Long long ago, we came
from the land of the lotus
and the laughing elephant God.

We saw no borders,
or in truth, we ignored them,
through mountain passes and lonely roads;
the stars our roof, the grass our beds.

Northwards we spread,
Growing the tribes,
picking up strays
Who followed us and needed to belong.

They chose to be like us,
to become one with the people of the road.

We are Rom, zigani, travellers,
our names are as many as our pathways.

We are the Travelling People.

Just some stream of consciousness free verse that I am still hammering into shape on the anvil.

Gail

Sometimes I wish
That I had never had children,
And I think, if I ever come back,
I won’t have any.
I’ll spare myself that, at least,
The pain of seeing them
Hurt by life as it hurt me.

I’ll go along with the oft spoken wisdom,
“If you can’t look after your children,
You shouldn’t have them.”
Because we can’t look after them,
No, we can’t. Simple as that.

And maybe someday everyone
Will think the same,
And no one will have children
Because to bring a child into this world
Is nothing less than child abuse
And we are too responsible for that.

And we’ll watch each other grow old,
We’ll watch each other die,
And there will be no one to remember,
Or care.

Then we may wish
That some irresponsible ninny
Of a woman somewhere
Will get herself pregnant
So we can hear
The laughter of a child again.

Posted by Barbara in Gypsy Meetings, Poet’s Forge. add a comment , edit post

This is my first attempt at rhymed verse since my grade school years (and that’s very long ago).

The tempo isn’t just quite right
But I do so love the sentiment.

Sorry! I’ve been trying so many rhymes, I couldn’t resist that couplet when it popped into my mind. And here’s the poem.

A Gypsy Memory

I wander far from family tents
while camping in thick wilderness.
to far explore from all the rest.

Creeping so silent through thick underbrush
breathing so quiet, barely a hush;
the forest arms wrap me with restoring touch.

Then I open my eyes so very wide
and a dark, young girl I really do spy
in colours bright on a sweet Gypsy child.

Quite shy, she hides in a giant oak tree
and peeks around slowly so she can see.
Our eyes do meet, and smile do we.

We smile, oh, a most friendly smile
She beckons; we walk ‘most a mile
And seek her camp of Gypsies wild.

Down to a clearing in the vale
Bright caravans line the deep, green dale
Protected from both wind and gale.

Oh, fabulous tents and ornate spires
Amid the glowing, embered fires
Hear tambourines ring high and higher

In fascination, I can’t hold still
As gypsies sing with robins’ trill
And dance so free on misty rill.

The families from the Middle East
make rice and curry, a fine feast,
their welcome’s true for man or beast.

I find a hammock in the trees
and watch a honking pass of geese
My happiness shall never cease.

But then a yell from mountain high
My father calls and so I cry
“Yes, father, here I am” and sigh.

My Gypsy friend hides with her clan
All dancing and all singing banned
Tents fill with woman and with man.

And slowly I go up the path
to meet my Dad and we rush fast
for he feared we’d meet a Gypsy lass.

This story lies within my heart.
Forced so by race, we had to part
But Gypsies, they’d read my Tarot card.

They’d searched my fortune; it was read
A laugh-filled life and long, they’d said.
Soul mate and I, we’d live well wed.

The Tarot card I’d saved was Lovers.
The life I knew, the mem’ries, hover
surround my bed and quilted cover.

I dream of Gypsies.

Once Grainne lived on the hillside,
A girl with wild dark hair.
And they said she healed those sick with care,
With the herbs she found
In the fertile ground;
She knew all that flourished there.

Once Grainne walked on the hillside,
With the wind in her long dark hair.
And they say she met with the Huntsman there,
Who came in the night
Like a swan in flight,
And saw that she was fair.

They heard her cry out on the hillside.
No human child did she bear.
And he grew like a stag with wild dark hair,
An elfin boy, the Huntsman’s son
Who lived as one
With the hawk and the leaping hare.

Once Grainne lived on the hillside,
Now there is no one there.
And they say one night when the stars were bare,
The Huntsman came like a swooping swan,
And carried off his Elfin son,
And the girl with the wild dark hair.

Gail Kavanagh