Long Archaeologists Poems
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The river smells like damp cotton this morning,
the weather has been so complimentary to our exertions
frost invades the nights nicely and soft sunshine comforts our faces in daytime,
we have been averaging 26 miles per day for more than a week
which gives us fat optimism that we'll reach the he Mandan villages before November,
our sense of serenity and ease is abruptly shaken by a suspicious sight,
from the boats we notice , not far inland
a settlement abandoned to arid earth and the whispers of sullen fate,
with a detachment of 12 men
this broken place in paradise is searched
with the circumspection of armed archaeologists,
from wood and rock totems
we have surmised that this village belonged to the Arikaras,
evidently, they systematically left here, or were decimated by some terrible force,
a gutteral roar rips into my ears
as I see the most monstrous beast of my life,
it is the great grizzly bear, wicked in temper and simply petrifying in stature,
about 40 yards away Sheilds stumbles out of an Arikara sod lodge
as the grizzly emerges from it's liar, standing upright like a tower of terror
fangs in the air and claws ready to thrash
Sheilds buries a slug right into it's chest from 10 feet away
sounding like a large stone plunging deep into water
white panic stretches his face while the beast stammers for a moment,
there is no time for him to reload
and he starts running to the canoe faster than a fuse
several of us take aim and unleash a crossfire of lead
pegging the bear every which way halting it's chase
and with the speed of a two horse wagon it's running to the brush,
we forgo the hunt and evacuate to the canoes,
enough has been seen here,
J.A.B.
Every now and again we go nuclear
Two archaeologists dusting off the past
Hurting with words as sharp as swords
It’s all over for twenty-minutes, dead.
Then the air clears and red mist departs
You smile at me and I laugh with you
My head's on your legs, hand in my hair
I’m insecure, pained, afraid, a baby
For a month or more, we understand
Not a cross word, a team, united together
Then pressure of our closeness, routine
Another nuclear clash no-holes barred, war
The peaks so sweet and troughs excruciate
Harmony reigns we are king and queen
Inseparable, colossal, two towers of strength
Me by your side and you by mine forever
Both stubborn as mules, immovable frown
Digging our heals in, pawing the ground
Me Aquarius, you Taurus, death, not surrender
You’re the adversary, you’re love, you’re friend
Can’t live without you, won’t live without you
Afraid of losing you, afraid of keeping you
You’ll never control me, I’ll never rule you
Christ, it’s all quiet now on the western front!
David Cox 04/09/20
Creatures Of The Flame
Fierce friend or foe...earth element of fire;
In many ways advanced our humankind.
Relentless when unchecked, a beast so dire,
Engulfs and smothers, leaving ash behind.
Fire shaped the path for humans to progress:
provided them with warmth and light at night;
by chance, found cooking meat gave tenderness,
so eating more increased brain power's might.
The flames of fire kept beasts of prey at bay,
so humans slept in caves instead of trees.
Less vigor used to chew and climb paved way
to think, invent, develop skills with ease.
The gift of fire revamped the human game
when we became earth "creatures of the flame."
Sandra M. Haight
~6th Place~
Contest: Elements Part 4: Fire
Sponsor: Brian Davey
Judged: 05/03/2016
Reference: Discover Magazine: Archaeologists Find Earliest Evidence of Humans Cooking With Fire: "The altered anatomy of H. Erectus, Wrangham wrote, indicates that these beings, like us, were creatures of flame."
Tutankhamen’s demise;
unfortunate boy king, all too soon cut down;
before adulthood.
His spirit echoes one last cry throughout eternity.
Akhenaton’s son, bred for the throne of Egypt,
leaves a legacy short, but never forgotten.
Lapis lazuli and gold death mask;
preserved for all time.
A precious reminder of Egypt’s,
throne-child; now perused by modern eyes.
No one’s grave should be robbed,
for treasure, to be gawked at; put it back!
Children deserve respect, too.
There is enough gold and gems,
in the ground, to mine for everyone.
Grave robbing, is theft;
even when done by archaeologists.
Stealing from a dead child’s tomb,
is about as, low as theft gets.
Research, in no way, justifies this abominable act.
Respect is only earned, by the giving, of same.
The past, has passed; leave it be and forge a new beginning.
That’s how it’s supposed to be.
Tut’s afterlife should have the respect.
that he was robbed of, in mortal life.
Where the temple of books stood still,
Library of Jaffna kept ancient history in Tamil.
1933, is where it was all built by cement and wood.
The pure, white colour of the library was seen beyond good.
Ancient texts, ancient books, were read,
Books of ancient history would rarely been unread.
The library was like a sacred temple of books.
Archaeologists would admire its heavenly and sacred looks.
1981, where chaos was going to start,
Where flames consumed the library's heart.
Mobs of the Sinhalese burnt down Tamil's memories of history,
Whether the ancient books or texts are going to survive, is a mystery?
97,000 books burnt in one single night,
The structure had been ripped off from its tall height.
The pain of losing our history in writing is great loss,
Not a single book or an ancient text or single word couldn't be recovered from this burning loss.
Images now received by satellite
Show spaceships similar to here
In Tunguska, deepest Russia
The largest seems to appear
Near the Kingdom of Scourie, Scotland
From the Minch it slowly arose
The third of them showed so silently
Highlanders agape, froze
Governments now in communication
Media frenzies gather flow
It takes something out of the ordinary
For dialogue to openly show
A hush captures our attention
Channel 5, Australia News
Ayers Rock sees the fourth of these crafts
Indigenous carvings on the screens we now view
More reports are gathering strength
In Guatemala, near Piedras Negras
"Black stones" I believe in Spanish
Is it coincidence that this is the last
The night to the dawn takes ages to pass
Every hour we look to our skies
Have we awoken what we have always dreamt of
Below us, our eyes could never espy
Not from the depths of outer space
But from the deep from the planet we live
Lying dormant, awoken by archaeologists
We await as many nations, misgive
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-18.php
THE CRADLE OF MANKIND.
The archaeologists of this era
Were about to excitedly find
The Cradle of Mankind
Where the origins of humankind
Had been found, the news was about
To be revealed to the whole world
And so the ears of our globe were glued
To their radios in 1947, they heard,
About this mammoth remarkable finding
Painstakingly excavated , it’s evidence binding.
Mrs Ples’s skull was found,
And with carbon dating,
Archaeologists were rewarded
Most certainly worth waiting!
Estimated to be 2.3 million years’ old.
Mrs Ples (as the archaeologists named her)
All this time had been hidden
For many a year
But there is still more to hear!
It is said that she is the missing link,
We may each think what we want to think!
Archaeologists were about to discover
Other unbelievable phenomena,
Which supported the belief of evolution,
And steered many into total confusion!
God is omnipresent, and
The Alpha and Omega, He has been
Looking down on earth for millenniums
From the beginning of time,
He is omniscient, He believes in me,
And I in Him, He is the Divine!
The Sterkfontein caves are now famous,
Planet Earth was listening, this story was big!
In 1998 archaeologists discover
Yet another important find,
This boggled the mind!
They laboriously dug in this one excavation
Over twenty years, Layer upon layer of ground
And thus Little Foot was found!
He, some say it’s a she, was gently assembled,
And lies in a Pretoria museum,
Together with Mrs Ples,
Archaeologists still dig,
They insist, that there are still hidden treasures
And take great measures,
To work carefully and diligently
Excitedly say there is much more to find
Underneath and beyond the Sterkfontein caves,
Patiently, waiting to uncover
Yet another, one of a kind!
I believe with soul, heart and being
In The Almighty, maybe He even lent the
Archaeologists a helping hand, we cannot
Ignore these finds, they are not fantasy but real
Furthermore we were given the gift of logic,
And ultimately the archaeologists will kneel,
And praise and thank God Almighty!
He’s a modern Harold Steptoe
With his reclamation machine
Very few planets on the Galaxy
On which he’s not already been.
He’s got every known Wormhole
Marked on his Galaxy Survey Map
And he proceeds always with caution
In case the bizzies have laid a trap.
He likes to arrive early morning
An hour or two before dawn
And if it’t not well tied down
In a blink of an eye it’s gone.
Atomised and miniaturised
And stored in a stasis cell
Until he finds the right market
Where he’s knows it will sell.
He’s a bit of a cultural joker
With his sophisticated tricks
His speciality these days being
Making unlikely civilisations mix.
Archaeologists and Architects
Ponder their theories witn great care
As to how the Temples of Angkor Watt
Had suddenly been built just there.
The Galactic Culture Police Force
Know exactly just who’s been.
It’s our Modern Harold Steptoe
And his reclamation machine.
For too many eons they’ve tried
With red and embarrassed faces
To explain to Planetary Wardens why
They suddenly have large empty spaces.
He’s a modern Harold Steptoe
With his reclamation machine
Very few planets on the Galaxy
On which he’s not already been.
The bizzies want him desperately
But he’s very seldom seen
And by the time they get there
It’s too late he’s already been.
Caves are dark, dank, sinister havens for rising damp
Mere cavities in the ground, veiled from light of day
Yet caves are heralded, admired and cherished
For a swarm of reasons, just mind the bats
Caves are drop inns
Hikers and natives welcome finding a cave
They provide shelter from wind and rain
A great place to stay the night, light a fire
To enjoy the cosy charm of safe seclusion
Caves are art galleries
The walls are dotted with new and ancient graffiti
Hand-prints, paintings, scribbles and scenes
Made by artists with no where else to hang their stuff
Revealed by flickering flames and dim filtered beams of light
Caves are museums and dumps
Visitors leave their junk in caves
Animals topple in and get trapped
Caves are a great place for animals to die
These dumps are bliss to archaeologists
Who drool over skeletons, artefacts and such old-time junk
Caves are cathedrals and awe-catches
Endless aeons of dirty drips yield fabulous
On floor and ceiling displays of
Glistening stalactites and stalagmites
The cavernous space, silence and eerie dankness
Makes visitors gasp with adoration and awe
Highlighted by the uniqueness, isolation and remoteness of caves
So duck-in to a cave when you pass one by
and you'll discover the ins and outs of caves
Caves are awesome and strangely welcoming
Despite their darkness, dampness and malevolence
Great walls rise against the dawn
Sun settles all while moving on
Smooth surfaces stand majestic tall
Cast a shadow low but not for long
Stones cut by oblivion's first glance
Carved, intricate, resembling man
In their design, shaped and created
Generated by the silenced sentient
Creatures that crawled up from the mud
Now builders, the lot they have become
The blocks of life still fragile to the touch
Great walls rise against the dawn
Sun settles all while moving on
Smooth surfaces stand majestic tall
Cast a shadow low but not for long
Structures perfected over time's meanderings
Hard work comes at a cost to love and family
Dirt fills in the empty spaces left behind
Life is something you can not unwind
Ideas become more solid than concrete
To flow like liquid rivers on to city streets
Built to last until they crumble
Replaced there to evolve again forever
Glass and metals reach the sky high rises
In dimensions dictated by color and design
Children inherit empty spaces now vacated
With a purpose decided by some future generation
Empires fill in the void of the survivors
Not satisfied to simply be alive
Every stone must be inspected for a flaw
Given to science as every castle must be taken down
Handed over to someone sober
Archaeologists know best on how to fix the past
Every castle must pass the test of chance
With the power of history's command at hand
For a second chance to get it right
Workers find perfection in transforming rocks
Illusions created as living spaces preserves imagination
Homes become fine art of beauty for the future
Structures define us even before we are born
Great walls rise against the dawn
Sun settles all while moving on
Smooth surfaces stand majestic tall
Cast a shadow low but not for long