If there's a skeleton
in your family's closet...
...you may as well
make him dance!
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 on some list
of passengers to the 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!
Merrell Kenworthy
My Elusive Ancestor...
Late last nite I chose genealogy research
over much needed slumber;
I was trying to decipher the 1840 census,
every name and every number.
My copies were very faded,
and the writing was small and poor;
My vision blurred and eyelids drooped
after two hours of this chore.
That one elusive ancestor,
the latest dead end in my family tree;
I dreamt I was the Mary Polly
that I've traced to Giles Co., Tennessee.
A few records show she'd married,
moved with every census, and sold some land;
Her life's movements showed no sane pattern,
but now I understand.
Mary's husband John became a gambling drunk
shortly after they had wed;
So when he left with no word for months,
she simply reported him dead.
Her father-in-law died,
leaving John's share of land in another state;
But Mary could only claim it
if she cared for crippled cousin Nate.
Some years later she sold 20 acres
to her neighbor Thomas Moore;
Mary sold it for just two dollars,
but not because she was so poor.
Her son James had burned down
the neighbor's barn full of hay;
He had left a burning lantern there
after kissing Tom's daughter May.
No wonder it seems as if the facts
of Mary's life are never very clear;
Like when her brother John wed a Mary Polly,
born the same day and year.
Or when little Susan told the census-taker
that Hannah was almost ten;
Did he know that Hannah
was Mary's best egg-laying hen?
I awoke at dawn still at my desk,
the faded census clenched in my fist;
I was excited to share my new-found
knowledge with the surname list.
As I had lived Mary's life in one short night,
so much had become clear;
But if I post these facts and cite my source,
it's ridicule I fear!
Shay Tankersley
They think that I should cook and clean,
and be a model wife.
I tell them it's more interesting
to study Grandpa's life.
They simply do not understand
why I hate to go to bed...
I'd rather do two hundred years
of research work instead.
Why waste the time we have on earth
just snoring and asleep?
When we can learn of ancestors
that sailed upon the deep?
We have Priests, Rabbis, lawmen, soldiers,
more than just a few.
And yes, there's many scoundrels,
and a bootlegger or two.
How can a person find this life
an awful drudge or bore?
When we can live the lives of all
those folks who came before?
A hundred years from now of course,
no one will ever know
Whether I did laundry,
but they'll see our Tree and glow...
'Cause their dear old granny
left for them, for all posterity,
not clean hankies and the like,
but a finished family tree.
My home may be untidy,
'cause I've better things to do...
I'm checking all the records
to provide us with a clue.
Old great granny's pulling roots
and branches out with glee,
Her clothes ain't hanging out to dry,
she's hung up on the Tree.
Author Unknown
Kinsman
Alas, my elusive kinsmen
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 granddad gave them the slip.
I'm the only one that's looking
Another searcher I can't find
I play (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 Sarahs
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 golden 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.
Wayne Hand
Genealogist's Dilemma
While looking up my family tree
A horrid sight there I did see
This horse thief stared right down at me
I turned around and tried to flee
Please stop he called I'm Great Gramp Bob
And horses just my side line job
Don't be too quick to be a snob
With the elite I did hob nob
Please do not hide this sad research
I was a pillar of the church
Until I did our name besmirch
And toppled from my lofty perch
For if my acts do you displease
Before you cheer my obsequies
Search your own life for errors please
And any deeds that smell like cheese
The acts that you perform today
Will they look white or dapple-grey
And in the future will they say
Oh no, I have this DNA.
Arthur L. Glasgow
Copyright © 1997
Strangers In The Box
Come, look with me inside this drawer,
In this box I've often seen,
At the pictures, black and white,
Faces proud, still, and serene.
I wish I knew the people,
These strangers in the box,
Their names and all their memories,
Are lost among my socks.
I wonder what their lives were like,
How did they spend their days?
What about their special times?
I'll never know their ways.
If only someone had taken time,
To tell, who, what, where, and when,
These faces of my heritage,
Would come to life again.
Could this become the fate,
Of the pictures we take today?
The faces and the memories,
Someday to be passed away?
Make time to save your pictures,
Seize the opportunity when it knocks,
Or someday you and yours could be,
The strangers in the box.
C 1997 by Pamela A. Harazim
Why I Am a Genealogist
I get the worst machine and turn the crank,
And watch the names go by,
My eyes bug out and I'll be frank,
I sometimes wonder why.
And does it really make a damn,
If Becky married Tom or Sam?
Or sailed upon the sea?
The dusty books, the puzzled looks,
That's genealogy.
The census scrawl, the long lost mall,
The time I once had free,
When hours were spent,
In blessed sleep,
Not genealogy!
Once it was the football teams,
Or looking at the stars,
A fish to catch down by the stream,
And playing my guitar.
Now it's names galore and tales of yore,
And thou and thy and thee
The courthouse burned!
What have I learned?
That's genealogy.
But then I look at all the names,
In ordered files, forever claimed,
From time's dark clutch,
It isn't much,
My genealogy.
I know they're out there, calling me,
The names, the dates, the stories,
The lure of genealogy,
Is long lost love and glory.
You ask me why I cruise the Net,
And write for Rooters free,
I guess it's that I love the stuff,
This genealogy!
Randall Black, Irvine, Ca.
Feb. 26, 1996 rbblack@uci.edu
Written for my friends in Roots-L
for any purpose they may find.
Ain't It The Truth
I started out calmly tracing my tree
To find, if I could, the making of me
And all that I had was Great Grandfather's name
Not knowing his wife or which way he came.
I chased him across a long line of states
And came up with pages and pages of dates
When all put together it made me forlorn
I'd proved poor Great Grandpa had never been born.
One day I was sure the truth I had found
Determined to turn this whole thing upside down
I looked up the records of one Uncle John
But found the old man to be younger than his son.
Then when my hopes were fast growing dim
I came across records that must have been him
The facts I collected then made me quite sad
Dear ol' Great Grandfather was never a dad.
I think maybe someone is pulling my leg
I'm not at all sure I wasn't hatched from an egg
After hundreds of dollars I've spent on my tree
I can't help but wonder if I'm really me? -Anon.
Courtesy of:
Nicole Kilgore
Many many years ago
when I was twenty three,
I got married to a widow
who was pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter
Who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
And soon they two were wed.
This made my dad my son-in-law
And changed my very life.
My daughter was my mother,
For she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matters worse,
Although it brought me joy,
I soon became the father
Of a bouncing baby boy.
My little baby then became
A brother-in-law to dad.
And so became my uncle,
Though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle,
Then that also made him brother
To the widow's grown-up daughter
Who, of course, was my step-mother.
Father's wife then had a son,
Who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandson,
For he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother
And it makes me blue.
Because, although she is my wife,
She's my grandmother too.
If my wife is my grandmother,
Then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it,
It simply drives me wild.
For now I have become
The strangest case you ever saw.
As the husband of my grandmother,
I am my own grandpa!
Author Unknown
The Census Taker
It was the first day of census,
and all through the land;
The pollster was ready
a black book in hand.
He mounted his horse
for a long dusty ride;
His book and some quills
were tucked close by his side.
A long winding ride
down a road barely there;
Toward the smell of fresh bread wafting,
up through the air.
The woman was tired,
with lines on her face;
And wisps of brown hair
she tucked back into place.
She gave him some water
as they sat at the table;
And she answered his questions
the best she was able.
He asked of her children
Yes, she had quite a few;
The oldest was twenty,
the youngest not two.
She held up a toddler
with cheeks round and red;
His sister, she whispered,
was napping in bed.
She noted each person
who lived there with pride;
And she felt the faint stirrings
of the wee one inside.
He noted the sex,
the color, the age
The marks from the quill
soon filled up the page.
At the number of children,
she nodded her head;
And saw her lips quiver
for the three that were dead.
The places of birth
she "never forgot";
Was it Kansas? or Utah?
or Oregon or not?
They came from Scotland,
of that she was clear;
But she wasn't quite sure
just how long they'd been here.
They spoke of employment,
of schooling and such;
They could read some and write some
though really not much.
When the questions were answered,
his job there was done;
So he mounted his horse
and he rode toward the sun.
We can almost imagine
his voice loud and clear;
"May God bless you all
for another ten years."
Now picture a time warp
its' now you and me;
As we search for
the people on our family tree.
We squint at the census
and scroll down so slow;
As we search for that entry
from long, long ago.
Could they only imagine
on that long ago day;
That the entries they made
would effect us this way?
If they knew, would they wonder
at the yearning we feel;
And the searching that makes them
so increasingly real.
We can hear if we listen
the words they impart;
Through their blood in our veins
and their voice in our heart.
Darlene Stevens
Spokane, WA
As I gallup through the past
On my paper steed
I see people and places
I've never been.
It seems forever that I'll
Ride through the past
On a quest, a neverending task.
Ah! But the wonders that I
Have seen.
As I ride in my paper
Time Machine.
Steven R. Everitt
1989
Genealogy Humor & Poetry Links...
Genealogy Epitahs, Quotes and Poems
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