Best Archeological Poems
The passionate...pulsating rhythm,
Of your tasty...temple of doom.
Pounds a pummeling throb,
While hunting for buried treasure.
A lustrous...look like acid rain,
A hopeful...heart, a buried jewel.
My whip...willingly...whips,
A love escapade unwinds.
I raid your beautiful...body
Looking for the lost ark in the dark.
Erotic...exploration begins;
I explore a deeper crevice.
Solely...searching a secret tunnel,
Investigating, probing, and panting,
In the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.
With my trusty archeological tool.
Hot wax poured...sizzling burns
The crimson scented wax streams
On this secret quest for love,
A stimulating last crusade.
Drops of salty...sweat
Bead from my fatigued...face
Dripping into the abyss of covers
And on the glistening skin.
Contrast: hitting the shiny...skin
The splash sound...is amplified.
A magnified grimace of pleasure
Protrudes the dark silhouette.
Steamy...lava skin yearns,
For a cool touch to extinguish
The heat of human friction while
Luscious...lips call out Dr. Jones.
____________________________
*Posted for an anonymous request
To write more free verse...
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.
She was eminently qualified in numbers
Held fast to the beliefs in physical objects
Felt every molecule down to her mortal soul
Religion guided Sue through water and soil
Down in the mud of love
Prayer lined up on the side of God
A tool most useful in the invisible realm
If not
She was locked in tangibles
Sherlocked away to wait for Easter
Buried under a stone most uncomfortable
Undetected
To be deduced, from what is and what is not
Thereby order could be restored on Sunday
Drilled down to the atomic level of abomination
Established first by logic in the seventeenth century
Light won't pass through the ways of reason
Being solid as it stands
Where souls split into the Adam unnatural at Evening
All men are created equal to their mortal core
The Iliad and Odyssey are read and dead
In another language long and gone
Sue knows Greek as a 5 letter word
Greek know Sue more than you know
Trojans were of another kind of clan
Spoke Luwian at length
Cuneiform or hieroglyphic characters carved
Souls starved for more attention than misunderstanding
Stood out in their own reflection
Crawled home in a holy hole for protection
Flashlights are not prescribed for reading Homer
We recommend Sue's interpretation of the past
Objects in Archeological pockets are counted
Sins glow in the dark inspected
Calculated to the numerical physicality of being
Extolled by Sue who knows such things
Gold is found without tools to grasp the meaning
Souls unearthed remain with words unspoken
English is not an ancient tongue
Extensions take the dig
Can only go so far
Sue knows who you are
Before it starts
What we are sailing into was predetermined.
It is not our fault.
We are stupid and alien to this mat we call earth.
Not very long ago.... there were creatures, feeling normal, having 4 legs
We are an alien race; deposited here by chance and time.
We are temporary and soon forgotten
With
All
Of
Our toys
Beliefs
And
Production
Rotting
Into
The
Next
Archeological
Dig
Surefooted, sure fisted,razor tough
If I should fight that war again
I would want one for the going rough
Like yourself,
Fair and fractured
When the friendship slough
No claim to be a paragon of anything
Just an average man in your own eyes
While I hoisted you like a kite
Above naseberry trees and bush
Above the gormandizing sea
Above the Compound's red mud
Carrying the archeological memory
Of man's life like a sud
A mere consequence of a theory's lie
It was your mating urge that first
Lured you into the systems net
Thereafter your life became troubled
Wandering around the wilderness of regret
Framed like a pirate's ghost
Stereotyped and labeled
I still do not think you guilty of their crime
Your demonization came before your destruction
And when you died
I cried and cried at such a useless end
My fearless friend would never be at my back again
But tears will water pain, and still brings nothing back.
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.
If and when a boarding pass equals an educational equilibrium then equators could sing. But Tiburon turbulent tuning turrets can often be misplaced and therefore undetected by a radar which measures over the same distance as abrogating and rotating iron tree. In a dress. Cluck clock click then meow very very very loudly. *** a giant fore bearer is a foretelling of intricately woven faith. Symbol not a worm. And work undergrowth like underwear. Wear then discard. It is the wash of the rain to stimulate the work no idolised hypothetical root. Oh and speak in solemn ways to a ninety degree angle of a archeological arch. No prominent bow is ever really removed. And no ant can really climb nor fly. Hesitation is not a great way of carrying weeding baskets across the lands. And wave always to talking boughs and boroughs for hendersfield is a spotty sporty tiger weaving across the land diagonally. So hahahaha feet on a train. Hahahahaha wild wielding whaling wasps whipping wheels. Hahahaha and a good great book with images. Diagonadtic dialogues. Dress dream dressed. And a pink pot smiles at a potato fried. Sink no number in a sum. Xxxxxx embryonic emblematic empty empire. Xxxxx superfluous starting stirring soup. Xxxxxx curvaceously z hyperthyroidism z
Form:
They’re not human, not even humanoid
These creatures' presence in our archeological history
Once considered a naturally occurring phenomenon
But only recently discovered otherwise
And were only hinted at by geologist nuts
Who believed Fairies had inscribed
These strange triangles on the surface of Quartz crystals
Not too far from the truth ...
After careful scrutiny, famed archeologist, Dr. Carol Lewis, PhD
Has made her announcement in "The Scientific Journal, Vol. MMMCLXXIII,
Unclassified Documents, (May 2035), Article: Interpretation of the Mysterious Triangles on Quartz Crystals”, pages 74-78, 94, and 96.
Dr. Lewis has proclaimed that her deciphering has uncovered
An ancient civilization, that after carbon dating
Existed more than 2.5 billion years ago
A time before Man, before dinosaurs, before time ...
The following is an excerpt of her work:
THE LOST ARHIVES OF PHLACKNOKTINOK
DURING ECLIPSE (OF) *undecipherable* BIG NEWS
SOFT ROCK ONES SLIP (THROUGHOUT) TIME
(IN) MIRROR SHELLED CRAFT (TO) GLIMPSE
REFRACTION (OF) *undecipherable* BENDING
CONTACT SUCCESSFUL. FACE (TO) FACE INEVITABLE.
FLOW (WITH THE) LIGHT.
- Presumably the author's signature and date
Meanwhile, we have made numerous attempts to contact Dr.Lewis
for any comments on her article but she has mysteriously gone missing ...
Most likely into the far regions of The Twilight Zone.
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
Form:
You’re soulfully heated in Winter surroundings
While ages of ice aches in Summer compounds me
Transparence in vain, entombed and trapped
Archeological finds and mysteries cracked
Shattered to stardust while ice crystals blow
Symbolizing the melting of wings in the snow
To cover an angel with blankets of love
Cool to my touch, smothered from above
Peacefully sleeping in dreamfields enchanted
Cursing the one wish remaining ungranted
Opposite ends of the wishpool remain
Seasonal pilgrimage starts up again
Ripples in dreampools of sleep destroy much
Yearning to freeze this image, to touch
Over and over leaves me flabbergasted
Eternally grateful I smiled while it lasted
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.
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
Form:
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