Best Primordial Poems
Everyone is a blended mixture of
Elementals made up of
Oxygen, carbon,
Hydrogen, nitrogen,
Calcium, phosphorus, and…
Trace elements
A divine recipe, perhaps?
Some are yet to be born
Some are young,
Some are old.
Some are people of color,
Some are people who lack color.
Some speak one language
Some speak many tongues.
Some are social
Some are antisocial.
Some are healthy
Some are sick.
But what am I?
Some are poor
Some are middle-class
Some are rich.
Some believe in God
Some sense a higher design
Some aren’t sure
Some are atheists.
Some are extroverts
Some are introverts.
Who am I?
Some live on farms
Some live in suburban communities
Some live in towns and cities.
Some live off the grid
Some are liberal
Some are moderate
Some are conservative.
How shall I live?
Some are loving
Some are joy-filled
Some are hate-filled.
Some want peace
Some want a cause
Some want war.
Some want to destroy
Some want to mend
Some want to kill
Some want to heal.
Should I matter?
Should I not?
What are my choices?
Everybody dies…
But do I truly live?
In this vast simplexity of humanity
Or am I more than the sum of the parts?
Or am I just a glitch of stardust
Or a spark of the divine?
Momentarily aware
Yet, unaware
Forever in BlueJeans…
Forever questioning?
Categories:
primordial, earth, humanity, identity, life,
Form:
Free verse
Your dog has an indispensable dispatch,
a critical communique.
Are you listening?
Your dog is howling at sirens,
annoying all your neighbors.
Have you noticed?
Your dog’s evolutionary chain from wolves,
a prescriptive instinct.
Are you appreciating?
Your dog’s howling though, is much more,
the opening of a primordial door,
the call to a roaming distant pack,
a whining ballad to wilder tribe crying back.
Your dog prays to something larger than himself,
and because you are leading the pack,
it includes you.
This then, a necessity to survive.
This then, the most fundamental meaning
of God!
Your dog is howling at sirens.
Listen to your dog!
Categories:
primordial, animal, dog, god, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
It took some heavy digging and a lot of clever research.
But scientists have now explained in full detail how evolution works.
Finally it all comes together after much debate and so much time.
(To appeal to the little 'uns they even told it in rhyme).
"And from the mud-baths of primordial soup we came to be.
Rising from the currents of a ginormous boiling sea.
Once things cooled down a bit, leaving cells with room to breath,
things developed quite gradually,
as each individual body part became part of the team."
The Mouth said to the Ear:
You there! Get your Butt over here!
What the Mouth didn't yet know, however,
was that that the Butt was still processing
in some foul smelling black ether.
(Just ask Nose and he'll tell you clear as day,
that smell was nothing short of risque.)
Mouth's voice was very muffled you see,
lacking the Ear's wondrous ability
to take in sound.
You could see it for yourself if you wanted too
(still Eyeball was no where to be found).
Somewhere along the road the Head came rolling down.
He had great determination in his jaunt,
though those big gaping eye-holes were sure to haunt.
And after a two million year nap,
at long last, the Elbow and Knee Cap
came oozing their way from the horrid soup.
Once attached to Mouth and Vocal Chord, they beamed,
"Pee-YOU that reeks, if Stomach were here I'd surely turn green.
One sure develops an appetite after a billion year fast.
If someone doesn't throw me some grub I don't think I'll last!"
After such great struggle there was still so much to be done
Feet and Legs were still in a hot sweaty run
trying for a thousand years at least to find Crotch and Torso
(To make matters worse they needed Esophagus to get re-hydrated also!).
But after all that I think you will find the struggle worth it.
What great things can happen when we're all so close knit.
We're not perfect yet, as you can see, evolution is a work in progress.
Things could always improve, it just takes time to process.
One fellow man of science inquired a rough estimation
of just how long it would take to grow wings
(some bickering was involved, due to his ridiculous proposition).
The real concern is however being totally ignored,
of which I think you will be completely appalled.
It will probably take another 17 billion years,
at least, to get the Brain installed.
Categories:
primordial, humorous, philosophy,
Form:
Light Verse
From within the flux its breath sweeps the shoreline,
Sometimes spewing forth flotsam and jetsam
Lolling us to sleep with its soothing savoury sighs.
Its siren calls hypnotising the unwary and confidant.
Drawing us to depths of hidden fury and peace.
Scouring the lands with an insatiable appetite,
Forever hungry, it’s stomach a pitiless pit of plenty.
Its minions devouring the fallen. Lost in opaque screams.
The rolling wave ripples through to the very soul,
Its innocuous plate sparkles in white foamy trepidation.
Beckoning us, taunting us, through its congenital self.
Primordial waves bathe our lives as we search the shore.
For peace, love and isolation, now flung and strewn.
Where hope of salvage dwell in our beachcombing souls.
We wish to return from where once we came, we lost embryos.
Our mislaid mother calls, still we newcomers neglect her voice.
5th Aug 2013..........S.de Burca
Categories:
primordial, creation, metaphor, nature, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
She is pregnant fruits on a dainty vine
her presence divine
she straddles the line between holy and erotic.
She has since she created Creation;
She is Creation, don't you know?
She walked through flames and won.
Her henna-burnt feet can split the Earth if she wills it.
Her ghungroo makes thunder;
the hands of Nature lift up in surrender
to the power of the dancer.
The dew that covers her body
could quench the thirst of demons
and end the lives of gods.
It could create the Universe
if she let any man touch her.
If any man dare touch her
like a parched leaf touches a forest fire.
Categories:
primordial, woman, universe,
Form:
Blank verse
There is a restless stirring in the breast,
A Sap, not even wakened Summer brings…
No song, but the beginnings of a Song,
A few notes hinting unenvisaged things
Seed-words, that – as yet – cannot quite be sung
Foundation-stones of temples yet unborn.
As a hero in the womb still sucks his thumb,
As the shadow of a sapling’s thin and wan,
So does the Spirit of the Resurrection,
Entombed no more, speak softly at the dawn:
‘O touch me not, for I am not yet risen!
Go tell the others that I am not gone!’
And every Christ and angel and elf sings,
The Gladness of the Day, that Easter brings!
4/2/2019
Categories:
primordial, easter, feelings, love, morning,
Form:
Sonnet
Ancient pottery,
Concealed by the sands of time:
Unearthed by the wind.
Categories:
primordial, history
Form:
Senryu
Intrepid desires
broke wings of guilded kisses
angels lullaby
Categories:
primordial, fairy, gothic, history, light,
Form:
Haibun
Primordial Soup
In the cosmos kitchen of distant past,
When first thoughts of life's creation were cast,
A unique recipe, made its debut,
'Primordial soup', life's creation brew.
Take 6 cups of seawater from seashore head,
Where precursor molecules are purebred,
With carbon atoms, molecules galore,
With hydrogen, oxygen, many more.
Add a sprinkle of salt, make a strong brine,
Which becomes life's spark conductor benign.
Now comes the tricky part, nature's assault,
To get a living being, fused, gestalt.
Set the brew aside to foment and age.
It won't ferment, there's no life at this stage.
Wait for the thunder clouds to roll on in,
With lightning flashes blasting to break-in.
Add a long cast-iron wand to the pot.
Place it outside in a clear exposed spot.
Stand well clear, be patient, wait for the bolt,
To hit the pot, making life with a jolt!
With a bit of good luck and fate combined,
Your precursor chemical mix maligned,
Will become magic primordial soup,
destined to seed entire planets with life.
Your soup is infinitely expandable,
With all sorts of tasty things edible.
For life creates its own ingredients,
Limited only by your expedients!
You name it, vegan, keto, carnivore.
Chock full of all living things you adore!
Categories:
primordial, creation, food,
Form:
Sonnet
In the depths of the forest
I feel its eldritch heart,
Deep down in the forest
I feels its harm,
Yet in the depths of the forest
You can still feel its peace,
Still feel the primordial power that sleeps
Deep down within the heart of every tree,
We need to make a stand as a humanity,
To save and protect the eldritch wood
A world without forests is a world no good
For human habitation, so don't let it be misunderstood
Human life depends on leaf, sap and wood.
Categories:
primordial, deep, environment, heart, humanity,
Form:
Free verse
Heart's cover sealed in burgeoning prime
Fading leaves folded in the book of time
Follicles of love blanched on the pages sublime
Billowy blades dulled with eroding sands that modulate and slime
Bleached, seamless threads spliced in the deep recesses of my mind
Glossy words overgrown, strangled with thistle and thyme
Each, dilated syllable devoid of reason and rhyme
Each segment underscored with a stagnating byline
Every, amorous allusion deconstructed; devoid of design
Each, sterile refrain resounds a doleful chime
Remaining, truncated edition a lapsing memory; requited pantomime
Categories:
primordial, allegory, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
our blood 'tis a bag
of primordial ocean
landlubber lament
Categories:
primordial, ocean,
Form:
Haiku
I followed in his footsteps
but far back a ways you know
It wouldn't do for him to see
the way the goblins grow,
from every puddle that he left
an entity ,alone ,bereft
has raised its' head to look
around
up from the muck,out of the ground.
some are fairies and the like
and some are elves
and some are tykes
that soon may grow into
a troll
to hide beneath the bridge
and roll
ole Tony down when he comes back
a strolling cross his
evening track,
he'll ask a riddle of the man,
and when he doesn't understand
he'll say "what have you lost and found
since you past by and went to town?"
Categories:
primordial, funny, imagination, mystery, riddle,
Form:
Couplet
Perhaps primordial humans have fewer illusions to shed, fewer chains to break,
While we, in the labyrinth of modernity, drown in waves of deceptive teachings,
A soul must be ready to let go of everything, not just fleeting riches,
But all the lies whispered to it, the entire brainwashing of society.
One must leave behind false stories, free oneself from the weight of dogmas,
To stand naked before the truth, stripped of all layers imposed by the world,
For only then can you reach the other side, where the soul finds peace,
Where the echoes of society no longer resound, and silence becomes pure music.
Most are not willing to make this leap into liberating unknowns,
Stuck in the comfort of habits and beliefs that bind them to the earth,
But those who dare to renounce all that is false and fleeting find the light,
A place where consciousness dances freely, without the shadows of fear and doubt.
Thus, in the flow of thoughts, I wonder what it would mean to cast off all ballast,
To rediscover ourselves beneath layers of stories that do not belong to us,
Perhaps true freedom is daring to be ourselves, unburdened,
To step fearlessly into the light of truth, finding ourselves in the simplicity of essence.
Categories:
primordial, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
The quill this evening is not a mere instrument, but a primordial beast,
A lacquered leviathan with a tip sharp as obsidian fangs,
Its body coiled like an ouroboros, devouring its own ink in vengeance,
It struggles under my grip, a relic of extinct empires, growling glyphs older than rivers.
When I dare to drip her name on parchment, the quill writhes as if poisoned,
It desires no musings on the arch of her neck, nor metaphors borne on her breath,
It wants to write edicts, edict after edict, engraved in cinnabar, demanding civilizations to kneel,
But instead, I force it to etch the fragile curve of her smile.
The quill screams, refusing, twisting my wrist like a hydra in chains,
Throwing diatribes in vanished tongues, a chimera with ink feathers,
Jealous, foaming, its reservoirs full of brimstone and fury,
Tearing the parchment until it blisters, plotting betrayal with every black syllable.
It swears it will erase entire constellations before letting her name flow from its throat,
I tell it, "Write her name—or rot."
And thus, it scratches like a beast led to execution, jagged letters, growling,
Stained with the ichor of ancient gods' regrets, yet I feel it still writhing,
Waiting for the night when I forget it and return to its jaws,
"Tools made for conquest do not forgive those who tame them with tenderness."
Thus, the quill will rise again, seeking to assert its forgotten power,
In a world where words are weapons, and memories, unfinished battles.
Categories:
primordial, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse