Long Archaeological Poems
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I am reading
"Democracy in Black"
by Eddie S. Glaude, Jr.
but continue reconstructing this title
"Hypocrisy in Only White."
Because
when I let my memory
look back to my own self-interests in history
as archaeological digging and prying and discovery,
adventure and curiosity
of my internal ecological development,
I reweave back
through still on-going matriarchal lines
that include,
are shared with,
anyone capable of reading
and comprehending
these words of regenerating memory.
Back
to darker
denser
richer genes and memes
of cooperative to still thrive today,
saving competitions for survival moments.
Back to
better to prey together
side by side
as neanderthal brothers and sisters
than to grow predative
against each other.
This Golden Rule
of dark Afro-Eurasian
equatorial resonant depth
of historical origin
in normative play
at least until we substitute capitalism's
supremacist agendas
for rationalism's ego-ecocentric
reweaving memory
of this original Earth Mom
magical and mysterious
then worshiped and danced
ritualed and cooperative ownership co-governing,
then more modern radical eccentricities
forgetting our shared matriarchal
regenetic
memory of dualdark
hypocrisies of merely white inferiority
complexes
disease
dissonance
despair of remaining fully
who we together are,
where we have been
predating history
where we could return
each morning
with greatest polyphonic joy.
To paraphrase David Holmgren
(Permaculture, p. 113)
Containers were one essential organic innovation
necessary for this cooperative agrarian revolution.
Opportunities to refill organically produced bodies
are enormous
transitioning into recycling energy descent
for shared cooperative memory.
Reimaging full organic containers
is far better than sending us
away and down and out for recycling.
Most official ecopolitical waste reduction strategies
place little emphasis
on organic reuse refilling re-educating
deep ecologically learning containers,
or confuse WinWin refueling,
reweaving,
with capitalism's WinLose recycling,
switching productive containers
into merely consuming eventual empties,
bleached-out white-washed faded hypocrisies
of purest supremacy against nothing
deeply densely
richly resonantly valued.
The winds of change blow in time’s one way course,
waft from the fading end to an unknown another,
as the momentum they gather from the power
the spurt of history gives, it goes on increasing ever,
the direction they receive from the coded message,
the current events provide can’t ever be altered,
the intent they read on the social landscape page,
people delicately design, can never be changed.
Civilizations blew away in the destined gale,
the Indus valley turned into a great desert,
empires collapsed on decayed time in gusty squall,
lie scattered in archaeological sites and in art,
all ordained to meet the change from the start.
The mankind sheds the unwanted old grime,
like the dry leaves of summer the winds sweep,
and bury under thick sands of the senile time.
The indomitable spirit rises from the debris,
new generations of beliefs and values emanate,
that survive as long as they can strongly defy
the forces of fated change the winds generate,
and the strike of destined wrath time arrows apply,
transforming fast and invisibly the insipid core
of the traditional society of integrity and unity
into a new deceptive one that seems steeped
permanently in intolerance and in hostility,
infusing a sense of change that gradually sips in,
traditional concepts of living slowly recede,
families and relationships disintegrate within
to morph into the present-day fragile breed,
desperately designed to meet rather blindly
the demands of current times made irrationally.
The shape and the space of mind’s frame alter
with changing pictures it holds, but doesn’t know
the time and the people that are constant movers,
displayed in the kaleidoscopic everlasting show,
the winds of change visibly perform as they blow.
If the storm is strong, wrecking civilization landscape,
everything on its way crumbles beyond recognition.
So savagely the winds surge nothing survives to retrieve
from the wreckage that can’t be swept aside, it stays on,
for everything drags everything into the ruins.
July 3, 2020
Contest : Strand Completely New (4), Any Theme Any Form
Sponsor : Brian Strand
~~Is There A Hell~~
Hell, Sheol or Hades is there any such place?
Check your scriptures if you dare, I’ll show you the place
There is no place of torture ruled over by the devil
Just a threat in the mind to keep us all on a level.
It does not in the scriptures say - we will forever burn
For all your sins on earth if you do not turn
God inspired the words of the Bible they say
He wanted to help us all - on our good way.
The scriptures inform us that once we are dead
To the dust we return and not torture to dread
From the dust we were created to it we will return
Not a room next to Satan where he can laugh as we burn.
This God In the scriptures promises a resurrection for all
He does not say into a fiery pit we are all doomed to fall.
The pit in the scriptures around Jerusalem ringed
Where the dross and the rubbish were hurled into this thing.
He promises life for those that vindicate his name
For those that do not, they themselves are to blame
But there is no threat of a fiery pit they call Hades, Sheol or Hell
Just to dust in the ground that’s where we will dwell.
Job was a man much loved by God
Asked to be hidden in Sheol until God's anger dissipated, now that’s odd
Why would a man want to be hidden in Sheol or Hell?
Because he knew the truth, and from this we can tell.
He wanted to hide in the grave until resurrected
He was lost and in pain and feeling rejected
God cured this good man that wanted to hide in hell
He rewarded him with more, his quiver he did swell.
In Revelation which is to be revealed - and is visionary
It depicts the devil in flames, now that may be to some quite contrary.
God promised that Satan will burn in Hades for all time.
But man has a chance to be forgiven his crimes
The worst we can have would be no resurrection
Leaving our bones in the ground for archaeological inspection
Ecc :9;5
Job11: 11-14
Ps 1463-4
Hell Hades Sheol through different translations seem to mean grave
Winds of change blow in time’s course clear
waft from an unseen end to unknown another
the momentum they gather from the power
the history gives, it goes on increasing ever,
the direction they receive from the message
the current events provide can’t be altered,
the aim they read on social landscape page
people delicately design can’t be changed.
Civilizations blew away in the destined gale
the Indus valley turned into a great desert,
empires collapsed on time in the gusty squall
lie scattered in archaeological sites and in art,
all ordained to meet the change from the start.
The mankind sheds the unwanted old grime
like the dry leaves of autumn the winds sweep
and bury under thick dust of the ageing time.
Indomitable spirit rises from the dust deep
new generations of belief and value emanate
that survive as long as they can strongly defy
the forces of fated change the winds generate,
the strike of destined wrath time arrows apply
transforming fast and invisibly the core insipid
of the traditional society of integrity and unity
into a new deceptive one that seems steeped
permanently in intolerance and in hostility,
infusing sense of change that gradually sips in,
traditional concepts of living slowly recede
families and relationships disintegrate within
to morph into the present-day fragile breed
desperately designed to meet rather blindly
the demands current times make irrationally.
The shape and the space of mind’s frame alters
with changing pictures it holds but doesn’t know
the time and the people that are constant movers
displayed in the kaleidoscopic everlasting show
the winds of change visibly perform as they blow.
If winds of change blow too strong and abrasive
everything on way crumbles beyond recognition,
so savagely they gust nothing survives to retrieve
the wreckage can’t be swept aside, it stays on
for everything drags everything into the ruins.
August 31, 2017.
EVOLUTION OR FIRM RESOLUTION
If anyone happens to mention evolution,
It could never ever be to the exclusion,
Of any faith worldwide, only to the inclusion
For all of us are steadfast in our resolution!
All of us believe in God, Maker of heaven and earth,
So let them bring on evolution, nothing to fear,
For this has happened over millions of years.
We have our faith which stands strong and true,
So let me tell you what I read and which is today present!
Johannesburg, Sterkfontein, some prehistoric few
Fossils discovered in the Cradle of Humankind,
Have become controversial, and Mrs. Ples? This find
In 1936 by Doctor Robert Broom went viral,
The whole world shocked, as the news did spiral!
Breaking news, the first ape looking human being,
Tourists from around the world have come and seen
Her skeleton, replicated but original in a secret vault,
Who, What led the archaeologists to dig up Mrs. Ples,
Carbon tests proved she was about 3 million years old,
For archaeologist this was more than finding gold!
Are science and religion beginning to talk,
About the most controversial historical fork?
Its sound very scary,
And of course we are wary,
So visit the internet and read about the cradle of humankind,
You will read of
Archaeological findings of millions of years ago,
It is important for us to know, so we can refute
It, or accept this finding
This has been shown by archaeologists to be binding.
First and foremost comes our faith,
Have no fear,
Perhaps just of interest to simply hear
Come and visit the Sterkfontein caves
Just outside Johannesburg!
Did God sanction this find or not,
Which perhaps binds the knot?
I’m not enforcing or insisting walking down this path,
For I am God fearing, but as long as my eyes can see
Which was God’s gift to me,
And as long my ears can hear, I cannot deny,
I have heard of and read this article
Otherwise, I would be telling a lie!
9.
like the light
like the dark
yet it is full of the sound of steps
again it wakes up on the forest-road
taking leave from the yellow construction
all the sound of the bamboo-flute
sinks today into the green minerals
it is not moonlight
on the road it is some north-east sadness
he who comes admits his body
with the divine sin
if you are sorry be water for three days now
through out the day and night
there is the paraffin of fire-flies
the blue cough is not from the sky
it may be some tusu-gaan fly off
from the chest of the straight-line
that has been wiped out
10.
i’ve deposited my metallic heart
to the archaeological-store of the wind
and i send rolling this bare eyes towards the fog
frequently
i make the crystal of her hair soft
i can see those crows
whose jaws are not closed
the colour is also
as if it were burst into cotton
can the anchal of danekhali sari swallow the kernel
and water of the blue tooth-brash after opening its husk
i say to the head with earnest request
oh my father keep cool
and look at the rain-pipe inside which
there is all the dances of the peacocks
11.
in the dim light
the predecessors of the dead stars
tell stories
this dhaba
is beside the long bus-root
yet it is still not satisfied
with the shrimps
the tail of the black drongo
hanging from the farakka bridge
is divided
towards the ganga
towards the padma
the gramophone of the mid-noon
continues to sound at the midnight
those who are doing pilgrimage
on the back of tigers
within the lighting zone of their torch
all the nearest of men who get lost
cover their faces
you know very well that the memory-gland of the wind
becomes how much river-minded when it walks through the fire
my meme replacement therapy
is going quite well
because I can't handle everything thrown at me
everything is a lot and GIGO to boot
the fibrous growth in my ear
said that the future signals us in some way
maybe coded glances wink wink
but we're not sure of the spelling
a real spectacle of setbacks
a bleeding archaeological phantom
engineered to manipulate
moving my pen in gleeful jerks
with a genteel appetite for mayhem
which is why I am now sharing
the secret of life with you
ready
mind is derivative
well that's it
looks like I've blown my cover
if this sounds like propaganda then it is
now to get on to the meatier part
first a matter of indexing
last a matter of indexing
buzzards are circling my guardian bottle of muscatel
and a couple of robins too
a tempestuous tune in a teapot
from follow the bouncing ball
to Rocky Horror
occult syntax as a 2nd language
and that was the last surface
he ever palpated
because the sages are perpetually boring
but have good circulation and a ruddy face
with long lists of abjurations as usual
one of them spoke just now
sending me in to negotiate
because I have a snake pit for a soul
on further reflection it turns out
I have many souls
most of them severe critics
several are wind up toys
academic or practical you decide
existence is both diagrammatic
and ready to throw a punch
in an ancient tangle of inconsequentials
well perplexity is the root of all humor
how is it that some ideas
are interpreted by other ideas for example
but whatever you do
never let an ideology sit in court
we know too much to be stupid any longer
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
http://tinyurl.com/nhfk6dr
Wake me up, when I’m dead,
I want to see New York again
And climb into the Empire State Building,
I want to see the Metropolitan Museum again
See again his archaeological museum.
Wake me up, when I’m dead,
I want to see the big whales again
On the long island road,
I want to see the yellow squirrels again
On the lawns of Central Park,
Wake me up, please, when I’m dead,
Iwant to talk about New York, at school
With the young girls of Saint Joseph,
With Marie, Gaëlle and Aurelia,
With Jennifer, Melanie and Julie,
Wake me up, when I’m dead,
I want to sleep again on 14th street,
Speaking American, with strangers,
Buy a big cheeseburger on 42nd Street,
Read again, Anne Sexton and Ted Kooser, poets of character,
See my name displayed on Times Square. *
* I am just joking
Réveillez-moi, quand je serai mort,
Je veux revoir New York
Et monter dans l’empire State Building,
Je veux revoir le Metropolitan Museum
Et son musée d’archéologie.
Réveillez-moi, quand je serai mort,
Je veux revoir les grandes baleines
Sur la route de long Island,
Je veux revoir les jaunes écureuils
Sur les pelouses de Central Park,
Réveillez-moi, quand je serai mort,
Je veux parler de New York,
Avec les filles de Saint Joseph,
Avec Marie Gaëlle et Aurélie,
Avec Jennifer, Mélanie et Julie,
Réveillez-moi, quand je serai mort,
Je veux dormir dans la quatorzième rue,
Parler américain, avec des inconnus,
Acheter un cheeseburger sur la 42ème rue,
Relire Anne Sexton et Ted Kooser, poètes de caractère,
Voir mon nom s’afficher sur Times Square.
It is a field composed of four times more stones than grass
with a spectacular traditional residency, making its habitat almost homogenous
is this global historic street light, shinning with well spread beams.
Through its inventions of western theories of tragedy and comedy,
major mathematical principles, histiography and western literature,
political science, the Olympics and western philosophy.
All well capped by the majestic influence from its creation of democracy.
Setting up as passengers of a flight travel to the past,
the suppressed heavily added to the density of its people.
Waving with an open hand and fingers well extended
hits the mind with similar intensity to telling an irish “smell ya ma”.
The puff of breath through pursed lips and the shade of blue
stand in mythical beliefs of protection against evil.
The unbelievable stamina of the Hoplite soldiers
all sum up the beautiful historic landmark of a nation
once defined by thousands of different quarreling colonies.
The leading producer of sea sponges
with its ships more than twice as much as its continental fleets
and a global accolade of accumulating archaeological Museums.
Despite being heavily wounded by financial meltdown;
and still drinking from the deadly taste of its black soup
its highlighted prominence in history, mathematics and philosophy
together with the cultural swag of its first world features
attract yearly interested sight-seekers much more than its inhabitants
which is an enough statement, to the testament of its global charm.
Himmelsscheibe von Nebra
Von Raubgräbern beschädigt
Relikt aus der Bronzezeit
Abbild von Mond und Plejaden
Bronze, Goldblech und Malachit
Ein einmaliges Artefakt
Jetzt im Museum von Halle
The Sky Disc of Nebra
Damaged by swag diggers
A fine relict from Bronze Age
An image of moon and Pleiades
Bronze, golden metal and malachite
What an unique artifact
Now in the museum of Halle
El Disco de Cielo de Nebra
Dañado por excavadoras de robo
Un vestigio fino de Edad de Bronce
Una imagen de luna y Pleiades
Bronce, metal de oro y malaquita
Artefacto tan único
Ahora en el museo de Halle
Note. The Sky Disc of Nebra (Saxony-Anhalt, Germany) is a bronze disk with applications of
gold and apparently show astronomical phenomenons and symbols of religious application
areas. It is presumed to be the worldwide oldest concrete image of the sky and one of the
most important archaeological finds from the Bronze Age. The disk was found by swag
diggers in July 1999 in a stone chamber on the Mittelberg near the town of Nebra. It is
now part of the "Landesmuseum für Vorgeschichte Sachsen-Anhalt Halle" (State Museum of
Prehistory Halle). The circular disk is approx. 12.6 in in diameter and about 0.18 in
thick in the centre and 0.07 in at the rims. Based on associated finds (a bronze sword,
two axes, a chisel and fragments of spiralled bangles), the disk was probably buried in
1600 B.C. and made between 2100 and 1700 B.C.
Details and pictures can be seen on http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Himmelsscheibe_von_Nebra