ETHNIC POETRY

We are an ethnically diverse population on DUP.
Write a poem that comes from where you find your roots.

you may submit 3 poems - old or new

any genre of poetry is acceptable

any length

Kindly remind me if I have forgotten anything.

Thanks!

Kitty

EXAMPLE:

THE BEDOUIN DRESS

Sam Hamod

You run your
hand     just so
very slowly
over the dark sewn fabric of this
Bedouin dress – you feel
three thousand years rough up
against the color of your
skin      against the colors of your
memory          you tell me
“When I wear this dress
I always come out
red”      and I,
looking at the
rustle in you, say
“You must look good
all red”         and the
brightness of your
hair       is lit up by the shine of
your eyes        so predictable
a beauty    but your laughter
always surprising
and new
like this
dress     so many
years
in the making
with so many hidden     desert places
so many deep crevices
in the heart

MY EXILE

My exile took place in 1492

Spain, I cried for you

In the boat that took us

On a long journey

On a shaky boat

I prayed we would find a land

That would accept us as we were

Now I have been reincarnated

And an angel came to me

He said you were my true love

Who drowned himself at sea

Despondent at leaving his homeland

Inconsolable, desperate

In the country of the Moors

I married a Moorish man

I was his third but favorite wife

He said that the angels must have sent me to him

Our love did not last long

I died in childbirth, a martyr

Now as we both age

An angel again came to me

That in our next life

We will marry.

Kou_Indigo said:- My Roots -
A Contemplation of My Ancestry

Part One: English

My roots go back for generations, beyond count…
Noble knights on grand crusades, with red crosses,
Over white robes to mark the secrets of the temple!
They went to the Holy Land to see the sacred mount,
And what they found there, bland history never says.
Yet their tale is writ in my blood, living by example…
Their quest a part of my body, a temple also grand!
Secrets kept, nobility traded for freedom maintained,
Until the hidden knights became people of the land…
Simple in their ways, yet more to be by that gained!
For humility is a virtue that makes the soul soar high,
No matter one’s station; even so, our coat of arms…
We still keep proudly, even unto distant shores nigh.
The ancient craft we practice still, with elder charms,
And eldritch signs of witch-work that none suspect!
Never to harm, ever to help, as we strive for glory…
Seeking to nurture our spirits, as secrets we protect.
Witches and warlocks in shining armor of old story,
Wizard knights were my ancestors in merry England.
Their tales were more fabulous than many imagined!

Part Two: Irish

Some say the Celts were descended from the Faerie,
Children of Dana were said to be in our blood also…
Golden and proud, from the lost lands and misty isles!
They kept the druidic traditions in the magical reverie,
Of sorcery that is as wild and when the winds blow…
Bound to the remarkably cunning wit and crafty wiles.
Such wit as is preserved in me, and which I do honor,
And such wiles as I am of a want to so indulge in turn.
I still revere the Goddess, and heap glories upon her!
For within my being, her very flame does hotly burn…
As it blazed in the realms where a king of silver hand,
Did preside over a court with harps of gold and silver.
His fair people were a strong, lusty, and hearty band!
And, in their spears, there was oft place just a sliver…
Of precious gemstones that glittered like the very sun,
When its’ light sets in the west, on an autumn twilight.
The very stuff of how grand tales might be thus spun!
I am of their courts of Faerie, of autumn and of night.
Nature sings to me her mysteries, her hidden powers,
As I walk as my ancestors did, amidst garden flowers.

Part Three: German

Noble Nordic peoples from a cold land of mountains,
And dark forests where pagan gods once ran freely…
Stubborn yet magnificent both in victory and in defeat!
The old castles with their tapestries and their fountains,
Still cling to the rough gray crags that loom most steely.
Much laughter and tears did those snowy peaks greet!
Steel and iron in the blood, iron and fire that dies not…
Such is the Viking way, and it was our way in its’ time.
The Germany of old, is now so gone from all thought…
And few are they: who remember the moment sublime,
When Siegfried slew the dragon and become a legend.
Two world wars made people forget the heroic tales…
As the will of one man brought the world near its’ end.
Short, is human memory, with a sight that too oft fails!
Pain keeps the heart from beating as strong as it aught,
Yet mine beats strong and proud, and can do not less.
The blood of the north is within my deed and thought…
And I welcome it, for it brings me not a bit of distress.
The wars are over, and it is a time for honor to return,
Honor being the virtue for which true heroes all yearn!

Part Four: Angelic

Some have whispered that I am part something other,
Blood from the stars, the roots of which are angelic…
Brought from other worlds, by hands not fully human!
Such forbidden tales, were preserved, by my mother,
And passed unto me with truth joyous yet also tragic.
For the blood of fallen angels carries within it their sin.
Yet I bear the weight of their ancient ways and blood,
For there are none save I in my family with such curse.
Yet I call it blessing, and one that predates the Flood!
Some would make of my nature a thing far, far worse,
But they know not the truth of those who descended…
And were revered by the ancestors of man in the past.
Truth, that lies within me, which no lies ever upended!
There are things in this universe, that for eternity last…
And that and all the rest of what I wrote in this poetry,
Make up who and what I am today, making me proud.
A person’s roots can be the source of so much dignity,
That one must sing of it, and so this tale I share aloud.
What a mix is a soul clad in a body, of what was prior!
My blood is hot, for within it blazes my ancestors’ fire.

By the fucking Gods you are talented!

“The Benefits of Hate”
http://digitaljournalist.org/issue0407/images/richards-Haviv_Croatia.jpg
Despite their hate,
they sailed the high seas, and
brought with them dreams of peace.
A real chance to start all over again,
teach their children a different way of life,
the opportunity of a lifetime to make things right.
Sure, both sets (great and great-great grandparents)
had hidden pains,  for they knew
the high cost of cleansing, not the bodily type,
but, the ethnic kind that they all had lived through.

Daddy’s parents were Croats true and blue,
but, if you knew their hatred for the Serbs,
you’d think they were criminals on the run.
Neither spoke great English, but
they knew how to work,
steel mills were their craft,
that ethnic claim
paid off greatly.

Momma’s grandparents liked to
imbibe the drink and dance the jig.
But just think, if you knew how much
they hated the Brits,  
you wouldn’t blame them,
they could never win being occupied,
both lost family to the Crown and
cried because of it.
Irish to the core, they had a wish
for their kids to know more than just hate,
they were first class, not second-rate,
their ethnic claim was family and fun.

So, there you have it.
I grew up in the
land of milk and honey,
I work hard for my money and
take no government subsidies,
that was not their way,
we all have taxes to pay.
Daily, I think about all the fun  
I’ve had because of the hate they had,
it makes me sad they can’t see me now.
And, any hate I might have,
I never show it, that’s another
thing they gave me,
it would make them
mighty proud and glad.

we have history
but i don't see a future
yet
hope
anger
hatred
loathing
but
the worst feeling of all
the realization
of
these
but if you dont hit rock bottom
you don't have any ground to
jump...

Thank you for submitting....more invited!

Druid

Settled atop a scabrous stone, rippled with mossy strands
Weathered coarse throughout aeons of shepherding travelers
I perch, a progeny of the vast woodlands
It is here I inspire, the cartographer’s eidetic recollection
The artist’s dexterous finesse, and the bard’s merry wit
As I have performed for those lost in essence
A breeze sails in on wings of articulation  
And I catch the whispers of the deep Autumn zephyr
Many by the birds, in the arias they sing to me
But certainly none astray amidst Her sheltered domain
Stolen away beneath cultivating sunlight
Apollo’s glow cast overhead, chasing warmth into my roots
Providing me with an illustrious landscape view
Ornamental patterns dodge through layered scales of leaves
Only to paint their shaken brethren upon the forest floor
With soft white centers and flourished gold borders
And the rhythmic cadence of water in ribbons through valleys of sand
Where fish leisurely flow downstream on the current
Where I bide something of my time
Such as many another, contributing their own ambience    
The regal pace of the stag entwined with gentle eyes  
Goes unbroken upon my reveal, my contrast undisguised  
We are all akin to Her mind’s eye model
I am a child of Her design, with knots and dashes etched into my skin
Unyielding and vigorous since my dawning here
For now and tomorrow, without evermore
For the birds will continue their melodies, and many others will hearten
The likes of the cartographer, the artist, and the bard
But when I cease, they will never find another of me

Keep submitting beautiful poetry!

NecrophiliacVegan said:[quote-149862-Kou_Indigo]- My Roots -
A Contemplation of My Ancestry

Part One: English

My roots go back for generations, beyond count…
Noble knights on grand crusades, with red crosses,
Over white robes to mark the secrets of the temple!
They went to the Holy Land to see the sacred mount,
And what they found there, bland history never says.
Yet their tale is writ in my blood, living by example…
Their quest a part of my body, a temple also grand!
Secrets kept, nobility traded for freedom maintained,
Until the hidden knights became people of the land…
Simple in their ways, yet more to be by that gained!
For humility is a virtue that makes the soul soar high,
No matter one’s station; even so, our coat of arms…
We still keep proudly, even unto distant shores nigh.
The ancient craft we practice still, with elder charms,
And eldritch signs of witch-work that none suspect!
Never to harm, ever to help, as we strive for glory…
Seeking to nurture our spirits, as secrets we protect.
Witches and warlocks in shining armor of old story,
Wizard knights were my ancestors in merry England.
Their tales were more fabulous than many imagined!

Part Two: Irish

Some say the Celts were descended from the Faerie,
Children of Dana were said to be in our blood also…
Golden and proud, from the lost lands and misty isles!
They kept the druidic traditions in the magical reverie,
Of sorcery that is as wild and when the winds blow…
Bound to the remarkably cunning wit and crafty wiles.
Such wit as is preserved in me, and which I do honor,
And such wiles as I am of a want to so indulge in turn.
I still revere the Goddess, and heap glories upon her!
For within my being, her very flame does hotly burn…
As it blazed in the realms where a king of silver hand,
Did preside over a court with harps of gold and silver.
His fair people were a strong, lusty, and hearty band!
And, in their spears, there was oft place just a sliver…
Of precious gemstones that glittered like the very sun,
When its’ light sets in the west, on an autumn twilight.
The very stuff of how grand tales might be thus spun!
I am of their courts of Faerie, of autumn and of night.
Nature sings to me her mysteries, her hidden powers,
As I walk as my ancestors did, amidst garden flowers.

Part Three: German

Noble Nordic peoples from a cold land of mountains,
And dark forests where pagan gods once ran freely…
Stubborn yet magnificent both in victory and in defeat!
The old castles with their tapestries and their fountains,
Still cling to the rough gray crags that loom most steely.
Much laughter and tears did those snowy peaks greet!
Steel and iron in the blood, iron and fire that dies not…
Such is the Viking way, and it was our way in its’ time.
The Germany of old, is now so gone from all thought…
And few are they: who remember the moment sublime,
When Siegfried slew the dragon and become a legend.
Two world wars made people forget the heroic tales…
As the will of one man brought the world near its’ end.
Short, is human memory, with a sight that too oft fails!
Pain keeps the heart from beating as strong as it aught,
Yet mine beats strong and proud, and can do not less.
The blood of the north is within my deed and thought…
And I welcome it, for it brings me not a bit of distress.
The wars are over, and it is a time for honor to return,
Honor being the virtue for which true heroes all yearn!

Part Four: Angelic

Some have whispered that I am part something other,
Blood from the stars, the roots of which are angelic…
Brought from other worlds, by hands not fully human!
Such forbidden tales, were preserved, by my mother,
And passed unto me with truth joyous yet also tragic.
For the blood of fallen angels carries within it their sin.
Yet I bear the weight of their ancient ways and blood,
For there are none save I in my family with such curse.
Yet I call it blessing, and one that predates the Flood!
Some would make of my nature a thing far, far worse,
But they know not the truth of those who descended…
And were revered by the ancestors of man in the past.
Truth, that lies within me, which no lies ever upended!
There are things in this universe, that for eternity last…
And that and all the rest of what I wrote in this poetry,
Make up who and what I am today, making me proud.
A person’s roots can be the source of so much dignity,
That one must sing of it, and so this tale I share aloud.
What a mix is a soul clad in a body, of what was prior!
My blood is hot, for within it blazes my ancestors’ fire.

By the fucking Gods you are talented!
[/quote]

My thanks, Vegan! Your praise is something I greatly appreciate.

a Fuel for my Fury.

faceless
 
   trace.less
 
But I
 
remember their names now..
 
flash backs
from
 
the church house
 
my legs
  force.fed
 
unleaded leading
 
a Fuel for my Fury..
 
fucking
run away jury
 
after a split second
of
how they'd wreck it
 
things get blurry..
 
there was
no fog on the windows
while the
angels were
 
exposed
to the animals
dressed in
mountain boots
 
red.neck roots
rotted
 
by potted pleasures..
 
They knew she left me alone
down there
for hours and hours
 
 
and hours..
 
making a pretty grave
from my
 
decorative flower..
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
power to the pussy...

YGGDRASILL (TREE OF LIFE)
-----------------

Yggdrasill
Carries the wounded soil
For the root of hope
To grow

Yggdrasill
Spiderweb of conscience
Hangs in your boney hands
To show

Yggdrasill
Foxskinned wolverine eyes
Open the carnal cave
May it glow

Yggdrasill
Turning the cycling wheel
Red robed sky watching over
Newborn snow

----------------------------------------------------
YGGDRASILL is the scandinavian, ie viking mythology....
The tree of Life, a giant Ash which is the center to nine worlds, written about in the poetic Edda
which dates back to the 13th century, it is about the creation of the world by Odin told by a wolf

Mourganna said:
YGGDRASILL (TREE OF LIFE)
-----------------

Yggdrasill
Carries the wounded soil
For the root of hope
To grow

Yggdrasill
Spiderweb of conscience
Hangs in your boney hands
To show

Yggdrasill
Foxskinned wolverine eyes
Open the carnal cave
May it glow

Yggdrasill
Turning the cycling wheel
Red robed sky watching over
Newborn snow

----------------------------------------------------
YGGDRASILL is the scandinavian, ie viking mythology....
The tree of Life, a giant Ash which is the center to nine worlds, written about in the poetic Edda
which dates back to the 13th century, it is about the creation of the world by Odin told by a wolf


One of my favorite of all your poems, Mourganna! Indeed, in many ways the World Tree is the root of all life just as its' shadow is the root of all knowledge. A very good choice for a contest about roots. ;)

WHATS LEFT IN ME

as this day turns to night the  stars  shine beautiful.  
but i continue to stare into this  mirror.
Seeing a nightmare. I can never escape  
i feel as if i will never get myself back.  
As I stay in a place of no solitude.  
i cant brake free.  
from what’s left in me. I see nothing  
looking in this mirror as    
i lay across my bed, loosing myself,  
the girl i once known is dead.  
i shout her inside.
this domination I’m in  
is just a tunnel of  
darkness ,i will find who i am.
Or what’s left in me. could it be these  
shallow souls I see  beginning   to cling onto me.
i try my hardest to shake them away.  
but I‘m .still taken down by those who hate me.
i want to run from this earth.
please set me free!! i shout again..  
no one on this planet seems to hear my call.
so i lay on my bed.trembling and frightened  
by what i see.  
the reflection...who am i??  
i ask again. But I  
cant brake free.  
from what’s left in me...  
 
 
-Kumiko Yamamoto