In the chambers where thoughts are supposed to
roam free, Foreign voices echo, not belonging to me.
Words planted like flags on conquered territory,
Thoughts that flower in soil not my own.
I speak in tongues my ancestors never knew,
See through lenses ground by hands I never touched.
My dreams are shaped by stories I did not choose,
Yet they feel like home—this borrowed architecture of mind.
Each mirror shows a face divided by history,
Each thought arrives pre-weighted, pre-judged.
I sift through my beliefs like archeological remains,
Wondering which are artifacts of occupation.
The borders of my thinking are invisible chains,
Drawn by mapmakers who never asked permission.
Yet in the margins of these imposed paragraphs,
I find spaces where resistance takes root.
For even a colonized mind can question its borders,
Can recognize the foreign footprints across its landscape.
And in that recognition lies the seed of reclamation—
The first step toward a sovereignty of thought.????????????????
Inviting nature lovers with glee
Welcoming toward freedom where they can flee
Bone beach exudes grand artistic worth
Amidst mother Earth’s radiating mirth.
Serene in its mystical tranquil delight
While seemingly enigmatic for artifacts’ sight
Bone beach oozes with attention gain
Along its offered fascinating terrain.
As paradise for photographers in their posting zest
Designed wondrously, marked by creativity’s best
Showcasing archeological beauty as treasure
Bone beach is a place I want to visit with pleasure.
AFTER THE FLOOD
Mount Ararat holds a testament
of stories told in ancient texts,
and stories shared down generations;
the aftermath of catastrophe.
Place names are the remembering
of gratitude as the Ark was drawn out of the water[1],
and the place of the descending[2]
into the village of the eight[3]~
survivers making pilgrimage[4] to the site of sacrifice[5].
Noah's Ark is resting there upon the mountain,
in archeological insistance,
and science is confirming the reality
of God's Judgment and His mercy.
The Drogue Stones[6] bear the witness to Noah's great adventure,
The Turks placing tourist signposts[7]
so we may walk the footsteps
of Noah and his progeny.
AFTER THE FLOOD
(tanka)
do doves remember
their ancient elder flying
over flood ravage
then returning to the ark
with a twig of new-found hope
[1] Uzengili Town – This was formerly called Mahser, which means: To be drawn out of the water
[2] Mount Judi
[3] Kazan and today is called Goller.
[4] Ziyaret Dagi
[5] Nasar
[6] anchor stones
[7] Noah's Ark National Park, Turkey
lost subterranean city of the Grand Canyon
Fact, legend, Hopi story or cover-up?
In 1909 Arizona Gazette printed the story
A secret underground citadel a mile down
discovered by G E Kinkaid, a renown explorer
also the first white baby born in Idaho
the mysterious cavern was etched out in rock
shaped like the spokes of a wagon wheel
could have held up to fifty-thousand people
a highly evolved civilization, sharp-edged weapons
ornately decorated gold and copper cups
the multitude of mummies turned out to be male only
this could be the oldest archeological find in the USA
tablets were engraved with hieroglyphics
appeared to be a link between Egypt and Arizona
Hopi Indians claim their ancestors lived in such a city
Under the Grand Canyon
Hoax or truth? Smithsonian scientists believed it was true.
Being archeological students, we figured camping out would be great.
I told my cousin, it’s a long ride to Chaco Canyon, let’s not be late.
He knew my high interest in the Anasazi, he assured me he would go.
Why he did not show up that night, I guess I will never know.
It’s the day he disappeared, but I saw him walking next to me in spirit.
Especially when we got close to the major complex, he was always near it.
When I miss my cousin, I go back out to this marvelous archeological site.
We speak telepathically to each other, enjoying the Arizona night.
Is he dead? My mother asks, she wants to tell her sister Grace.
I have no idea, I say, but there is something magical about this place.
Maybe because it is where Utah Arizona Colorado and New Mexico meet.
All I know is that Chaco Canyon is where I find my missing cousin Pete
welcome to macho picchu built in urabamba, peru
lovely archeological site major andes mountain delight
her engineering is unique, inca family do you seek?
possible mausoleum face. pachacutec’s final resting place
rainforest’s easy proximity, exotic fruit anonymity
healing herbs, colorful feathers and butterflies
macho picchu points the way to righteous skies
a lovely place to visit, where your spirit will gladly rise.
A legend.
A story.
Gold.
The fever.
My true love is finding,
History of true relics of the past.
My professor found an old map,
In his mother's belongings,
After her passing.
Laughing he truly thought it,
Was a fake in the imagination,
In the mind of his
Young great grandfather.
So he decided to research it,
To prove himself wrong.
He realized quickly this fact,
Was enlightening...
The map was indeed real.
The gold was never found.
The professor decided on the dig.
The dig is an archeological,
Research project.
It was approved for a grant.
It was rumored there is a manuscript,
With treasures beyond true imagination.
This is truly my future and my calling.
This manuscript is priceless and,
Can tell us things about the past.
Things we never knew.
Little Sweet Faerie Toad was carrying the princess queen elect.
The rest of the fey stayed in the way to courtesy and genuflect.
LSFT was having a fit, but internally, so to not alarm his guest.
He finally got her to her coronation, the ultimate toadlike test.
The Princess Queen was grateful. She left LSFT a big tip.
He was excited, and went on a cruise, a pleasure trip.
Wife asked, “now wasn’t it worth it?” and he smiled big.
They are still on vacation – heading to an archeological dig.
The cedar dock splinters out to the moon's shine
Like the second hand ticking along
A white-faced clock
Drawing in loose boats and green moths
To its sweep of time
Is there any difference
Between those little dots of cabin lights
Strung like pearls along the shore
Three miles across Torch Lake
And the stars crowded light years away?
Orbs swirling with life in the dark
Even now
We only but understand the skin of the universe
The ripples of a lake
Thin clouds aching like fossils
Under the moon’s archeological search by headlamp
My wife and I at the campfire
Measure distance
By the relief of this quieted July Sunday night
And the passing orbits of the space station
Three cycles
Is the most we’ve ever survived
Depends on how full the cooler is
And how many words we have left to hum and turn
Holding hands as the night whittles away
And the flames lower to a bath of embers
To the tapping Morse code of our bare toes.
my history
had nothing
to do with her
story before we
met and then
all by me at
least was
forgotten
i had done
and i did
a world's
difference
to her story
but we met
and i hope
and pray
this
will
now
become
herstory
Valley of the kings
Romantic ideas
Word spread rapidly
Undiscovered tomb of a pharoah
World renown archeological teams
headed for Egypt
Amateurs, we stood in line for almost twenty-hours
before it was our
turn to take a look inside.
From the sunlight to the darkness, at first you go blind.
You hopefully catch yourself
As you find yourself falling over all of the stuff the servants
Felt the Pharoah would need in the afterlife
Toys, tools, everyday items, seeds, toiletries, decorative items
Vast amounts of lapis, and gold are glimpsed at corners where
generators are lighting lamps.
The air is stale, like a death march.
There is little light; but lots of angry shadows.
I lost my footing twice, tripping over an embossed box.
There were three sarcophagus,
In this unusual tomb.
A family disaster perhaps?
I could barely see in here.
I went back out,
and gulp-breathed
Gorgeous Egyptian air,
relieved I had not been grabbed
by a mummy.
The athletic behaviour of a swan party is far more effective upon a canal rather than in a bowl. The interesting part of a novel is quite often contained under a line but a line on a rock could contain much archeological finds and excite paleontologists so much that wild parties could be had in all corners of the globe. Mindless mischievous malevolent mammoths. And a disgruntled pig was now outside amongst the fauna fern and wild heather on a patch of thick granite. Ha a beach is arriving on a train at six o clock in meridian fortunes. Ha a sea is chasing it wanting it's shells back. Ha a dusky mule writhing to a meal in a restaurant. Clatter clatter clatter then. Xxxx misrepresentation z z z z z at forty one mice to twenty one skiing serpents. Z
Hast thou clouds? Hast thou storms? Which saintly light kisses and caresses the overgrown field. Such emblematic curves. Notions are not a daisy nor a blade of grass and a blanket can be created from branches. Yes branches. Is not a wandering a way of locating oneself. Ruins cam be rebuilt and reinventing can be obtained. Wishes are waiting. Willing is wanting. And watering is weaving. Creating calmly calamities causing chaotic caustic creative chops. Birthday notions of a dwindling pickle is rife when bathed in auric dew. Wonderful. Great isn't it? So upon reaching rubble take care when uncovering past missions. Swords dwell in ancient spires. And shells move slowly to the ball. Valour of the tableaux. And a linguistic king in a scarlet cape. Wise. Good. Goblets hidden. Dishes. Wine. Nothing is exact in a tourism channel. Houses historically hide. Heavens then. Waters glowing. Many caves. Globally positioned. *** archeological z
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