NOW FOR THE HISTORY POETRY CLASS

CALLING ALL OP POETRY MEMBERS

Come aboard the HISTORY SHIP, This ship is unique. It sails backwards in to oceans and seas of the past. There is berth and bunk for everyone. COME ABOARD


[

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-25-2010 at 06:56:42 AM

RE: True Love Knows No Other (Sonnet 1)

RE: The Romance of Captain John Smith and Pocahontas

Hi cousinsoren ....

I like your Invitation to Poetic History.... and here is a piece from my family...


the Pocahontas Tree


I wear her bones, like in my DNA
secrets of the child, were hidden away.
Just like she, and so mischeviously...
her strength in my blood, flows genetically.

All were to love her, as she loved them first
Maiden whose youth, did betray her with thirst
Indian sweet-natured, American
with legends from two worlds, they still hold hands.

The Captain, John Smith, from cobblestone
whose tendered seed, his true love had sewn....
this child of their own, their cultures disowned,
silently stealthily, they lived alone.

"Father, I beg you, please spare him, for me
Let him die not, by your hand, Father, please.
For I will not live... without him, I leave
with our child within, who lives... already."

Gentleman Sir Rolfe, almost family
I wear my cheekbones, with high pleasantry
Feathers and Eagles, still sacred, and free
live in Pocahontas' family Tree.

.

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:29:44 PM

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:37:45 PM

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:38:10 PM

RE: The Romance of Captain John Smith and Pocahontas

RE: NOW FOR THE HISTORY POETRY CLASS

THE ROMANCE OF POCAHONTAS (Part One)


Many stories of maidens’ love have been told .
In Greek legends of Helen and Minerva.
Of Diana and others like Atalanta.
But none so real and haunting in historic annals,
As fateful as the love of Pocahontas.


Daughter of Chief Wahunsunacawh,
Chief of the thirty tribes of Powahatan,
Great Indian nation of Southern Virginia;
Speaker of the Alonquian tongue,
Mamanatowich , Powahatan of Fenakomakah,
Now Tidewater Virginia,
From Chesapeake Bay
To north of the Mattaponi River,
In his yehakins in his capital,
With his wives and many daughters.
Pocahontas the youngest.
In his beloved town of Werenocomoco,
Then died in Oracakepas.

Pocahontas, Matoaka, Little Feather.
Were the names he gave her,.
Loved her above the others of his children,.
Powhatan of the Alonquians,
Chief Wahunsunacawh, her proud father:
They spoke not her names too loudly,
Or evil might befall the nation,
Playful one, little wanton, frolicsome girl,
To her names were tribal meanings.


Amidst the tall pines of the forest,
She wandered and gathered wild flowers.
Like a fairy-like sylph of gilded morn,
She used to whistle at the squirrels;
Peeped in the cradles of baby birds,
And wondered at the busy beavers.
Or with fish –spear to chase the silvery sturgeon.
Lithe as the wary deer to run,
She knew how to sail a canoe.
In her hair black as a raven’s wing.
She wore erect a single eagle’s feather.
Her eyes as bright as a sunny day.
Red her lips with the berries of summer;
Graceful and sleek as a mountain lioness.
Among the young braves, she held her own,
Shot arrows with unerring aim,
Learnt to wield the deadly tomahawk,
Or to nakedly roll head over heels,
Yet learnt to make mocassins.
And to sow dresses of soft deer skin,
To decorate with beads and tassels,
To grind the maize , how to cook the bean and squash,
How to make a home,
She was not too young to know,
These she learnt from her mother.
Well she knew the tales of her race,
And of the gods, Mochado,the Creator
And of Nokomis ,the sacred Earth Mother.


In the breast throbs or pines a heart.
The love chart in woman,
Whether they sit on lofty throne,
Or crouch by the fire in lowly wigwam.
A draught of Nature, love is just the same,
Borne by a mystic universal flame,
Love knows no bounds nor race, no age nor creed,
But wings about in shameless attire.


Eleven years of age was Pocahontas,
The youngest and best loved of all,
Of proud Powhatan’s graceful daughters,
When first she bent her winsome eyes
On a white man spread-eagled on the ground,
In cold December, year Sixteen Hundred and Seven,
And mercy stirred within her.
Her proud father held high his ceremonial staff,
The braves they danced and yelled,
Awaiting the fatal moment when ,
They will bash with great, big clubs.
,And the squaws were scraming.
While the forest breezes softly moaned,
And in the distance chatter’d the Mattaponi River.
No beast nor bird made a sound,
And a grizzly bear secretly looked at
Powhatan’s upraised right hand.


Pocahontas bent forward and-
Cradled the captive’s head in her tender arms.
Her tears fell on the plain,
And where they fell,
Invisible flowers of mercy bloomed.
From her vermillion painted lips.
A chlld’s plea fell on her father’s ear.
“ Nokomis, the sacred Mother of Earth,
Commands you, Father, to save this man’s life!”


Blinked not an eye the proud Powhatan.
An angry frown furrow’d his painted brow,
Can a proud chief go back on his word?
The hapless man shall surely die.
His frown grew deeper still.
Shall he grant a daughter’s cry?
A daughter whom he dearly loved.
Or his order should not be denied?
Is it not the wish of Nokomis
This captive shall not die?
Should he the goddess defy?
His warriors trembled at his scowl,
They ceased their wild dancing and their yelling,
And the squaws ceased their screaming,
And the braves their cruel clubs lowered.
All awaited the fall of their chief’s right hand,
The sign to depart John Smith from the land.
And a question grew in their minds.
“What will our chief do now?”


Slowly, slowly rose his left hand,
Slowly, slowly lowered his right..
“Stay !” he proudly thunder’d,
And his voice flew beyond the river,
Echoed in the distant mountains,
Caused the eagle to fly the crag.
Caused the salmon to leap the rapids;
Frightened the birdies in the pines,
Sent the grizzly bear a fleeing,
Scared the deer, the wolves and foxes.
The squaws held tightly to their papooses,,
And the braves stood at attention,
As proud Powhatan raised his left arm and shouted,
“Stay! We shall slay him not today!
Perhaps we will, another day!”

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:11:37 PM

RE: NOW FOR THE HISTORY POETRY CLASS

cousinsoren,

I love how ambitious your are.

Bravo my friend, bravo!!

L.

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:30:52 PM

RE: True Love Knows No Other (Sonnet 1)

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:15:43 PM

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:31:36 PM

RE: THE ROMANCE OF POCAHONTAS (Part One)

cousinsoren

Your story, part 1 of Pocahontas has moved my heart, with a gift I will print off for my daughters and their children, and I feel a 1,000% closer to the one, with whom I have talked, for half a century and knew little more than her name.

You are a master poet, and your story is beautiful, and more picturesque and real to me, than Hollywood's best actors... and I believe you have immersed yourself into research, and she did speak with you.

And... I am anticipating your part 2, like finding a wagon-load of old Christmas presents, still wrapped, in the backwoods of an old Big Bear logger's trail.

and yes... I have extra-ordinarily high cheekbones, and will post a picture to evidence this soon...

\

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:32:32 PM

RE: NOW FOR THE HISTORY POETRY CLASS: CLAP YOUR HANDS, CLEOPATRA

CLAP YOUR HANDS, CLEOPATRA

In the land of shiny donkeys

In the land of hairy frogs

Clap your hands

Cleopatra

To the fire songs, to the fire songs


We know you by face, Julius

The great new city; Alexandria

The vast reservoir of a knowledge rush

The supra muse of bibliotheca’


Others shall write the same, o’ Julius

Viperess’ nests, Barbarians of the Nile

Whores, and all the worlds murderous doth lust

Fire by political crocodiles


Heathens of the temples in the city

There are many others to take the blame

Tokens of the bloody mystery

Falling victim to the campaign of flames

Set fires to the books in the public baths

Lest, in time you shall deny your Gods’ wraths


In the land of skinless felines

In the land of diamond bulls

Clap your hands

Cleopatra

To the fire songs, to the fire songs


A voice said drink from the rivers of blood

A thrown rod, beginning the gasoline

They call it art, the stories of the floods

Red prints of such things, hear clanks’ of machines


Crawling over thou bodies, crawling dust

Ashes of Poems, ashes of totems

The birth of maggots from thou eyes, a plus

You can here the eerie music from Rome


The great shut down, of morrow, tomorrow

Humanity truly thinks they will win

The only meat to eat is sweet sorrow

History is the largest pit, jump in

The shadows pace deprives futures’ cocoon

No more reflection of the sun and moon


In the land of heartless jackals

In the land of winged pigs

Clap your hands

Cleopatra

To the fire songs, to the fire songs


Yes, matter, accident, or on purpose

Ashes to the age of discovery

Miscere genus, miscere in the furnace

The humor of your death is hovering


Head back to the caves, head back to the caves

Take shelter from the falling fire rain

Wizard of stone has eternities slaves

He has placed a face to your soul and name


Oh yes, three days of sex in the darkness

Come and doth see what your lust has conceived

So let the One become flesh, manifest

Come, be deceived, you just will not believe

We choose to punish, we’re super human

We can flyaway with all of the plans


In the land of giant beetles

In the land of tiny hippos

Clap your hands

Cleopatra

To the fire songs, to the fire songs
(By; John E, Wordslinger)

Last edited by cousinsoren 04-08-2010 at 02:08:02 PM

RE: NOW FOR THE HISTORY POETRY CLASS

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:17:35 PM

RE: NOW FOR THE HISTORY POETRY CLASS

RE: HISTORY CLASS - CLEOPATRA

Hi cousinsoren !!

Hi All ~

I see I'm just in time for another History Poem... and as usual, WordSlinger has made the first post.


Hi Bettysrainbow48... so much fun to see you here... I hope you'll be contributing a poem also.

Cleopatra, the Moon over History's Nile

Cleopatra yon heir to Royal throne
kissing her dreams, they were not cast or thrown
from captive heart, cherished he, dearest-owned
touch her not, nights of the river alone


oh she was born, lovely curls in dark hair
flowing long with flowers, coloring air
the Last of the Pharaohs, oh Queen, oh dare
take not thy blood to rule, from Egypt's chair


the best of the bleed from her father's seed
weak and cruel, Pharoah A-u-le-tes
his gifts of flute-music grew swift, with ease
enchantingly she spoke, pleasing, like breeze


Cleopatra sang Music of the Nile
orphaned at 17, the young ruler child
the snake was an eunuch, power, beguiled
Syria come 21, so exiled


and though she loved Caesar, bearing his son
the love of her life, t'would compare to none
"Mark Antony, my heart, leave not, my one
no jewel nor gold... sway death not,..... I come"

RE: NOW FOR THE HISTORY POETRY CLASS

The Love of VIrginia

There once was an Indian Princess
Her love for VIrginia grew
Her heart filled with love
Like flowers in bloom
A varity in color knew
No difference

Sweet as the honey bees
Her love spread wide
She captured their hearts
Assited colonial settlers
Fed many in stride
Her heart was big concerned for others

It was an English man that captured her heart
Married her they traveled
To both sea and land
Converted her life christian
Prefering to live in England
She took her stand

She cradled her son
FIrst born from John Rolfe
She gave love her all

It was on her way back to Virginia her love
The Indian Princess on the ship grew ill
An unknown disease claimed her life

Said John my darling my wife
You fed the people
You captured their hearts
Became famous my wife
Gave me children gave me life
I'm taking you to land

She said my life will live through my child
My heart will live in yours
I go to a new place
You take care of ours
The sky opened up
Her spirit left ours
Virginia will miss her true love
Pocahontas

Last edited by Bettysrainbow48 04-09-2010 at 02:46:02 AM

RE: Cleopatra, the Moon over History's Nile

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:21:11 PM

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-03-2010 at 08:16:00 AM

RE: RE: NOW FOR THE HISTORY POETRY CLASS

RE: RE: NOW FOR THE HISTORY POETRY CLASS

i.

Last edited by cousinsoren 05-02-2010 at 09:23:36 PM

RE: NOW FOR THE HISTORY POETRY CLASS

Dear cousinsoren

You always are so encouraging, as a teacher, that is so loving to receive as a student.

I did not read in school, I could not....
I did not know one thing of Cleopatra, besides the obvious connection to Elizabeth Taylor.
... but because of your History Forum, I have learned of this most famous woman, and also of Mark Antony's suicide at her stronghold, where she reportedly amassed her gold and jewels... where she vowed to join her Mark Antony, caring not for the bobbles and soft warm gold, to her it was cold, without her love....
And though she was put under watch, she was brilliant, and had smuggled in, the viper with her sweet, sweet, figs, and there she did lay her life to leave, pleasant, with the pain.

Your History Forum is not only a rich source (and stimuli for more) of education for me, but it is fun to create from the learnings...so thank you,

Sincerely,