I did not think you knew what an azimuth was, I said to Guy.
“I am not a Neolithic,” he told me with a sniff, I know why…
Some people misjudge this brilliant child of two months past twelve.
His mind goes where others have never had the chance to delve.
What do you use it for? I asked, testing him just a bit.
“to install satellite dishes,” he said. He is a precocious little chit.
We were at the Wambuul river where the Casuarina trees grow.
Not an elegant place, but it suited us down to each toe.
Guy suggested knapping a bit of flint while we were here.
I had some of my tools so I said “of course, why not? where?”
His mind was lightyears away, for he had his brain in a book.
Reading about quasars, for his mind grabs knowledge like a hook.
Categories:
knapping, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Rhyme
this twinning set,
of urchin's smile reflected,
by stale fathers turned to murk,
knapping flint saturated by eons,
gripped saltwise in bitter steel neglected,
high voices cry "banal!" and flow red tears,
weeping while maxims roar,
at last this abattoir's necessary cut,
eyes rimming rise,
along dross to swirling bones,
as banners once crowned a shining wall,
tattered now on midden in lonely heaps,
crumbled in sieves by millennial crones,
turnspit dogs with hanging tongues,
forward marching back again,
pounding the echoes,
now, polymeric brains,
studied to exalt virtual reasons,
longing to challenge abstract perfection,
as those doomed anguish in tidy archives,
wincing at rhythms of civilian seasons,
nock the future, quiver the past,
into a terrorist leaks a tale,
while a nation rots through a soldier.
Categories:
knapping, anxiety, future,
Form: Rhyme
To preserve this day, I pick red plums wild
Within my soul, I dream a while
A vision ancient, to me smiles
Of plums growing wild in thickets dark
There for taking by man or lark
Beside running waters where beaver barks
I hear the drum for miles
Smoke signals lifting high in sky
On summer's breeze they drift and sigh
Indian village steals my eye
Women gathering, pounding, grinding
Saving fruits for summer's ending
In cakes for winter's cold day feasting
'Round evening fires, high and dry
Painted ponies heading west
Hunter's talismans cover chests
Put their knapping skills to test
Not one willing to be the lag
Arrow drawn to down his stag
Rights this night will be to brag
Whose spearpoint flew the best
Allegiance to "Great White Father" sworn
Many moons later, treaties torn
Their ways, their days, their hopes forlorn
For wild plum cakes and venison stews
Thought safe in tepees 'neath cold skies blue
Sore gleaning here in peaceful view
For them I shall forever mourn
While picking I shall forever mourn
Categories:
knapping, dream,
Form: Ballad