ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT

My roots are long and deep, they curl

through dirt, between rock and water,

seeking more in the underground darkness

of an earlier time when the past was now,

and across a wide sea where my blood began,

a place where blond Gaels met black headed Rome.

My feet dig and delve for lost glory, lost gold

lost gods, and terrified forebears who sought

a noble path to an exultation of battle and gore

in this or that forgotten hamlet, where bread

was heavy, the ale foamy and brown in a hall

where we danced and fought in colorful woolens.

Some day I want to pick up my long toes and go

home to roam free across the countryside where

all of the blood of all my peoples are now the soil

planted with roses in gardens where once there were

camps of soldiers, horses and swords, so after a time,

I could come and bathe in all I am and ever was.

The sounds of metal clashing, one man against another

eye to eye, hand to hand in a field of dead and dying

long gone, replaced by the sound of metal against

metal on roads and rails and highways littered with

meaningless death in a field of hurry and speed, and

nervous breakdowns in an all new twenty-first version

of ennui so deep we will soon find Allah and forget.

Reviews

[Lorry]

I feel your pain Vol, which anyone would do if they knew the history of the very ground beneath your feet.
I live quite near Culloden, where the battle occurred in 1745 and walking on that ground is a haunting experience indeed. Tourists come to see a field where Scotland were defeated by England (Boo!), that ended the Jacobite uprising and even nearby hikers from foreign lands have noted the sense of uneasefound there, despite knowing nothing of its history.
Bit when blood has been spilled and battles fought on your land, the roots do go deep and the soil remembers it all. I hear there are parts of Texas the same, where soil becomes super fertile and grows another type of weed altogether, that puts those Californian Aussies to shame! 😀

[Vol]

Going "home" and wallowing naked in the dirt, is the only thing on my bucket list...

[Lorry]

That meant to read Californian a******s btw. Fekn predictive text!

[Vol]

All of Europe's weirdest, most adventurous people left for the new world all those centuries ago and once they got here, the trend continues so those that finally arrived in California had distilled themselves down to almost 100 proof idiocy... and tha't my story...

[Lorry]

You're welcome btw, if that's referring to Trumps scottish side! 😀

[Zoe Richardson]

My ancestors were some of those blond haired Gaels and Celts. They were Scots-Irish, a particular breed of savage that immigrated to the Southern US and devoted themselves to upheaval. There were no Romans here, and our history isn't all that long in the grand scheme of things. But I still feel exactly what you described, to become part of a history that is now. Never lose that questing heart. Going backwards is more fun than looking ahead!

[Vol]

My dad's side is Scotch-Irish, moms is Danish-Swede, I really enjoy knowing that... I've red enough history, and enough nature-nurture psychology to know I should feel like I am much more dangerous than I actually am...

[Zoe Richardson]

Just take comfort in the fact that you are not more crazy than you actually are. You throw the Scots and the Irish together in one body and you don't know if you want to get drunk, set up a moonshine still, or set fire to your neighbor's car because you and he are feuding. It's possible you would do all three, in that order.

[Vol]

Best folks on the planet...

[Zoe Richardson]

Absolutely. I get my creative problem-solving skills from them!

[Betty Hermelee]

I guess one’s roots are mostly who we are today…. and sometimes we think about them often…what they used to look like and how they have changed over the years…. i guess it’s disappointing to think or know what “progress” has done to ruin what once was wild and wonderful… maybe it’s better not know, rather to live our live in the present wherever we are and find new paths of glory
warmly, B🌷😊

[Vol]

Betty,
I think everyone who is aware of their own soul, longs for deep forests, clear lakes and skies without chemtrails. Tolkien is famous for it, all lyrical poets drink from that spring, and we all long for the sounds of birds and wind in the trees. We have to go back a little over two hundred years to find the absence of mechanical sounds. and If I'm going to travel back in time, I want to see my ancestors function in that too distant world...
Vol

[Betty Hermelee]

Always a pleasure, dear Vol!
Warmly, B

[RomaJ]

The imagery in this poem is stunning! I could really picture the roots curling through the earth, the ancient halls, and the rolling countryside. I love how you weave together ancestry, history, and the land itself, showing both personal and collective memory.

The longing to return home, to roam free across the homeland, and to bathe in all you are and ever were is so vivid and heartfelt.

At the same time, the poem reflects on the cycles of human struggle and violence, past and present, making it both beautiful and haunting. Beautifully penned.

[Vol]

Toma
Thank you so much, Roma! I'm a Scot and Brit, who loves the history of those lands, so complex, so many tales and legends... my roots, indeed,
Vol

[Ms claws]

Oh My Vol, The opposite side of the coin is literally that. War is hell, not romantic.
However, there are those who do find romance in war and wherever else they decide.
The story of your roots sounds so final which is what a great artist does.
Paint what you feel.
Beautiful!

[Vol]

Eternity,
Thank you, sweetheart!
My family roots are mostly Scottish, British and Viking... The core of all British history happened on an island the size of Idaho and it feels like the whole world... I am proud of my history... It makes for good reading.
Vol

[emmajoygreen]

'Some day I want to pick up my long toes and go
home to roam free across the countryside where
all of the blood of all my peoples are now the soil
planted with roses in gardens where once there were
camps of soldiers, horses and swords, so after a time,
I could come and bathe in all I am and ever was.'

That is how a man who has both dreamed and lived - writes of all he is was, is and always will be. Tenses melded, magic surrounded, reality its core.

[Vol]

Joy,
Dang... you give me the tingles...
'nuff said.
Vol

[emmajoygreen]

Not sure how to respond so... many thanks for responding, sir.