Best Archeologists Poems
...He said: "I believe there is a God.
Something ingenious was most definitely
at play.
But, I've asked some other
reverends, pastors, and ministers,
where are Jesus' bones?
Not one convinced me, which repulsed
my eagerness to fellowship.
We have
dinosaur bones, giant and dwarf bones,
archeologists artifacts and a slew of other
things that prove that these historical events existed
or occurred.
I'm a total believer of proof!
(with a grin on his face)
Can you answer that"?
The other guy paused and prayed
before taking the quiz!
He says: "the miracle is prophecy since the Old Testament.
And the sacrifice of foul offering
became displeasing to the Creator's taste buds.
And, don't forget about Abraham who was willing
to sacrifice his own son when God asked him
to pledge his allegiance... an Initiatory joke
that the creator ante up one
with a pure scarifications and sacrificial lamb;
his own child!
You and I have bones from our parents
meshing. The sperm penetrated the egg.
Mary, a virgin,
impregnated by a message
that she would bear a child.
Without the meshing of two
those bones
left the same way that they arrived... Miraculously
with dominion over hell and a graveyard".
Categories:
archeologists, atheist,
Form:
Free verse
We have designated drivers and designated hitters
But where are the designated cowboys?
The designated artists?
The designated illustrators?
The designated astronauts?
The designated dancers?
Who decides?
Is it the child or a parent?
A mentor? A committee? A judge?
Who gets to designate me?
Will they designate me at birth or is it later?
Do they take my interests and talents into account,
or is it just a random designation?
Can we designate ourselves?
Maybe, if we grow up in the right part of the world.
Maybe not, if we don’t.
Poof. I’m a poet.
Wham. I’m an aerospace engineer.
Bing! I’m a physician’s assistant.
A wonderful truth worth pondering.
Some children are born into a family business,
and they know what they will be doing
because there is no discussion whatsoever.
Poof. They will be painting lawn furniture all their lives.
Wham. They will be gardeners, taking over Mommy’s business.
Pow. They will be engineers.
Their whole family has been designated to be engineers.
No discussion. Just an inner knowing at birth.
It is nice to think that we live in a world where we can designate ourselves.
We can be a doctor or lawyer or pharmaceutical rep.
But can we really? Can the poor really
afford to go to school eleven or twelve years without any pay
to become a veterinarian?
Can the ones who can barely graduate high school
due to lots of pressure from home to
not buy into the “world of school”
truly designate themselves librarians or archeologists?
I would like to think that they could.
I really do wish I could think that.
If that was true,
if we could all designate ourselves and be anything we wanted to be,
I would designate
myself to be a dragon-training, first-rate,
Indianapolis 500 stunt car race driver. How about you?
Categories:
archeologists, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
For all the complex science of my mind
The crow still flies
For all the profound answers man may find
The sea still sighs
For all the glass and steel from which cities rise
And fabled disciplines new perches find
Archeologists explore their predecessors demise
Sifting over things that stare us blind
I want to stand alone in moonlight and night
And kiss your lips again
And need no answers breath or clothes is tight
With passion in my vein
The truest that comes when all my joys in flight
Manifest their meaning to my domain
Or children playing ring games while logs burn bright
The sweet harvest of the latent pain.
Categories:
archeologists, imagination, life, nature
Form:
Verse
I have a ridiculously large head,
I think I’d opt for a smaller one instead.
Oh, sure, you say that it suits me fine,
That’s because yours isn’t near as big as mine.
I bet that it weights at least thirty pounds,
It looks even bigger than it sounds.
When I lay it down on my waterbed,
A tsunami rises so my wife has said.
When I go to try on winter hats,
The clerk gives me ones with ventilation slats,
That way when it’s not on sitting my dome,
It can be used as a guest room for my home.
My giant head is entirely too big,
Someday archeologists will venture on dig,
They’ll think that I came from the highland,
On the west end of Easter Island.
Little kids stare up at my noggin,
They think it could be used for a toboggan.
Or a shed to hold random hodgepodge,
That clutters things up in their dad’s garage.
Don’t tell me that it’s due to my intellect,
It makes your judgment sound suspect.
It’s because my brain is fashioned like a brick,
And my skull is so very, very thick.
Categories:
archeologists, funny, me, easter, me,
Form:
Light Verse
Who
Ever
knew,
according
to Wikipedia’s,
chronological list
of inauguration portraits,
that Richard Milhous Nixon
was the last U. S. president not to
show his teeth. He could have
been a television crime scene detective,
anchorman, or even the famous Cyrano de
Bergerac before Steve Martin in Roxanne. And
think about the high-double-hand-double-V-
salute! President Dwight David
“Ike” Eisenhower may have once offered the
salute. Similarly, half-Vulcan and half-human,
Mr. Spock made a single-hand-double-V-salute,
and Winston Churchill made the single-hand-
single-V-salute. As well as Steve McQueen, a
few protesters and several rock stars. Even
before that, a low relief, discovered by
archeologists in Magnesia ad Meandrum,
Greece dating back almost three-thousand years,
displays a person offering
a single-hand
-single-V-salute.
But never in history has
anyone been more
recorded offering
a high-double-hand-
double-V-salute.
If President Barack
Hussein Obama
gave a high-double
-hand- double-V-salute, we
would call him a dictator. And although Mr.
Obama was the first president to offer a single-
hand-salute with a cup of coffee, all the firsts
and first lasts, lead me to believe that an
extraordinary man became the thirty-seventh
President of the United States of America.
But there’s still something else
about Richard Nixon.
Maybe he just looks too happy.
Categories:
archeologists, satire,
Form:
Concrete
Lego Cities
Square blocked infrastructures formed from a meddling mind
engineered and fused together with sticky grape popsicle fingers
the Lego Babylon rises with its hanging gardens
strewn along the carpet floor.
A Mesopotamian oasis of multi-colored plastic struts
carelessly scattered for archeologists to decipher.
All those strange cuneiform residues of fingerprints
left by the sugar filled deity who set them in place.
Catalyst of that industrial architect
whose cubicle fortress of a daydreaming metropolis
sits in the corner of the living room
awaiting its devastation from future gods
armed with vacuums and nap times.
nathan martin 2009
Categories:
archeologists, childhood,
Form:
Light Verse
Man’s lofty hopes once soared in stone.
His architecture sought God’s sky,
In spires uprisen, sprung from earth.
Today, man’s mood is crudely shown
In concrete cubes that smite the eye,
Brute paleoliths of stone-age worth
That future archeologists, amazed, will scan,
And ponder… did ape-like artisans evolve from man?
Categories:
archeologists, art, loss, nostalgia,
Form:
Verse
To wrap your head around this is a hassle.
The mystery I am talking about is Coral Castle.
This is a place in some of your backyards in the USA.
It is located in Miami Florida, right off the bay.
Most of you don't know about this place under the suns.
It is about one man, who by himself, moved 1,100 tons.
He made it into a great castle and all of this is true.
He moved all of it and carved it all too.
There were no machines and no one helped this man.
Scientists, archeologists, and architects can't figure out his plan.
He had 3 wooden poles forming a pyramid or tepee,
with a black box at the top, and inside it was the key.
Over 28 years he created this masterpiece without any sounds.
You think its a long time, but one tiny man can't move 2.2 million pounds.
If you have a chance and visit here, you'll be in an amazed state.
You'll walk up to it and with one finger, push open its 9 ton gate.
There are no hinges or bolts, no one knows how it moves.
This alone says its a great mystery, that no science proves.
When he was finished and moved his last giant crater,
he went straight to the hospital and died a short while later.
So what was in the black box, how did he do these things?
No one knows, the government came in and the box went missing.
Once he was asked why he did this?
He said, “for the love of my life, Agnes.”
He was also asked how he did this and give us descriptions.
He said, “it was easy, I figured out the pyramids and the Egyptians.”
Categories:
archeologists, mystery
Form:
Rhyme
Pompeii
Amid ashes pumice lay
Life in cinders Pompeii in disarray
Vesuvius plumed angry swell
Archeologists unearth deathly knell
Volcanic vomit ample spume
from sunlight golden to darkened gloom
Roman bathing in waters pure
Nimbus of fires blazing coiffure
In 79 AD it's eruption did occur
No time to flee , No time for prayer
For sure a wrong analogy of mine
but this 'Furnace' it froze in time
thank you
Categories:
archeologists, adventure, history, holiday, international,
Form:
Rhyme
Ancient Time Collapse
Ancient time collapsed on mirrored distances
Taking history, its ripples, down in the sand
Lost in the reflected wide eyes of children looking up
They will never know what time it is
Archeologists use the suns surveillance guidance system
Sextants by sea employed, sojourning to history
Compass by land, to point the way more solidly
Tools help them seek the depths to find their level
To shed light on missing times and parts gone dark
Sun fills the void once opened on the past
Apparently there is not enough light in the sky
Clearly there is not enough sight in the universe
To find what they are looking for
Exposing oceans of rocks and sand
Not much more
Mysteries undertaken in the making of the dig
Scientists unearth, burn, work, bake under sun
Nothing found underground can live forever buried
Mixed together, former human parts with sand, comingling there
Winds grind and blow the bones around about the rocks
Exposed on surface, air turns remnants to powder, so everything is fine
Mirrored in the distances are facts and fiction
Hollow words that fell through cracks
Collapsed with long gone columns
Not so solid at this hour
What stories history could tell us if we reassembled ancient artifacts
Separated them, along with sand and stone and bones
Still on the most wanted list of history
Forgotten and unknown
Categories:
archeologists, adventure, age, change, history,
Form:
Free verse
For you
I would
create a mixtape
which I know is an ancient technology but
with me and you it is just that simple.
I race to you like we used to rush into each other's arms in highschool
where our only concern was whether or not we could get the courage to talk to each other without shaking.....
This is the playlist that I would prepare for you.
First and foremost I'd put Hate to see you go by The colour fred
Because it is true as the song has said
Truly if I could I would become a
sculptor...
I would place the unformed chunk of my clayself and spin.
Create myself in the image of your ideal perfection.
I would spin
Faster than the spools could play the songs on re-wind
I want so badly to make an impresion
and I know that the the tape can only contain up to 35 minutes for you to get the underlying
message
October Nights, by Yellowcard
will follow soon after
because that exotic night in your car
where the street lights were our blankets
is constantly on replay in my mind
Right before the heavy nod of sleep
I daydream
You are laying beside me, and in this private realm of thought
We travel like archeologists over the naked lay of our connected bodies
and I live through the pleasure that this daydream explodes into my mind like
parasympathetic nerve ending fireworks
Remember will play softly by Allister
and I'll hold onto the hope that you will forgive me of this time in our lives where I have to
press pause
for I am broken still
Knaans waving flag will resound from your stereos
For 'tis this soundtrack where my battle cry is derived
I know it is just the beginning but I will push myself past my barriers
Pieces by Sum 41 will be your lullaby
because this is the song that brought back the blue into my gray eyes
Hopefully side one will bring you comfort
because you are everything I am looking for in a guy
I am but a broken winged robin who has got to learn once more to fly.
and lastly Blink 182's I miss you
Because there is not a moment in the day where my mind wanders back to you
Categories:
archeologists, confusion, devotion, forgiveness, friendship,
Form:
Fiendish and gruesome phantasmagoric
denizens reigned horns of a dilemma blitzen deer
dwelt deep inside subterranean vault perform an evil dance
haunt psychic landscape with imaginary (yet realistic) vixen
gargoyle visitations that cast macabre trance
nocturnal unconscious invaders cavort and gallivant
disturb donnor party quiescent sleep
with devilish and sinister prance.
Apparitions crept stealthily into peaceful slumber receptacle
repository whence illusory landscape of dreams
take place to rejuvenate exhausted
body, mind and spirit triage
rent asunder blissful sleep with startled fright
cold sweat drenched nighttime garments and bedding
teeth chattered uncontrollably
heart pounded loudly inside chest
nightmarish phantoms wrought an awful ghoulish sight.
Mushroom cloud anniversary triggered
frenzied gargantuan hallucination
seventy two plus years ago today inauguration
into atomic age took place
one country after another sought
to acquire demonic and destruction devices
maintain self-preservation in surreal atomic weapons race
impossible to escape the dark threat
heir hilly looms and threatens life on Earth
one launched missile spells extermination
across entire global space.
No escape from humankind military machines
munitions march mean madness
and guaranteed demise to all life
*****Sapiens violent history of bias,
intolerance and/or prejudice
characterizes vicious warfare and chronic species strife
unaffordable legacy for future (and perhaps alien) archeologists
who will sift thru civilization debris with delicate knife.
Artifacts buried in a heap
of pulverized and radioactive ash
civilization monuments and hedonistic symbols
gone in a blinding brilliant flash
irksome flotsam and jetsam spewed into outer space
alien nations light years distant collect miniscule bits and pieces
offer object lesson as extinction
for beings become excessively brash.
Categories:
archeologists, age, angst, dark, evil,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
When archeologists dig up the bones,
it's not likely that any of them moans,
"Forgive me if I have you mis-gendered."
Apple trees are by their fruit remembered.
----------
H/T to An Apple Is Always an Apple by Milt Hankins
Categories:
archeologists, fruit,
Form:
Rhyme
The History of Black People,
And all of our People should be celebrated
Year-round: every day, week, month, and decade.
The celebration should go on unabated,
All the time. The first couple,
Ever existed, had dark skin, said
Many credible historians,
Archeologists and great citizens.
The month of February is evidently too short.
Twenty-eight days are not enough,
To commemorate our Brave People, who've fought
And defeated ignorance, bigotry and slavery.
Three hundred and sixty-five days are not enough,
To honor the struggle of the Slaves who were brought
To different parts of the world. A century
Is not enough. Many centuries are not enough.
We need, every single day of the almanac,
To celebrate, to remember the first Black
Couple, our Ancestors,
Our Brothers and Sisters.
Copyright© January 2017 Logerie Hebert, all rights reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several books of poems.
Categories:
archeologists, africa, america, black african
Form:
Rhyme
Being archeologists we let out a sigh,
after reading a Mummy warning sign,:
If he should awake,
life's not at stake,
has limp and is no longer in his prime.
10-17-16
Categories:
archeologists, adventure, humor,
Form:
Limerick