Yellow Mountain Clay

I want a metal detector,
I need to dig things up.
There's so much in the dirt,
and I can't get enough.
 
All that was left behind,
has since been immersed.
Forgotten graves deepen,
in time's cyclic curse.

Anywhere I step,
others stepped before.
For lifetimes upon lifetimes,
in times of peace and times of war.

I regularly find remnants,
memories from days lost.
Folks before me must of known,
i'd get to them at any cost

From old poems to ancient hills,
down to the thick West Virginian clay.
Fragments of my forefathers exist,
to learn from them all I pray.





Poetry by Leila
Read 593 times
Written on 2013-04-04 at 11:08

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


Commentally Ill
stay out of my yard once you get that metal detector, i don't want certain peopl- er, things getting dug up, i worked too hard to bury them.

c.i.
2013-04-05



This give your poems, the ones you've posted here, a home, a center, an identity, a place you can feel with your soul, no longer an abstract concept.
2013-04-05


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Visiting the past is a valuable pastime. Like you I look forward to somehow connecting with my fore bearers. I have a unique opportunity to do that. My grandfather and his father were ships owners and captains on the Great Lakes in a time when sail was king. long before boats had motors. They hauled sand, coal, wood any commodity in topsail schooners. I sail in the same waters and there are nights and sometimes days when sailing alone when I can feel their spirits with me. It gives me great comfort.

Thanks for bringing that back to me in reading your poem.

Joe
2013-04-04


countryfog
A very wise prayer. There are times when something compels me to return to places where I know my ancestors are, not cemeteries though I do go there too, but places of their lives; some I have memories of, others only stories, and sometimes it is the sudden thought that what I may be doing there may be a re-enactment of something they had done. To lose sight of who and where we came from is to lose part of who and why we are.
2013-04-04