Taking the proffered ancient torch in hand
In Altamira, Santander and Lascaux
I am the fire, the flickering, burning brand
That leads the artists' hungering below.
Where forms of deer and bison billow in the dark
Etched in charcoal and berry-juice on the wall
The hunter like the artist pursues the mark
I rekindle to light this stone age carnival.
The dance of life cavorts to escape the savage crimson dart
Neighing snorting figures heart beating in the clay
For survival, skill and conquest, that is the caveman's art
And I the flame they carry within lighting the way.
Henceforth I become beacon of humanity,
Shining through memory and imagination
The light of liberty.
Pigeon-toed and knock kneed
they meander around the ponds edge
an ungainly duo
mother and son
like an ancient fertility figure
found in the caves of Lascaux,France
she tumble-waddles
pendulous breasts bobbing
the dough-like basket of her womb
long emptied with its navel of Earth
submerged in a mound of flesh..
onward she went circumventing
the piddle-pond.
The child not yet Twiddle-Dee'd
by total submersion into
the toxic sweetness of a domino sugar
existence still stood a chance..
yet the spectre of diabetes
loomed around the two
like the Ghost of Christmas future.
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