deepundergroundpoetry.com
My Roots
- 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.
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.
Published 5th Dec 2012
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