his conscience caused him to feel for another.
And so I never faced him in combat during that time,
For my head beckoned for another’s katana to take.
I faced my remaining enemies with my face sublime…
Knowing they had not any power to, my soul, break.
I died rebelling, against God and against the Shogun,
Vowing to return, because my soul was so immortal.
And it is, for when my next destined life had begun…
My damned spirit came back, through birth’s portal!

Wow Jessica...thank you for that....

I was

I stood before the river proud
Head held high
The conquered race
I watched them behead
My queen Omeriad
My King they had hung
On the city gate
Red spattered river flowed
I, priestess, prayed to the gods
Of the blue capped mountains
They were silent
I moaned as the sword slashed
My throat

I held my wife
Tight in my arms
Tears falling down my cheek
The white haired devils of the North
Have passed through
Leaving death upon their wake
My wife they raped
All ten of them
All reeking like randy goats
My sons they killed
My arms were strong
But not enough,
I will be dead soon from my wounds


I sat beside my King
Tall dark and hideous
Kingdom of the southern realm
Where sun was perpetual
And the people sin
incest abounded
I longed for death
And it did come
When my King used my body
In the most hideous way
He whipped, gagged, hung and copulated
With me
So good to die

I ran for cover
I screamed her name
The bombs behind me
shrill screams in seeming anger
I must reached the bridge
Or I would die
In my hand her photo
So beautiful, long black hair
Framing her face
I loved her I must return
To love her again
The world went dark

Tropical sun
Familiar yet alien
Promises of rain
In the humid air
So much like millions of yesterdays
Yet its new still
There will be more...
The circle of cycles draws near
Soon I will leave to travel
Once more
To live the lifes for me and more
To touch others
That I may hold dear
Or Not.

A pretty girl, age unknown.
Came into town, left town.
Not a word from her mouth,
Not a glance at anyone else.
She buys bread and tea.
She does this for three years.
Comes to the town every week on Saturday.

Always wearing a green emerald cloak.
Her hair a fine white.
People gossip shes an old woman.
People gossip she is a witch.

One day an adventurous boy,
a boy of 16,
follows this 'Witch'
He wants to see who she is.
He just doesn't want to be bored.
The girl alone travels into a winding path.
It curves and dips,
It winds and slopes.

All the wile the boy follows,
Marking his way,
In case of immediate escape.

The Girl makes a sharp turn.
there are a thick of trees she heads into,
The boy follows unaware she knows hes there.

Worried the boy cant find his way back,
He turns to walk back to the path,
As to make it home for dinner.
He walks and walks.
There is nowhere to be going to now, he thinks,
I am lost.
The boy walks and walks,
Night descends,
The boy still wonders.

The girl is back in town the next week,
The people aim there guns at her.
She is frightened.
You took him you witch!
They scream,
Were going to kill you!
They snicker.

A burning to the stake they will do.  
A cry she gives.
To the one who is lost.
She is indeed a witch.
Will she die today?
The boy,
Boarding at her home,
Can't hear her.
He can remember her pretty face,
She was younger than him,
Only 15,
She was pretty.
He had wanted to stay with her,
She was a witch,
He didn't care.

She is being tied now.
She is desperate.
Wont he help her now?
One last scream from her,
It seals her fate.
Her soul never passes on,
For it is enraged.


The boy,
Given eternity to live,
The curse of the black witch.
A doctor now,
Helps a woman give birth to a baby,
She has white hair and blessed green eyes.
She also has a birth mark
A pale almost not there,
Mark of the black witch.

A small star shaped mark,
Rests above her eye.

And thus the black witch is born again.

Grace and Ashe - thank you very much for supporting this competition with your submissions.
Peace
Kitty

The Further...

The further I go into the atmosphere of contemplation
The more I return to this plane...
experiencing..the plight of this thing we call life
all over again...
While life tasks and life paths have remained incomplete
I have a strange sense of De Ja Vu when I cross the street
or a strange sense of remembrance with certain people I meet
I am a healer of old from another place and time
I was a warrior bold fearless... cut down in my prime
I was  A Native American Shaman I spoke to the spirits in trees
I was a small girl of foreign origin a tomboy who skinned her knees
I was a sister to a warrior in Africa no less
I was an Egyptian Oracle....I wore the kings crest
So much I remember vivid memory
and all these lives are alive inside me

Firebyrd - thank you for your submission.