Ley lines
Straight out of a creative brain
Given to us by Alfred Watkins
A young imaginative archeologist
Ley lines
Invisible alignments between landmarks
He created the idea
Felt they had a mystical agenda
Ley lines
Popular idea in Europe
Where they have ancient monoliths
Connecting them
insinuating alien communication
Rome’s underwater goldmine - traversing history best left upset
Santa clause get me hope for xmas, since its hard for my mind and heart to hope again. Magicians perform me tricks to overcome ths dissapointment and shock, I jst can't bear no more. Scientist discover in me once again, trust and strength to live with this world horrors.
In me, I know not how to react to this devastation, human in collision, both young and old's life in shambles. There's no level or meassurements to curb this might of distress and dispair, its just spilled waters and milk everywhere, hopeless!
In which part of this Earth can I locate reset button, are there any archeologist to help me trace biblical authors's graves and tombs? maybe through them my grievences will reach to God
#Poetic_Ink
was this text part of an ancient scroll?
the meaning was clear to no one
the beauty is in the ambiguity of the piece
I stared at the other archeologist
what did he mean by this?
Was he covering his ignorance?
I figured this might be it
we need another Rosetta Stone my companion said
then we would understand
I did not think that would do it
not only was it ambiguous, it was unclear and cloudy
perhaps written by a person with a mental illness
I kept this to myself, feeling a bit superior to them
Some said it was a monster, a strange creature
Something prehistoric, something unnamed now
I said “horse” every time I saw it
For it rushed like a horse with her mane flying
They brought in experts
Everyone argues.
They wanted it to be a new kind of bull.
Or an unrecognizable animal we did not know.
“Horse!” I said, “horse, horse, horse’.
Look at the way it runs.. Look at the fury.
We will deal with this said an archeologist
A paleontologist asked me to leave.
They spent six years studying this cave painting.
Finally announcing it was a horse.
A time to rake; to search embers,
to pore over resurrected,
fire-damaged relics.
On an ancient shore
driftwood, fagots, and reeds
are heaped up onto a pyre of time.
After the fire there is a sorting.
a probing for talismans and trinkets.
Before the flames, flesh had hidden them,
in its open wounds.
An iron crucifix; smutter tarnished,
lays blackened by the quick flames.
It is held up to the sun,
by a tattered man of woe.
Death’s archeologist
wipes this soot-seared icon,
with a sweat-stained rag.
Other artifacts are long drowned,
they wait for the hands
of fishermen to haul them in,
to return them
to a modern-day Nazareth,
there, Islamic street traders
still sell religious curios
for Israeli shekels.
A time to rake; to search embers,
for fingerprints and the scorched optics
of the scattered and blind.
After the violence, fagots, and reeds
are heaped up into pyres,
but first the sorting,
the probing for trinkets of flesh.
A silver crucifix, smutter tarnished,
lays blackened by the avid impetus
of quick flames, it is held up,
by a tattered man of woe,
he calls out:
"I found something!"
Death's archeologist huddle,
wipe this soot-seared relic
with sweat
laced with new revealed
sorrows.
The recently threshed look upward,
not down. dull eyed, they peer
as though through the bottom of a fishbowl
at the red and bloated
afloat beneath an unblinking sky.
These smithereens of mortality
slowly bob in the ether,
they wait for the hands
of a meek fisherman to haul them in,
to take them away.
Star-Gate is illusive, as Genesis is evasive
EL-OH-AOW-ARE-U, can this be true...
"first human words"
In Earth's beginning, we begat to know, *WHOM*
was this keeper of our Star-Gate...
who then is WHOM? perhaps this answer lies
deep within a Tomb...
Einstein only lost his scientific atmospheric papers, this
has pushed us far apart, it would appear, while
(This is True}
Ivis Cartisha Archeologist provides a New Start
his trained-eye is caught by another tablet of
Hieroglyphics,*OUR FIRST WORDS* from our Heart
man uttered... Ra-M-ss also Th-Uth-M-s!
(This first word is Ramss, his beloved King)
Metaphor:
Through our Star-Gate blacken hue, our Black
moon... blocks your View...
your science takes you past our Sun, this is...
not Bright my Son's...
Star-Gate may be found off their opposite direction
that dark-side of your Sphere, it has no reflection
We are *WHOM* you seek, from your start, Why...
look in sun 'Bright space' when you depart...
pointing you over here WOW through...
Our metaphorical Star-Gate, Rates!.
History fascinated us
From the hither and the beyond
Kings and Queens
Tutankhamun
His curse
His life
His youth
Would I have ventured into that tomb?
Had I been an archeologist?
On that dig?
In Egypt?
Of course!
In some ways I think
his curse has returned
I have a shark's tooth
Found under the soil not so deep
In my Kansas yard.
I hide it from others so they will not ruin
My illusions about it.
I feel it is from a fierce and mighty shark
Who devoured little fish, and even maybe a human leg.
I picture it as being from prehistoric times.
I hide it especially well when the archeologists come visit
We have a creek in the backyard where they have had a dig
Discovering hundreds of arrowheads
And maybe an axe handle, but not the one I am hiding with
My shark's tooth. For I do not want anyone to ruin my
Axe handle illusions either.
Before I die
I want a mouth filled with gold teeth.
So, when they excavate me after a thousand years.
They'll think I was royalty-maybe even a king-
To fool an archeologist (grave robber), I think, is a noble thing.
Good kings should be buried like the common man.
No monuments or pomp- purple garments or crowns.
Just a simple pine box in the cold-cold-cold ground-
The young archeologist reaches lakes’ shore
He falls through trap door
Those are hidden in the floor
This is an area that no one has explore
Ha arrives in field from which smell his soul will entice
To a place where grows flowers called bird of paradise
Each flower is beautiful with no vice
And one of the flowers is on the altar as sacrifice
The man feels bit of fear
But beyond the altar to him near
The large pillar of moonstone will appear
What it is monument to is unclear
This is a lost city of an ancient race
That came from outer space
This moonstone is beyond imaginations that need no base
It is the elemental of transcendence the soul of the place
My visage is a remainder of ancient kings
I can make spirit fly even if I don’t have wings
To an archeologist writing on my walls sings
I protect hidden in me chalices, disks and golden rings
I stand hundred and forty six meters tall
What is written on ancient Egyptian Scroll?
Is that I’m a tomb that to heaven carries pharaohs’ soul
Whose likeness is depicted on my wall
I’m shaped like light beam from the farthest reaches of the universe
Two hundred and thirty meters is every side of my base
I’m supposed to lead the spirit to special place in other space
Where with Gods themselves pharaohs’ soul can converse
If Peter Piper picked a pack of pickled peppers, would you care?
Would the peck be put in a glass jar? What if he dropped a hair in there?
And, if Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet digging
and found the jar that Piper had hidden in the muck,
along side the skull of Cro-Magnon man?
“Ahhh, NO we’ve found the hip girdle and he’s a she!”
Well, ole Pipper’s pecker would have gone to the pie in the sky
and Miss Muffet’s tuffet would have gone to compost;
So, how would the archeologist know for sure? "
Why the HIP, you hafta have hips, miles and miles and mile of hips…
Baby you can be a hero of course just put that ‘orse behind the cart!”
Heart, well it’s left the building too. “Geeezzz it was just a pump
whatcha want from a pump?” Thump, thump, from the bump, bump,
then ya hump, hump, and my goodness, we’re back to Peter Piper and his pecker?
“NO, no, his peck of pickles and Muffet’s missin’ tuffet?
Well, I say the stars, yes the stars, show the way,
the celestial meaning of the id, the I, the you, the ego too,
and love “Ahhhhhh love the excuse for it all!”
The pickles, the muffins, the tuffet, the bumping the humpin’
The free for all of we!
Stop picking your nose...
Why? it feels nice...
I'm watching you know!
And that doesn't make me think twice!
Silly woman, you astound me.
Lovely man, why do you stick around me?
'Cause you don't have a care in the world, and don't linger a second on others thoughts.
Then if you know me so well, why does me picking my nose give you such shock?
I guess because I never get use to your oddity...
Oh dear me! Don't speak of me so modestly!
...So are you an archeologist? Did you find any relics?
Not quite...it's deep in there...when I get rid of it I'll relish.
EW! EW! EW! EW! STOP PICKING YOUR NOSE!
But if I stop you'll never see if I ever dug the gold!
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