Close to this sleeping root, in its flesh of ancient earth,
something struggles silently to become light again, to be born anew from shadow.
And we remain, with our thoughts hanging like a rope torn from the sky,
wondering whether to overlook its gentleness, sweet and annihilating.
A tumbling of black waters follows, over the forehead of my memory,
a shaken clarity, like a lightning bolt that lies, falsifies, and forgets.
Then I barely recognize the electric grace of the men from long ago,
whom I had seen carrying their rusted shirts through the swamp that scorched them,
planting themselves in the ground with arms outstretched like a cross, a condor on each shoulder,
men who wanted to die beautifully, shattering their bones like ancient bells,
their eyes extinguished like burnt amber, silent as icons forgotten by prayer —
and I feel them smoldering within me, like a root that refuses to sleep.
And I walk out into this magical, phosphorescent rain, mystical and cold,
to untie the rope that binds me across centuries and dreams,
to roll myself back into the root from which all that I am has struggled to become again.
Where do I begin,
within a deep, intricate ravine of what I have seen,
where I have been, to the breathing, living hell.
Down there, it’s a knife’s edge,
A broken ledge, where defeat becomes foundation,
the destination that leads to transformation.
Devastation, fuel for impossible imagination.
Broken down…
Piece by piece…
Torn open into a million species.
Cuts so deep it releases,
revealing truth, untouched, unrepressed,
completely undressed of all that’s come to rest
I am bleeding…
healing…
Feeling…
Down there, I found a treasure so rare,
I dare use words to bring to life,
what was once resting on the edge of life’s knife.
But a seed spawned and the roots cracked through,
twisting…
existing between what grew and how I knew you.
A new mind was born from this ancient storm,
A new heart, warm…
Absorbed in the fall…
Oh, what a sensual experience after all.
I brought the shadow to the light, I witnessed your bare,
Vulnerable…
Fervent…
My darkest servant.
ancient olive tree
"Oliveira do Pes" tree
neat to read and see
three thousands seven hundreds ~
years of age and still produce
One night, I awoke remembering
the end of a dream like a movie trailer
Between shrouds of murky clouds unfolding
I saw the ancient wooden face carved on a totem
Perhaps an anonymous spokesman at death’s door
Perhaps my projection, just my reflection
or a phantom, a disturbing conundrum, I dare not say
I felt a withering mortality at my core
Yet, it contained all my living tree rings within
my years of stories, husky or thin
This shaman totem mask began to slowly speak
At first its mystical verse was somewhat oblique
Then in rich, tranquil tones, in humane inflexions
the face spoke, redolent and subliminal in my thoughts
Breathing deeply, I intuited what I was taught
Some seek refuge in still flower gardens
in stationary reflective pools of quiescence
in glistening golden altars to numina
But these material places are ever-changing
Illumination is the great revelation rearranging
of the consciousness animating all things
god and goddesses
hand crafted stone temples
old trees with old roots
Great Pyramid of Giza
it's old
I'm told
Hanging Gardens of Babylon
divine
grape vine
Statue of Zeus at Olympia
god king
stirring
Temple of Artemis at Ephesus
god mom
the bomb
Mausoleum at Halicarnassus
big tomb
much room
Colossus of Rhodes
big man
bronze tan
Lighthouse of Alexandria
took dunk
went plunk
Partakes in, not he, this perverse
An unnatural abhorrence
For the true, the good, the grandly fair.
Feigns, from this time's place absence!
Bayt al-Hikma
Ancient pages breathe.
Books outlive every throne.
Ink crossed rivers.
The library vanished.
Knowledge shapes tomorrow.
Its wisdom still walks with us.
I like gita, so am I Ra, displaced field, you sow the sod, the undue passage is left here as a message, the messiah of goodness has left us a passage, clearly the light at the end of the tunnel leads out, like spinnails in curtains and an inordinate stop, the sign painted red heralds the fellows, broken deaf mutes, palaver with others. The sun god opens verses biblical like butter, this too spreads that sornet the beddum of hellers.
Past every known horizon, held inside the stolen light,
A flicker of promise rises, wet with Aegean’s salt.
The echo of Mount Parnassus, where the Muses walk at night,
A spectrum of reflections—the first Promethean signal, sharp and high.
The flames are finally free from the chill of the earth.
It pulses through sapphire-blue data cables, beneath the sea.
A swift code humming on an electric tongue, a wire thin as glass,
Where silicon and soul now challenge mortal walls.
The warmth upon my palm, a fragile circuit’s heat,
A digital dawn breaks now, on seas of light where ancient stone dissolves.
A frequency rings through the gulf of years,
The world's true voice, unsynchronized, is fiercely held and heard;
Through every force of nature, this bright pulse speeds on fiber-optic lines.
We seize the future's turning, watching the past unwind,
This hard-won wisdom guides the human quest for freedom.
Against the dark tyranny that starves the seeking mind,
The truth we need is held deep inside the spirit of mankind.
Dreams from retold of
Ancient paths the holy
Walked.
Resist all illusion.
I dance blindly in
Your storm, carried away
By Your phantasm.
Episodes of reincarnation
Entangled Your roots with mine,
Binding me still
To Your resilience.
Soulful melodies enrapture
My heart.
A song bleeding through
Every fibre
Of my possessed being.
592.
Learn History of Ancient Times!
Learn Ancient Times History
Kingdoms to Empires, Caesar from Hammurabi
There were 3 ancient civilizations in the continent of Asia
It all began in Mesopotamia, then India & China
There were pyramids & pharaohs in Ancient Africa
Also there were pyramids & strange gods in Ancient America
Ancient Europe started with Minoans & Mycenaeans
Then the civilizations & empires of the Greeks & the Romans.
-12/11/2017
(Dumarao)
*WHN Poems
A single surge of emerald
and gray
Comes sweeping from the
dark, untamed abyss,
To toss its silver crown of
salty spray
And greet the shoreline with
a freezing kiss.
It carries all the secrets of
the deep,
The weight of ships that
never found the shore,
The quiet dreams of fish that
swim and sleep,
The ancient storms that
shook the world before.
It curves into a perfect,
hollowing ring,
A fragile that shatters
into light,
A passing king without a
court or king,
That vanishes inside the
shifting night.
The water falls away to leave
the stone,
And walks into the
wilderness alone.
Rumple Stein opens his great
book of old,
Under the blanket, a tale will
unfold,
Magic and monsters and
heroes so brave,
Pointing his finger to a deep
hidden cave,
Leaving you dreaming of
secrets he gave.
An ancient, desiccated
pharaoh awakened within
the subterranean labyrinth
of his limestone sepulcher,
Tattered, resin- soaked
bandages unfurled like
skeletal fingers from his
withered, emaciated frame.
A hollow, sarcophagus- born
shriek echoed through the
claustrophobic, dust- choked
corridors of the tomb.
Intruders trembled as the
reanimated monarch
exhaled a foul, millennial
breath of decay.
The curse of the scarab-
engraved scarification
manifested, binding the
tomb- raiders in paralyzed
terror.
His empty, shadowed
sockets burned with a
malevolent, incandescent
hunger for vengeance.
Grizzled, mummified hands
reached out to drag the
trespassers into the stygian
darkness.
The heavy stone sarcophagus
lid slammed shut, sealing their
horrific, suffocating fate.
Now, fresh blood seeped
through the ancient linen,
feeding the eternal, undead
king.
The labyrinth reclaimed its
silence, guarding the pharaoh's
newly fortified, immortal slumber.
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