THE ELUSIVE ANCESTOR

I went searching for an ancestor. I cannot find him still.
He moved around from place to place and did not leave a will.
He married where a courthouse burned. He mended all his fences.
He avoided any man who came to take the U.S. Census.
He always kept his luggage packed, this man who had no fame.
And every 20 years or so, this rascal changed his name.
His parents came from Europe. They should be upon some list
of passengers to U.S.A., but somehow they got missed.
And no one else in this world is searching for this man.
So, I play geneasolitaire to find him if I can.
I'm told he's buried in a plot, with tombstone he was blessed;
but the weather took engraving, and some vandals took the rest.
He died before the county clerks decided to keep records.
No Family Bible has emerged, in spite of all my efforts.
To top it off this ancestor, who caused me many groans,
Just to give me one more pain, betrothed a girl named JONES.

by Merrell Kenworthy

submitted by Alicia Havens

====================================

23rd Psalm for Genealogists

Genealogy is my pastime, I shall not stray
It maketh me to lie down and examine tombstones
It leadeth me into still courthouses
It restoreth my Ancestral Knowledge
It leadeth me in the paths of census records and
ships' passenger lists for my surnames' sake
Yea, though I walk through the shadows
of research libraries and microfilm readers
I shall fear no discouragement,
for a strong urge is within me
The curiosity and motivation, they comforteth me
It demandeth preparation of storage space for the
acquisition of countless documents
It anointest my head with burning midnight oil
My family group sheets runneth over
Surely, birth, marriage, and death dates
shall follow me all the days of my life
And I shall dwell in the house
of a family history-seeker forever.

====================================

MY ANCESTOR GRANDMOTHER

I search for you yet do not even know your name
I press on praying my efforts will prove fruitful
the records do not list you or the other women who
have lived and loved and laughed, gave birth, and died,
the records perpetrate the myth that you were never here
but I stand whole and bare my soul
and vow to find you as I live
I search for you in old records, in churches,
at the Embassy, in small dimly lit rooms
in the back of obscure libraries and archives
and pour over barely readable handwritten ledgers
with magnifying glass and flashlight
I live on mainly toast these days
there isn't time for meals or much sleep
feeling as I always do, on the very brink of discovery
Perhaps THIS will be the day I find the one
seemingly insignificiant clue, which will lead me to you
although I did not find you listed in the Census Records
I am not deterred, you may turn up yet,
on an Immigration or Naturalization list somewhere perhaps,
or maybe tucked away inside some bank of vital statistics,
long forgotten like so many others,
your name having become lost over the long years
Your name could be lying even now
amidst the millions of documents stored and locked away
safeguarded in the bowels of a giant warehouse
all stopped up from apathetic crowds
who have long ceased their visits
your precious name, lying just inside a myriad of records
packed in tight, packed in to stay
never guessing I would come.

Sarah Elizabeth Rose @1996 (copy protected)
srose@jeffnet.org

===================

A Stumbling Block or a Stepping Stone

Isn't it strange that Princes and Kings
And clowns who caper in stardust rings,
And common people like you and me
Are builders for eternity?

Each is given a set of tools,
A shapeless mass, and a book of rules,
And each must make, ere life has flown,
A stumbling block or a stepping stone.

(Author Unknown)

===============

Prayer for Genealogists

Lord help me dig into the past
And sift the sands of time
That I might find the roots that made
This family tree of mine.

Lord, help me trace the ancient roads
on which my fathers trod
And led them through so many lands
To find our present sod.

Lord, help me find an ancient book
Or dusty manuscript
That's safely hidden now away
in some forgotten crypt.

Lord, let it bridge the gap that haunts
my soul when I can't find
The missing link between some name
that ends the same as mine.

=======================

Ancestors

What's in a name?
The talented poet asked.
Look deep listen:
The pulse of our ancestors.
The heartbeat of nations past
Land, Language, Faith.

Look into a name.
What do you see?
Letters only?
Look deeper.
See the people
Who lived that name.
Not letters but flesh and blood.
Flesh of our flesh.
Blood of our blood.
Faith of our faith.
Ancestors.

You who bore my name,
Were your thoughts passed to me?
Do I dream your dreams?
The sun you saw I see.
The moon plays for us both.
Days are days.
Years are years.
But centuries separate us.

You who lived centuries ago
With my name.
Did you see me then?
You have not left this earth!
You live in my name.
You live in me.
I give you earthly immortality.

My eyes see a different land.
My ears hear different sounds.
But we worship in unison.
The God of your youth.

My faith you have given me.
The God who watched over you
Watches over me.
Centuries collapse as Faith unites.

Leave you, my ancestor?
I could never leave you
Without leaving myself.
I take pride in you.
The soil of your homeland
Rests in my heart.
Your native language
Is the melody of your dreams.

I look into your name
And see myself.

written by W.H. Zoschak

=============================

THE FAMILY TREE
I think that I shall never see,
A thing so involved as a family tree.
A tree whose myriad boughs are spread,
To include the living as well as the dead.
A tree whose roots are imbedded deep,
before the sap begins to creep.
A tree whose branches multiply
Many times before did I.
Though too
complex for
a being like
me, I'm
glad I'm
part of a
"Family Tree."

=============================

THE RECORDING OF A CEMETERY

Today we walked where others walked
On a lonely, windswept hill;
Today we talked where other cried
For Loved Ones whose lives are stilled.

Today our hearts were touched
By graves of tiny babies;
Snatched from the arms of loving kin,
In the heartbreak of the ages.

Today we saw where the grandparents lay
In the last sleep of their time;
Lying under the trees and clouds -
Their beds kissed by the sun and wind.

Today we wondered about an unmarked spot;
Who lies beneath this hollowed ground?
Was it a babe, child, young or old?
No indication could be found.

Today we saw where Mom and Dad lay.
We had been here once before
On a day we'd all like to forget,
But will remember forever more.

Today we recorded for kith and kin
The graves of ancestors past;
To be preserved for generations hence,
A record we hope will last.

Cherish it, my friend; preserve it, my friend,
For stones sometimes crumble to dust
And generations of folks yet to come
Will be grateful for your trust.

by Thelma Greene Reagan

=======================

COUSINS

Greetings, cyber-cousins,
wherever you may be
out in the global village
of genealogy:

A world that's populated
by all our ancient kin,
my William and Sophronia,
your Fereby and Quinn,

your long lost Parthenasia,
my disappearing Dan,
your gallivanting Geoffrey,
my "Orphan Annie," Nan,

our Yanks and Rebs and cowboys,
and matriarchs of steel,
our sturdy yeoman farmers,
and captains at the wheel.

What is the lure of learning
their names and dates and ways?
Why stare we at yon monitor
with such a steady gaze?!?

What sends us to the lib'ry
to thumb through indices
and plunder through old papers
that make us sniff and sneeze?

Perhaps we're just eccentric,
when all is said and done...
But, cousins, one thing's certain-
WE HAVE A LOT OF FUN!!

by Kristina Simms

==================================

BLESSED ARE...

Blessed are the grandfathers,
who filed every legal document,
for these provided the PROOF.

Blessed are the grandmothers,
who preserved family Bibles and diaries,
for these are our HERITAGE.

Blessed are fathers, who elected officials
that answer letters of inquiry
for--to some--the ONLY LINK to the past.

Blessed are the mothers,
who relate TRADITIONS and LEGENDS to the family,
for one of her children will surely remember.

Blessed are the relatives,
who fill in family sheets with extra dates,
for to them we owe our FAMILY HISTORY.

Blessed is our family,
whose members strive for the PRESERVATION of RECORDS,
for theirs is a labor of love.

Blessed are the children who will never say,
"Grandma, you have told that old story twice today."

~ by Wilma Maulk ~

==================================

DEAR ANCESTOR

Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out
On polished, marbled stone.
It reaches out to all who care
It is too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, in bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so.
I wonder if you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot,
And come to visit you.

=================

"THAT RAGGED OLD FLAG"

I walked through a County Court House square.
On a park bench an old man was sitting there.
I Said, "Your old Court House is kinda run down."
He Said, "No, it will do for our little town."
I Said, "Your old flag Pole is leaning a little bit.
And that`s a ragged old Flag you`ve got hanging on it."
He Said, 'Have a seat," and I sat down
"Is the first time that you`ve been to our little town?"
"Well," he said, "I don`t like to brag,
But we`re kinda proud of that ragged old Flag.
You see, we got a little hole in the Flag there,
When Washington took it across the Delaware.
And it got powder burns, the night Francis Scott Key,
Sat watching it, writing "Oh Say Can You See."
And it got a bad rip at New Orleans,
When Packingham and Jackson took it to the scene
And, it almost fell at the Alamo beside the Texas Flag
But she waved on through
She got cut with a sword at Chancerville,
And she got cut again at Shilo Hill
There was Robert E. Lee, Bouregard and Bragg
The South wind blew hard on that Old Ragged Flag
On Flanders Field in World War One
She got a big hole from a Bertha Gun
She turned BLOOD RED World War Two,
And she hung limp and low a time or two
She was in Korea and Vietnam
She went from our ships upon the briny foam
Now they`ve about quit waving her back here at home
In our good land she`s been abused,
She`s been burned, dishonored, denied, and refused
And the Government for which she stands
Is scandalized through out the land
She`s getting threadbare and she`s wearing thin,
But, she`s in good shape for the shape she`s in
Because she`s been through the fire before,
I believe she can take a whole lot more
So we raise her up every morning, and we
Take her down every night,
We don`t let her touch the ground,
and we fold her up right,
On second thought, I DO LIKE TO BRAGG,
BECAUSE I`M MIGHTY PROUD OF THAT RAGGED OLD FLAG.

=================

Bless my Computer too...

Every evening as I'm laying here in bed
This little prayer keeps running through my mortal head

God bless my mom and dad and bless my little child
and take care of my spouse when things start gettin wild....

and God there's one more thing I wish that you could do
hope ya don't mind me askin' but 'PLEASE' bless my Computer too??

Now I know that it's not normal to bless a mother board
but listen just a second while I explain to you, "MY LORD"
you see, that little metal box holds more than odds and ends.
inside those small components rest a hundred of my 'BEST FRIENDS'

Some it's true I've never seen and most I've never met
we've never shaken hands or shared a meal as yet...

I know for sure they like me by the kindnesses that they give
and this little scrap of metal is how I travel to where they live.
by faith is how I know them much the same as I know you.
I share in what life brings them from that our friendship grew.

'PLEASE' take an extra minute from your duties up above...
to bless this hunk of metal that's filled with so much love.

=================

KINSMAN
(original poem by Wayne Hand, 1999)

Alas, my elusive kinsman,
You've led me quite a chase.
I thought I'd found your courthouse,
But the Yankees burned the place.
You always kept your bags packed,
Although you had no fame,
And just for the fun of it,
Twice you changed your name.
You never owed any man,
Or at least I found no bills.
In spite of eleven offspring,
You never left a will.
They say our name's from Europe,
Came state side on a ship.
Either they lost the passenger list,
Or great granddad gave them the slip.
I'm the only one looking,
Another searcher I can't find.
I pray (maybe that's his fathers name)
As I go out of my mind.
They said you had a headstone,
In a shady plot.
I've been there twenty times,
And can't even find the lot.
You never wrote a letter,
Your Bible we can't find.
It's probably in some attic,
Out of sight and out of mind.
You first married a .... Smith,
And just to set the tone.
The other four were Sarah's,
And everyone a Jones.
You cost me two fortunes,
One of which I did not have.
My wife, my house and Fido,
God, how I miss that yellow lab.
But somewhere you slipped up,
Ole Boy, Somewhere you left a track.
And if I don't find you this year,
Well .... Next year I'll be back!

submitted by Patsy A. Kling-Black

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This page was last updated August 8, 2000.