posted in: Poetry | 0


From my vibrant cellular structure,
The microscopic, DNA vibrations,
The mists of ancient flowing time
I can feel the heritage from my ancestors.

I can feel my own physical phenomenon,
I can touch the fibers of my inheritance,
I can know that from a deep, deep well,
An ancient, timeless darkness of well,
That I am my ancestors with every grain
Of my inherited, and evolved being.

Like a soft whisper, a tenuous thread,
The ebb and flow of influence is felt.
It is felt by my preference for weather,
My palate’s desires for flavors,
And the very essence of nature’s tug.

I can see the seemingly endless snow
And cold, barren landscape frosted,
Then sprinkled by grazing reindeer
As the cold vapors escape their lungs.

I can hear the foghorns in contrast
To my lack of vision that is nothing more
Then damp and misted fog for a guide.
Foghorns that echo the lapping of the water
Against the barnacled boards of passing ships.

I can taste the nuance of fresh, hot baked bread,
And feel the cold frosted glass of stout
Kiss me wetly on very thirsty lips.
A stout that chases away the cold winter of night.

Yes, clamoring for attention locked in every cell,
Haunting every strand of molecule and sinew,
Lurking under the skin like an unscratchable itch,
Are my ghosts from the dead world of ancestors.
They beseech me to carry on, in my own moment,
Living out the history they so lovingly gifted me.
And to recall their own glory along the shores
Of the long wending river we call time,
They sing me a song I will always remember
So that they will not be forgotten: “For Old Ang Syne”.

Author- Joyce Colson
Submitted with her approval Dec. 11, 2012