Best Iron Age Poems
GLISTENING GOKARNA
This scenic beauty, a grand temple town
Seated in the Arabian Sea like a golden crown
Bedecked on its bosom the blue beaches festoon
To name a few- Kudle, Paradise,Om and Half moon
Plays host to a galore of global tourists
Adventure enthusiasts and also motorists
Its a Sanskrit hub; has temples ancient opulent
Spirituality, Vedic chants have sprayed its sweet scent
The gracious mountains line the beaches pristine
Verdant vegetation like emerald has draped it green
Coconut fronds along the shores sway in gentle breeze
Colourful narrow streets and shacks to you please with ease
Savoring the magic of Sunrise and Sunset on the yellow sand
Makes you get lost in trance attaining bliss with its magic wand
In the twilight’s crimson red a natural painting of the retreating birds…
And fishing boats dancing with waves cannot be explained with words!
8th November 2016
My Kind of Town - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Janis Thompson
Notes:
Gokarna is a small temple town on the western coast of India in Uttara Kannada district of the state of Karnataka. Gokarna in Kannada language (my mother tongue) means Cow's ear.
Vedic chant-The oral tradition of the Vedas (Srauta) consists of several pathas, "recitations" or ways of chanting the Vedic mantras. Such traditions of Vedic chant are often considered the oldest unbroken oral tradition in existence, the fixation of the Vedic texts (samhitas) as preserved dating to roughly the time of Homer (early Iron Age).UNESCO proclaimed the tradition of Vedic chant a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity on November 7, 2003.
Categories:
iron age, beach, beautiful, places, ,
Form:
Rhyme
Originating in the ‘Iron-Age’, they stand
as living history; a testament
to the craftsmanship of men of yore
built by hand, each stone
strategically placed one upon another
no mortar holds them, and yet
as our lands circulatory system
of boundaries
they’ve stood for centuries
arteries and veins of dry stone wall
flowing across the fields and hills
of the countryside
that is synonymous of rural England.
Categories:
iron age, history, places
Form:
Free verse
The Twenty First Century will be like no other.
For millennia the human race experienced glacial progress forward.
Generation after generation pretty much the same.
Then slowly at first things began to change.
The Bronze Age, the Iron Age, jump to the Industrial Revolution and now the Technological Revolution. The pace of progress has been speeding up, soon it will be moving at light speed. A compression point will then be reach when
this light speed of change causes a paradigm shift for humanity. Our differences will melt away as not relevant in the new reality. Power brokers will loose control of the buttons and levers they use to control. Humanity writ large will be calling the shots. Institutions of "influence" will be swept away. Greedy power merchants swept away,
never to be seen again. Poverty and illness, swept away. The roller coaster ride is upon us.
Buckle up, it's going to be one hell off a ride.
Categories:
iron age, art,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Laborer and oxen are drawn
to slumber and to toil.
trodden fields of dawn
through basalt seeded soil.
A consistent daily chore
broken and blistered skin
farming out of folklore
the spirit from within.
An iron age passes by,
ploughed by tools of wood
Faces etched, livelihood.
(The traditional farmers of Nicaragua)
Categories:
iron age, life, on work and
Form:
Rhyme
Once there was a dame called Anne “the bane”
Her trick “God-promise .My words are true & sane”
“Sam and Bern are prophets.God-promise!”
“my comprehension is the truth.God-promise!”
Bloody are we in “stone age” or “iron age” dame?
Categories:
iron age, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Come visit us under pink tinged twilight skies..
among boughs borne under a song laden tree.
In fair view of land, meadows green coiling rise,
one hundred twenty counted souls, and me.
The older children play, running in sun washed petticoats,
hair pulled back in pigtails & ribbons, an untied shoelace floats.
Their errant hoops gone tumbling over a dew covered hill,
wonder if sun refused to shine, and not mourning them still.
How resplendent a vessel, White Star's ship of dreams,
carried their passion as coal fed fired boiler steams.
Only to sink 'neath the waves, irony in iron age..
On maiden voyage Ides of April, warned her last writ page.
To the new world go mother, father, sisters and brothers,
prayers spent all would reach safety of harbor's bustling dock.
America's shores promised in the letters of others...
went as sheep to the shearer in Reaper's growing flock.
To third class cabin dimlit, down three flights of stairs,
their mortal passage payed so high a forlorned cost.
Waiting their turn for grace, their last supper's prayers,
scrape of ice., gaping ocean roared, in darkness lost.
God bore them one and all 'way from the tortured deep,
to cold windswept mount where saints and survivors weep.
"Nothing in my hands I bring, simply to Thy cross I cling"
Categories:
iron age, christmas, grave, journey, sea,
Form:
Rhyme
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 21
Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva’s* will
Who’s show is this: Puppeteer or puppet’s
Kali-Yuga* dragging hind legs to standstill
Callow kids spray lead to warn not infidel
For what glory of own faith’s idle pets
Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva’s will
What kills: finger on trigger or divine will
ISIS hand or lead Kalashnikov jets
Kali-Yuga dragging hind legs to standstill
Piecemeal World War III Papal wisdom mill
Did not racial hatred collide with tenets
Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva’s will
Some people seek to dress world in their frill
Are Crusaders fratricidal Semites
Kali-Yuga dragging hind legs to standstill
Andromeda clash through Milky Way spill
Lest ISIS pound Kali-Yuga with jets
Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva’s will
Kali-Yuga dragging hind legs to standstill
• Siva: Hindu Trinity of the Godhead Brahman
composed of Brahma (Creator), Vishnu (Preserver)
And Siva (Destroyer)
• Kali-Yuga: According to Hindus, the “Iron Age” (the last phase of human existence), having commenced with the Mahabharatha (the Great War on February 18, 3102 B.C.E.)
will come to an end in less than 430000 years. – time enough to shoot the Milky Way to pulp.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Categories:
iron age, planet, political, psychological, religious,
Form:
Villanelle
Solstice
As I stood within this ancient Iron Age fort of stone
Dark clouds hid the wind that chilled me to the bone
The voices of waves hissed below on the sandy shore
And I was transported back to the Celtic time of lore.
Of ancient Druids and sun gods, mystery and wonder,
Battles, life and death, with clans at war and plunder.
Bonfires crackled as sparks traced upwards to the sky,
Turf smoke and wood competed to blind the weary eye.
Warriors stood on guard their weapons held close to hand
And in the distance people moved across the sacred land.
A gathering of the clans to share together the season’s birth
Of a sacred wonderment and reunion shrouded in mirth.
Chants rose softly as people sensed the hour was almost here
Excitement spreads around and so to a cautious sense of fear.
An uillean pipe haunts the darkness then a fiddle weeps a lament
But they blend and weave a haunting tapestry that is heaven sent.
I see the crowd around me their silent appreciation leave their mark
Candles flicker and soften faces as a beam pierces through the dark.
A sun rise of the ancients greets the generations standing here
The silence warmly welcomed reflected by an emotion in a tear.
Then through the ancient stones light floods the chamber once again
Older then the Egyptian Pyramids this marvel excites as it did back then.
Strangers hug each other as they struggle with emotions hard to tame
Not a word is spoken, some weep although they all must feel the same.
When all is passed and daylight rules, we linger longer then we should.
With spirits refueled we reflect on what now flows through Celtic blood .
Categories:
iron age, imagination, ireland, seasons,
Form:
Rhyme
Faith, Feast-given by one who is leaving
Outpouring alligance
Youth's name in celtic region of Europe
Foy is a town in Belgium and England-The Belgium town has French, dutch and German
people there. Celtic region is the northern European countries during the iron age.
Categories:
iron age, history
Form:
Acrostic
1/19/23
Getting through endeavors
Doing better
More focus on what is important instead of only pursuing pleasure
Even though ladies never give me the time of day
Like animals, I'm a stray
Just could not find my way
Deep down quite okay
I tell the truth, so it won't always be nice things I say
So much wrong in the world, no person should have been treated like a slave
Still today too many lives at stake
Jeopardizing people acting nice then snake
Regardless if they're asleep or wide awake
It's continuous occurring on since before the iron age
Is there any way to make the cycle change?
I have tried
24/7 at times
Took one step then hit landmines
Followed by a swarm of sand flies
I thought my heart had died
Because I flatlined
Now I just want love no bad vibes
It's what I always wanted, but I know that it's about damn time
If you let it too much toxic stuff can slide
I apologize if my mind is a bit hazy
Life get's crazy
I'm starting to like this lady
She thinks I'm similar to Slim Shady
Of our origin we still can't find a trace
Wake up we don't truly know if we evolved from primates
All these swines and fakes
These schmucks keep secrets and humans in a confined space
Had nothing to lose, then it turned high stakes
For too long was not in a nice place
Now got a better mind state
I still overdrink, and don't always hydrate
Like wild animals, I need to migrate
Much to achieve, so why wait?
Worldwide not just across five states
All this senseless violence and blind hate
I have improved
Back in the groove
Not the same old outlook and attitude
Working on making less bad moves
Despite being a lonely sad dude
I know that there is so much that I can do
And that that's true
A lot of bad luck
Instead of not giving a damn
In order to get through all the sad stuff
I had to become smarter work harder and man up
Making a splish splash
During the daylight or when it was pitch black
Often I'd give back
Having a profound impact
Occasionally I'll pop a tic-tac
Fiddle with knick-knacks
While at times in life it can get whack
Occasionally coming with whiplash
These clowns sweeter than a Kit-Kat
In a world full of endless chit-chat
Always over this and that
Despite speaking on it like it's a fact
Categories:
iron age, dark, deep, life, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
Nation's full of devastation,
Famine and drought.
In a world full of technology,
Yet we still can't work it out.
Have we come any further
From when we lived in a cave,
From the iron age of man,
To make chains to enslave.
When people are still living
In huts made of mud,
Has all of this technology
Really done any good.
15/8/2021
Categories:
iron age, anger, emotions, humanity, society,
Form:
Rhyme
Mostly it's just gluing bones together
ones found in a well furrowed field
a scattering of empty joints,
undetectable until tripped over.
An iron-age rebar
can be dug for
it will girder one socket to another.
The framework reconstructs itself
emptiness becomes whole
yet still see through.
There are sharp edges and blunt sounds,
they will clang like cowbells if not polished
into a ringing voice.
Sneak up on yourself,
rattle an echoing skull until teeth chatter
in a free-floating mind.
Whatever tumbles out of that
will be a loosely connected osseous process -
dead on arrival of course.
Pull the invisible strings - make it dance.
your bag of bones just nailed it
but what is it?
Categories:
iron age, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
"A house divided against itself...", Marxist know, cannot stand. The scheme, I believe, to sow as much confusion as possible. The world has gone through many ages: The Iron Age of Iron miracles, the Renaissance, when art reached its pinnacle of spirituality...and now, what we have in America, the Golden Age of Stupid -- hopefully more will soon wake-up and see the Light before it is too late.
Categories:
iron age, christian, evil, faith, humanity,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Yeah, you big gimp machine, I have you now!
My senses are in overdrive as you become my possession
tied up in my Mother’s gimp outfit. Since she moved to Australia
I have used it, violently.
Met you in the chip shop, typical northern girl, full of piss,
chips and hot air.
Ducked you good and proper, tied you up as you asked, whipped
you till red welts appeared on your palid skin. Changed my whip –
steel tipped. Make the welts bleed, for me!
You love it but with a snooker ball in your mouth you don’t sound so clear.
My mind spins like a penny, what next? Tighten the handcuffs,
put a red rose up your cant, scent mixed with scent. Place my head
close and sniff. Dig thorns into your white thighs, blood. I lick it.
Take the rose out, you hard, cut my hand and spread my blood
on your breasts. Slap you, use my Iron Age dagger. Cut your throat
as you scream, muffled by your gag. Gurgle of blood in your throat.
My drugs take over, I collapse into unconsciousness.
Wake up three days later. You are a stiff bloody rigamortis corpse,
my own deadly handiwork. Your brother can’t save you now,
he is next to be tied up just like you are. I’ll call at dinnertime
and say you need to see him but that you’re a bit tied up…
Categories:
iron age, dark, death, murder,
Form:
Free verse
Enice
Trees collapsing down webbed branches ingrained traces of you passing faces paused muffled by the grey fog covering such destruction enice pulled down the cable wires and sowed the heavy grey dough like clouds together into tiny fenced pockets carried through time hidden in a dark tangled paradox a myth lives on in history sealing it's dark lustful moist lips tempted by fate. Enice was a distasteful passer by a lover of destruction carried by her failing crossed over wings the winds pick up a wispfull throught the wires trip my fears again around a problematic feeling pulling out the very zest from the ground oily polluted tangled in a erupted seal a life dead blowing through the dark webbed inforced structures of time what peace their was sadly eloped the day light it was blown around by paper birds fighting for the last scraps of bread they fold up looking onwards pausing through this prismed strand of light engulfed by that beauty that died out in the iron age it captured my traveling telophic mind somewhere far where the zest smelt fresh on my skin and eloped the stained sunlight was a shattered memory of a paused lover going by the dark dustful eyes captured your caped shell disappearing in a passing figure of today.
Categories:
iron age, anger, animal, august, birthday,
Form:
Dramatic Verse