Best Cuneiform Poems
The clock chastises me,
as painted petals bloom brilliance
in illuminated wonder that attempts
escape from the hidden crevices
deep within my beleaguered mind.
The beauty I seek is but an allusive dream,
flowing rags of worthless chattel
that fill me with words, heavy, like stone,
my rhymes but pointless emotional prattle.
Yet, still my need must pursue that dream
to create another verse so sublime as to define
me as me in a world filled with poetic doppelgangers
and, so, I write just one more sad, lonely line.
"Extant nectared incense she lit, burning inside, slow but alone,
Arrogant me, let her leave, as here I sit, awaiting the unknown."
Clever, perhaps, but are my words,
like the melancholy song of the lonely Lune,
beautiful?
Geez, or should I say jeez, no Cuneiform here,
shall I try once more...
"crystalline sparkles
achromatic winter jewels
spring paints with colors"
...to bring out in me that which,
through these many years of seeing
my world ravaged with emotional upheaval,
still, in its turn, allowing me to experience
love and enchantment from eyes
that held me in the warmest embrace.
"I see the storm as rage engulfs those lovely eyes,
the blue intrepid sea of passion's lost release.
Inside, the tears of torment flow to sooth the lies,
yet, pain remains in every moment's wish for peace.
As burning anger seethes inside of you
the path it seeks obscures your point of view,
and leaves the ragged scars of bitter love
left blurred like mist in sodden clouds above.
Emotional, these moments steal your gentle heart
and eat in to the darkened void that once was you,
but misplaced hate can not keep you and I apart,
when, with my shroud of love, your heart I will eschew.
I hope you'll see just how I feel for you,
for you are why I do these things I do."
Crap!
Total
crap I read!
and I chuckle
as I re-read it.
In a single sonnet,
iambic hexameter
and iambic pentameter,
the Bard must be turning in his grave;
I guess I'll have to try another day.
08/15/2018
Long has it been maintained,
writing sprang from economic drive and need,
seeing as the cuneiform tablets
were soon interpreted with worldly eyes.
But economics is a stylus scratching lies on clay,
a social science to varnish human selfishness away.
My dear incredible pen,
you are the pinnacle of writing instruments! Looking refined with your elegant ebony shaft and gold-filagree trim, you are a true technological wonder to behold and a master calligrapher.
I am amazed at your ability to ink my thoughts onto paper without a single smear, skip or blotch. You fit my hand like we were custom crafted as one, allowing me to gently glide your easy-flow tip over a blank canvas and create literary art.
Oh, my dearest, most reliable pen,
I am enthralled by your ability to interpret my scribbled thoughts into meaningful, coherent sentences. You are my inspiration, confidant, and protagonist; I would be lost without your profound influence and companionship.
You have established an almost intimate psychic connection with my muse, and together, we three create poetry. I love the feel of you in my hand; you give me the confidence to explore fantasy while at the same time anchoring me to reality.
My most beloved, exquisite pen,
the mere thought of holding you sends shivers down my spine, for I know you are eager to take me to faraway places we've never been as we explore the deceptions and truths of humanity. You come from a proud line of writing instruments, including cuneiform sticks, quills, and fountain pens, to the ubiquitous ballpoint pens of today. May your ink never dry up, and your contribution to literary works be recognized and appreciated, for you deserve no less.
(Ode)
03/03/2023
Write an Ode Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jeff Kyser
Ashes of humanity
Scattered and lingered in hearts of purity
Hallowed and spirited within the psyche of infinity
Weaving with man's joy and sorrows
Entwined with lattices of honey yellows
Drifting in clouds of human form
Numeric and linguistic crypts of cuneiform
Endearing are thoughts and words, not jive
Sprinkled ashes etched on books of archive
Doors that opened to human interest
All come alive in ashes, blots and dearest
Your ash is the strength, honor of the fittest
There lives with-in, a grande dame fair,
goddess of many talents rare.
Yet, humble in her own shy way,
she weaves her words without delay, beyond compare.
You might just think she lives to write,
that poetry consumes her sight.
I see a soul that lives to love . . .
to share below and rise above, in divine light.
A beauty only few can see
is gifted in her poetry.
As dawn reveals through clouded sky
the glory of its golden eye, in majesty.
A tapestry in varied hues . . .
a rainbow painted over blues.
Her lovely words continue on.
They’ll live long after she is gone, to greet her muse.
This poem is in The Florette form created by Jan Turner
Note:
‘Since the Sumerian poet Enheduanna carved her odes to the
goddess Inanna in cuneiform tablets more than 4,500 years ago,
civilizations have expressed their most beautiful, tragic, triumphant,
and perceptive thoughts through poetry.’
“Phoenix Dreams in the Realm of Crows”
wake up
shake up
kaleidoscope girl
jigsaw
see saw
fit the pieces
she
another world
away
the in-betweeen
flows easily
through the veil
safe harbour
opening
portals
for ocean steering
curious kaleidoscope
stories to sew
the slip stitch
love knot cast
anchor’s raised
time’s racing
discharge fear
or remain
feathers spreading
in the realm
of crows
poetic
messengers
casting their spells
for opening
tombs turning
dead leaves to tomes
in the crowded hideaway
where shorthand, fixed tight to masts,
swings suspended for transcribing
dark nights,
where soft and fierce
treasure dwells
feathers spreading
cunning cuneiform for ghosts
who speak in tongues
transformative
strange letters
unfurling
spreading
deep indigo and
jesserant jet feathers
swords and keys
for plundering
and opening
impromptu places
mysterious better nests
for hidden golden eggs
broken yoked,
freed
spilling silver spoons,
curl love drunk
into warm skinned
velvet embryos
hugging new bodies
of work, slick palaces
for bedding
better never-endings
never ending,
electric muses
flocked
and kissing
sated singing
dreams
in the realm
of crows
the in-betweeen
flows easily
through the veil
safe harbour
opening
portals
for ocean steering
bejewelled St Elmo
phoenix fire stories lit, to sew
the slip stitch
love knot cast
anchor’s raised
astral charting
glossy winged stars
albatross angels
waxing lyrical
follies and flights
ignited, illuminating
phoenix dreams
in the realm
of crows
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Hideaway”/ Queens of the Stone Age
https://youtu.be/2dcbcic06vw
"Let It Happen" / Tame Impala
https://youtu.be/NMRhx71bGo4
"Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control"/Tame Impala
https://youtu.be/C1VelTQ3hdY
Crow Symbolism
https://www.onthefeeder.com/crow-symbolism/
LYRICS/ “Hideaway”, Queens of the Stone Age
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/queensofthestoneage/hideaway.html
LYRICS/"Let It Happen", Tame Impala
https://genius.com/Tame-impala-let-it-happen-lyrics
Creative Native, quite contemplative-
he draws on walls in ancient caves.
So Hieroglyphic speculative:
Cuneiform curses mark mummy graves.
On land the sand, the grains of Man-
exoplated, protective shells.
A last ballast, we're sinking fast;
step lively men, and hoist the sails!
The Tribe has grown and it has thrived-
(their drumbeats echo as if alive!)
We've lost our rudder, I wince and shudder,
and I have lost all will and drive...
No longer fond of the Amazon-
Jungle be damned; I wish 'twere gone!
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
Feed your goldfish before you leave
Love them as you love yourself
The bible tells us all fish are created equal
Some people prefer baby guppies
Because their mouths move slow and oval
They are smaller and talk in pantomime
Can breath underwater
And even look like one another all the time
Never throw small things in the toilet
Bony creatures can get stuck when flushing
Fish go better in a soup
Don't tell them that
Or add too much seasoning without a reason
Be truthful to your fish
Be faithful as you wish them to be
They swim about for a living
The Iliad and Odyssey are recommended reading
For people, not aquatic types
Anything other than Greek might suffice
Goldfish don't speak Greek
Don't know about the Trojans either
Luwian is foreign and hard to pronounce
Too many vowels and consonants
Along with cuneiform and hieroglyphic characters
Goldfish are not conversant in such languages
We recommend leaving them in a bowl
Preferably filled with water
That way they can grow old
Don't confuse them with gray guppies
Goldfish are gold
Some say orange or red
Love your fishes any way
Like the good book says
….or was it the cook book?
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
Concentric constellations of cosmic
consciousness catapult cuneiform
cubi-calm charismatics, creating
crystalline coloured corridors
casually camouflaged, commanding
cyclic, cryptic compassion calling cards.
Center court connectives calculate
comparable crying conniptions calling
circus cellular cumulative consolidations.
CAUTION: CARING CONTENTS CONCEALED
PROZAC IN MY HARD DRIVE
I put Prozac in my hard drive you can't imagine my regret.
Now, the cursor finger flips me off, the arrow shakes and sweats.
There are incoherent sentences on the address bar
with endless threats of suicide that are really quite bizarre.
I put Prozac in my hard drive, now when I surf the internet
every other word is spelled in a different alphabet.
Sometime it's in Cyrillic, sometimes in cuneiform,
sometimes in hieroglyphics and sometimes scientific form.
I put Prozac in my hard drive and I think I went too far,
it spit a CD at me just like a kung fu star.
I am getting kind of nervous wondering what is next,
I get very threatening messages in very vulgar text.
I put Prozac in my hard drive, you know I should have read
the black box warning that the package said.
I hope I can survive this and pray I don't get mauled
while I am waiting for this machine to go through its withdrawals.
I write in the cuneiform stylings of the Sumerian
But, somehow, this system won't allow my brand of hieroglyphics
To print out
So, sadly, I must communicate through this jumbled network of characters
And, therefore, I will speak as clearly as this form allows...
The civilizations that have lived eons before this current abomination
Were swallowed up entirely by the gods for far less than
What is occurring in this wasteland of layered greed often disguised as
Altruism during times of crisis
The vastness within the discrepancies between how some live easily versus
How the masses struggle to exist
Has become too great
The loss of awareness replaced with apathy and entitlement
Makes the modern condition fertile grounds for a strong
Wake-up call for the elite, the spoiled, the ignorant, and the violent
Especially as the aforementioned have typically veiled themselves with distinct notes
Of misplaced, bastardized religious philosophy
In order to continue with their agenda
Unfortunately, it is in my estimation that only the poor continue to be crushed with
The horrors of other, richer men seeking their vainglorious pursuits
Without the slightest regard for their fellow man/woman/child
And this is compounded with the torments of the earth's rumblings
That twist the souls who have nothing into a state of deeper loss
As their hands reach towards skies that bare no offering of fruition or salvation
From their fellow man
How does it happen that people forget about one another with such a cavalier attitude?
Technological gadgets and hollywood make-believe are excellent distraction devices
Used to shield the priviledged from reality...
"As long as I am happy
No person outside of my inner circle of liars and cheats
Shall interfere with my self-created world"
This is not a novel situation
This is a cyclical, kinetic, spiritual energy that is bestowed
Only upon the aware few
Larger movement is required to set in motion the mechanisms of the smaller
In the beginning the world was flat.
Nature was magical and that was that.
We expressed or selves with cave drawings and cuneiform too
Cuneiform was cool because it was new.
Later came sand script ant it was neat.
Except for its weight it couldn’t be beat.
Pharaohs maintained that the world was flat.
Nature was still magical and that was that.
Through the years things stayed mostly the same.
Scientists came along making themselves a name.
Soon folks were sailing the sea so blue.
Its’ roundness they all knew.
During the Renaissance artist turned up the heat.
The respect they gained was sweet.
The world knew it wasn’t flat.
The world of magic grew faint and that was that.
Science, literature and the arts grew.
The educational academies did too.
Cameras made artist feel obsolete.
Artist evolved to feel more complete.
The world got a little more abstract.
The artist was reborn and that’s a fact.
Impressionist challenged what we knew.
Expressionist had their day too.
Art for art’s sake is sweet.
Art’s expressive circle is nearly complete.
The mind’s not flat.
Expression is what you pull from your hat.
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
The little clay tablets have been unearthed,
Their cuneiform secrets quite deciphered.
I sensed a poem of our century lay revealed,
with men waiting eager in the cradle's wings
for this Sumerian development.
Some five thousand years have passed by now,
yet in a deep sense the moment has never died.
Ancient poet,
juggle words for me.
Write only of a man called Enmerkar,
not that he ruled in Uruk and was born of gods.
For I would wish.........
Nor describe how he ordered Aratta,
( a city-state outside Sumer's domain),
to submit and bring precious stones,
lapis lazuli, silver, gold;
for shrines.
Or that when his demands were met with a bluff,
like a nuclear scientist he threatened,
destruction and dust.
Because having read such things a thousand times....