Best Excavated Poems
In those younger years
I made a friend of the sun
And allowed her to bathe me
In brown creamy skin
In those younger years
I ran across a beach
And played with the sun
Let her sprinkle freckles
Upon my healthy golden cheeks
In those younger years
I had my way
With the sun
Took her in so many
Different positions
Under the burn of her sultry touch
In those younger years
I traveled to exotic climes
Just to enter my sunshine heaven
And soak up her glow
But the cave I now inhabit
Shuts out all the warming rays
The cave in which I hide
Repels all her sunny ways
The cave I made from earth and
Resignation
Never lets her kiss within
The cave I excavated
Collapses upon my daily sins
In those younger years
I once loved the sun
THE CRADLE OF MANKIND.
The archaeologists of this era
Were about to excitedly find
The Cradle of Mankind
Where the origins of humankind
Had been found, the news was about
To be revealed to the whole world
And so the ears of our globe were glued
To their radios in 1947, they heard,
About this mammoth remarkable finding
Painstakingly excavated , it’s evidence binding.
Mrs Ples’s skull was found,
And with carbon dating,
Archaeologists were rewarded
Most certainly worth waiting!
Estimated to be 2.3 million years’ old.
Mrs Ples (as the archaeologists named her)
All this time had been hidden
For many a year
But there is still more to hear!
It is said that she is the missing link,
We may each think what we want to think!
Archaeologists were about to discover
Other unbelievable phenomena,
Which supported the belief of evolution,
And steered many into total confusion!
God is omnipresent, and
The Alpha and Omega, He has been
Looking down on earth for millenniums
From the beginning of time,
He is omniscient, He believes in me,
And I in Him, He is the Divine!
The Sterkfontein caves are now famous,
Planet Earth was listening, this story was big!
In 1998 archaeologists discover
Yet another important find,
This boggled the mind!
They laboriously dug in this one excavation
Over twenty years, Layer upon layer of ground
And thus Little Foot was found!
He, some say it’s a she, was gently assembled,
And lies in a Pretoria museum,
Together with Mrs Ples,
Archaeologists still dig,
They insist, that there are still hidden treasures
And take great measures,
To work carefully and diligently
Excitedly say there is much more to find
Underneath and beyond the Sterkfontein caves,
Patiently, waiting to uncover
Yet another, one of a kind!
I believe with soul, heart and being
In The Almighty, maybe He even lent the
Archaeologists a helping hand, we cannot
Ignore these finds, they are not fantasy but real
Furthermore we were given the gift of logic,
And ultimately the archaeologists will kneel,
And praise and thank God Almighty!
Stone did not give up on us,
we just made stone socially conscious.
Many hotels and banks are still stone clad,
the rich still use stone,
but most of us
are in the throw-away aisles of the future.
This is not a class warfare poem, that war is over –
we lost.
Soon the poor will have no stone history,
our less than epoch making lives
will not outlast the crumbling era’s.
Our trinkets and practical artifacts
will wash away in tsunamis of time.
We will leave no blue-collar archeology
that can be excavated, and raised above the
swallowing earth once more.
Plastic and aluminum,
composite drywalls, and pine struts, go
to the landfill at best.
In the end, rot, termites
and fire are our bequeathing.
In some distant past
I am looking through a camera
taking pictures of a far tomorrow.
“Look”, I hear someone say,
“there’s a nobody,
he who has no stone for his grave
or fame.”
I agree,
even this celluloid photo of me
in my prime,
strutting along a Jersey boardwalk,
a beautiful woman on my arm;
this image will also burst into flames;
no doubt within,
some impressive, abiding fireplace -
one built of stone.
a fallen pine log:
red-cockaded woodpeckers
taps their lost fair well
****The Red-cockaded Woodpecker has less than 1% of its original population. They make their home in mature pine forests, preferably long leaf pine, which have been drastically reduced due to disease and harvesting. While other woodpeckers bore out cavities in dead trees where the wood is rotten and soft, the Red-cockaded Woodpecker is the only one which excavates cavities exclusively in living pine trees. They play a key role in their ecosystem. A number of other birds and small mammals use the cavities excavated by Red-cockaded Woodpeckers, such as chickadees, bluebirds, titmice, and several other woodpecker species, reptiles, and insects. Florida, my home, is one of the remaining southern states they are still found in. Steps are being taken to protect and recreate their nesting grounds***********
The Last Viking
There had been a war in my part of the world, peace there is never one,
people fight wars in other parts of the world more brutal than ever before.
The first winter of peace was the coldest anyone old could remember and
ducks feet froze on the ice they could not move and became prey to rats
and human scum who threw stones at the ducks satisfying a biblical instinct.
A tree in the park had fallen and a skeleton was discovered it was to be
excavated the next day, but it disappeared I think it had reassembled itself
broken into a dress shop and covered his bones with the skin of dead people.
A long very thin man had been observed outside a lady`s lingerie shop late
one evening, masturbating, what else to do after being dead under a tree for
five hundred years.
At a museum in the Isle of Man, I saw the thumb of a Viking in a glass cage
within a glass cage surrounded by precious objects ladies wore at the time
It was pathetic there he was fighting and living not knowing his thumb would
live forever in a tiny glass cage
God and goddess of love and beauty enlaced
with aster in a satin sky, two hearts clenched
forever as one in a lover's embrace
Souls enraptured, desires of flesh ne'er to quench
In a timeless tale, soul mates excavated
Love at first sight conceived from his birth, her seed
of passion was planted, babe cultivated
'til mature, his splendor became her heart's need
The Garden of Adonis shall forever bloom with his beauty
Near a flowing river, grows from bloodshed and nectar, red anemone
He is fated to share his eternal love with Aphrodite of the sky
Tempted from the heavens and underworld, their fervor shall not die
Adonis and Aphrodite
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for Soul Partners Contest (Nette Onclaud)
* a rispetto ending in two couplets
The most awful things happened on a dark and stormy evening,
foreshadowing the battle between good and bad-darkness and light.
Opaque clouds concealed the light as it escaped from the moon.
We were on our way to the Native American History Museum
to see its latest treasure; an amazing monolith of some sort,
excavated from an old Indian burial ground. That creeped me out!
I admit I was frightened, but it was a matter of pride to win a bet.
There was sure to be some vindictive consequences if we refused.
The whole idea seemed to be rather grim and gruesome,
and I could think of more delightful ways to spend an evening.
After opening a window, we climbed in, but finding the right room
took some doing. One guy made annoying Indian chanting sounds
so I asked him to stop. He said "Ok, whatever you say, boss."
"Don't patronize me," I shot back in a vicious undertone.
The monolith was encased behind an oval of glass, but as we approached
it started to give off a bright golden glow. Flashlights were dropped,
we all back away, but no one could speak. There was an eerie humming noise coming from within the case and suddenly the glass shattered,
sending pieces flying in our direction. I wasn't first to fly out the window,
but I made sure I wasn't going to be the last.
We ran until we couldn't catch our breath, but no one talked about it.
I held up my camera, as if to say... I got a picture.
We were fortunate to escape without being caught.
Victorious in accomplishing our task, but we're not taking any more bets.
7/19/2016
Make a Poem *2-Shadow Hamilton
Required words: Awful, amazing, annoying, grim, gruesome, delightful.
frightened, fortunate, finding, monolith, moon, museum, oval, opaque,
opening, patronize, pride, prelude, vicious, vindictive, victorious.
Night market stalls
So much to see;
Feel happy daze
Curious eyes feast
Seek a fond buy;
Pretty things shout
Street food vendor
Pleasant fare delights;
Long queue waiting
Crowded street
Hawker offerings;
Brisk buy and sell
Waylaid by stuff
Hordes descend here;
Night bazaar tempts
Just for a while
Try buying happiness;
Walk the bazaar route
Street side beggar
Ragged marionette;
Selling tissue packs
Feeble old lady begs:
"Give me two dollars please..."
My wallet agrees
Caught in the act,
I sigh with heartache;
Old man collects discards
By this wayside
Beggar sleeps dreaming;
Sleeping in a warm bed
Chinatown detour
Sign of the times;
Lonely old folks gather
Faces from the past
Lingering here now;
Beyond expiry date
Sad and dreary
These haunting images;
Intrude upon sensibilities
My heart bleeds
Distressed by such sights;
Cruel squalor loiters
Time has excavated
Skeletons in the closet;
Revisiting old haunts
Now and then
Becomes by and by;
Broken pieces litter
Poverty speaks
In ugly tones;
Shady undertakings
To die is easy
Living is so hard;
Pain, suffering, disease
Oh my soul,
Let us go, you and I;
See better sights
Leon Enriquez
14 July 2014
Singapore
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/roman-reign
https://youtu.be/Z1hAGvzB8Nk
The prominent years, of which did last
Great heights of power, of centuries past
According to legend, thy Rome we build
Twin brothers afore, o’ Remus killed
O’ city of Rome, of which we name
A land of power, government, fame
A laurel wreath, for emperors made
Make way Augustine, we shall invade
Proud legions stand, march with thy sword
Set up camp, in one accord
Hilltops on high, settlement surround
Excavated objects found
We bind the law, of which was spoke
Of magistrates power, enforce, evoke
Writings carved, upon thy stone
Papyrus, bronze, of Latin alone
Villas remain, a courtyard near
Mosaic art, yet to revere
Myths and legends, they chose per se
God and goddess, a role to play
The Colosseum, the serious wars
O’ re-enact at theatre doors
Horses trotting, yet at a pace
The circus held, thy chariot race
Lend a penny, now let us bath
Thy mineral water, water wave
As strigils scrape, upon thy skin
With lavish oil, thy slave rub-in
A solid cause, bring to effect
Our empire built, we shall protect
Provinces, lands, we captured all
Stood to defend, afore thy fall
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
I implored myself with money and okay,
thought that feasting at the time was no crime,
and as the chyme soothingly rolled in my head's threads,
then in pretense covered that craving with a palm,
that craving very agile and corporeal.
upon my lulling, the asking defied;
i gave it money and honey,
filled up with joy and future employ;
i promised burgers served with kandara,
njugu karanga and bits of cars
yet the desire waxed insatiable!
i gave a good girl to woo,
it looked out the more.
and i got another maid of the style princely;
her bosom decorated with flatness and uniformity,
reaching up to the moonlight in height,
digging deep beneath the heels of fashion,
she walked gracefully like a drunken monk,
the music of buckles and golden rings begged much;
and that's what i added to this creature of ghostly beauty.
then this calling wants a third one!
it wandered to the ages of history
and excavated childhood dreams,
dripping with rottenness and obsession,
in the life of civilisation i was tormented,
degrees but tormenting,
good jobs but tormenting!
sooner i resolved to quench the question of "enough?"
and made myself a vocation
to drench the injustice of childhood poverty
with the justice of excellence.
a redeemer of sorts,
the light in the way of a night walker.
many looking from my reverse
see hope under my feet-stool.
i am become the man of going,
and going i do.
behind is troop of people unseen,
jerking forwards, themselves a foothold to obtain.
soon they'll play this game my style,
and it's a vast quiz.
tell me,
how vast is it?
the sea of desire,
all opportunities begging a piece?
shall i be satiated getting a graduate degree?
or a postgraduate?
first-class or distinction?
will adorable mistresses and pageants
announce your destination,
oh desire?
i sought, and i'm seeking,
behold nothing satiates.
it's insatiable this life.
I dug a hole in the backyard last night.
When I started digging I was thinking about death
Perhaps I would just lie down and die,
But then I realized it was not for dying but for living.
It was designed to remove the cancer from my soul
It was a gold mine… destined to be excavated by me
So I took off my clothes and rubbed myself down with gasoline.
I was hard and lean and if I stood just right in that pit I could feel the ashes
I lit my hair on fire and watched it burn
I had no fear.
Not even a tattooed tear for I new it was meant to heal.
As the flames got closer I lowered myself to the ground
And took on a depreciated yoga pose that would heal my soul
Crouching fool
Squatting idiot
Something more irreverent than Judas standing before the cross
As the daylight broke over my dreams I realized that I was paralyzed
A heliograph in the sky stared down on me
Daring me to look back.
Blind yourself and wrap yourself in barbed wire.
Walk down the hall sideways
Know no fear
Heal thyself fool.
I will do this every night, night after night,
Until I find the truth.
This is the end and I have no place else to go.
It is the last place to measure out my life.
Keep digging
Or stop?
That is the question they ask all the losers.
Me I am going to keep on digging
Because this hole is all I have.
As published in the Taj Mahal Review Vol.2, Number 2, DEC 2013
You smile at a distance,
Honesty hidden behind your teeth,
Tongue poised to reminisce,
Of linen floors and bed-sheets,
I can't remember,
How your hand felt in mine,
Memory locked in December,
When our fingers intertwined,
A nostalgic misfortune,
Cheap stuffed bear excavated by golden cranes,
Entering our relationship's 7th edition,
A 90 degree kiss coupled by growing pains,
Following the path of our stiff walk home,
These nights alone are my whiskey,
And your cup of tea,
Perfectly content in my fluorescent dome,
While your opening the windows in your house among the trees,
Bottleneck ballads,
Your stained glass lips sting,
Muddy ink word salad,
Our awaited reunion we approach like zombies shambling,
It's just my gemini stigma,
Silver tongues and lead bodies,
A matrimonial enigma,
Her neglection and your idolatry,
My story with her written by the space-bar,
And ours stargazing in telescope cars,
An atmospheric distance,
My mile high sky,
Your callous correspondence,
My overbearing replies,
My reluctant departure,
Your earnest independence,
Our paper-thin affair,
So alone we wander motionless.
Love can be looked at, as an abstract
and can seem like an artifact, encased in a crusted bundle,
buried somewhere deep waiting to be discovered
Love is found and excavated, gently brushing the ruminants away
trying not disturb the true essence that was neatly preserved
Now, Love can be displayed, so people can see that
even though it can be still, It can always be real
If only you can believe that love can be, indeed
Letters to an Unknown Woman by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan
When years go by, when years
go by and the air having excavated a ditch
between your soul and mine, when years hurry past
and I be the only man to entertain feelings of love,
a being who hovered an instant in front of your lips,
a poor fella dejected from walking through gardens,
where will you be? Where
will you, O! child/daughter of my kisses!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
For many a millennia
man has walked
on this earth.
During this journey
he has learned much
but not enough
for his appetite.
To feed the hunger
he grows a special
garden,
a garden filled with
technology,
each year a bigger crop
is harvested to satisfy
the increasing need
for knowledge.
For many a millennia
man has mauled
and scarred
the face of the earth,
has interrupted
and disturbed
the workings of nature
with his pollution,
destruction, wars,
tearing down,
and building up --
events of mainly
technological origins.
For many a millennia
man's knowledge has enlarged,
now it's running amok.
If it continues
we will find ourselves
buried in long forgotten
tombs of earthen crust,
from space just holes
and pot marks
in Terran soil,
on ground level
vast wastelands
excavated by man
to feed technology,
to build concrete roads
and buildings,
creating a Heaven for man,
a real hell for Earth,
a planet which millennia ago
was still uncluttered,
much greener,
pollution free.
A virgin among the stars
awaiting the then unknown
dawn of technological
rape.
1977