Long Archeologist Poems

An early wintry storm hit late last night on this date, September 11th, 2035. There was strangeness in the air like a stale aftermath of partying.  Frigid. Strange that people still celebrate Freedom Day...

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A Harlem hoodlum, (albeit respectable)...

ready for night time in bedlam
after swallowing me favorite dram,
cuz reasonable rhyme resembles flimflam.

Whiling away his time playing solitaire...
initially prepped, honed, and crafted
November second two thousand and twenty
slightly tweaked February nineteenth
two...

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A hoodlum, (albeit respectable) in bedlam

whiling away his time playing solitaire...
November second two thousand and twenty
fast approaching the final countdown

With less than twenty four, twenty three, 
twenty two...  hours
harkening, heralding or (worse case scenario)
hindering...

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I stand aloof of time trying to shape a new path for the next journey to start. I wasn’t sure where to begin so I detach myself from everything and my spirit start to sing...

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One man
Stands
Beneath his white helmet
And demands,

Silence.

Throughout Aleppo.

His stethoscope,
He attaches
To the dust
And listens
From his knees.

The man has
Ten fingers,
A dry brush
And a pair of pliers
To dig like an archeologist.

He does not have years,
But minutes
To search the ruins
For...

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They’re not human, not even humanoid 
These creatures' presence in our archeological history 
Once considered a naturally occurring phenomenon 
But only recently discovered otherwise 
And were only hinted at by geologist nuts 
Who believed Fairies...

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He, on loan from faith, stared skyward
Eyes hoisted flagless where the boom broke
And saw through that window forward
Coming, what no imagination could evoke.
 
Some men like fledglings have learnt to fly,
And yet to land give...

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I wonder
How far we’ll go
So desperate for heroes who are first
Criminal enterprises
Romanticized as rebels
Lies wrapped in a maybe-he-could-make-it-all-better?
From what?
To what?

We do not consider

Perhaps for lungs
A bowl of water
A slice of sun shone through a winter...

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There are times in life that make you think,
Then there are others that make you drink.

As a man I experienced both at an early age
Here's the tale, so I'll set the stage.

An Archeologist was what...

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The pyramids are the triangular prims of the Egyptian desert,
monumental in height, and unsurpassable in endurance...
works of the hands of the whip-lashed Hebrew slaves;
no grief-striken faces were ever carved into them,
but those voices still recede...

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Then:

naïve, sheltered, shy
what i thought
   i wanted to be -
an archeologist, Barbizon model (no proclivity),
a writer, a psychologist, a mom, a wife

Now:

brazen, talkative, traveller, open
   what i am -
a Christian, a...

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I watched the raindrops 
one by one they fell
they filled an empty hole
till it became a well
 
every word of yours is dew
like this rain I seek
the hole here large and empty
for a cistern of...

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If Peter Piper picked a pack of pickled peppers, would you care?
Would the peck be put in a glass jar? What if he dropped a hair in there?
And, if Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet...

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Star-Gate is illusive, as Genesis is evasive
EL-OH-AOW-ARE-U, can this be true...
     "first human words"

In Earth's beginning, we begat to know, *WHOM*
was this keeper of our Star-Gate...
who then is WHOM? perhaps this...

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It was just another road construction
Of a brand new super highway,
Only seconds just saved from destruction
On that cold, cloudy winter day.

The back hoe was about to crush it sure,
When the archeologist whoaed—
And they gently pried...

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A time to rake; to search embers,
for fingerprints and the scorched optics
of the scattered and blind.

After the violence, fagots, and reeds
are heaped up into pyres,
but first the sorting,
the probing for trinkets of flesh.

A silver crucifix,...

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A time to rake; to search embers,
to pore over resurrected,
fire-damaged relics.

On an ancient shore
driftwood, fagots, and reeds
are heaped up onto a pyre of time.

After the fire there is a sorting.
a probing for talismans and trinkets.
Before...

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Santa clause get me hope for xmas, since its hard for my mind and heart to hope again. Magicians perform me tricks to overcome ths dissapointment and shock, I jst can't bear no more. Scientist...

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Stop picking your nose...

Why? it feels nice...

I'm watching you know!

And that doesn't make me think twice!

Silly woman, you astound me.

Lovely man, why do you stick around me?

'Cause you don't have a care in the world,...

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The young archeologist reaches lakes’ shore
He falls through trap door
Those are hidden in the floor
This is an area that no one has explore 

Ha arrives in field from which smell his soul will entice
To a...

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My visage is a remainder of ancient kings 
I can make spirit fly even if I don’t have wings
To an archeologist writing on my walls sings
I protect hidden in me chalices, disks and golden rings

I...

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I have a shark's tooth
Found under the soil not so deep
In my Kansas yard.
I hide it from others so they will not ruin 
My illusions about it.

I feel it is from a fierce and mighty...

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Some said it was a monster, a strange creature
Something prehistoric, something unnamed now
I said “horse” every time I saw it
For it rushed like a horse with her mane flying

They brought in experts
Everyone argues.
They wanted it...

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was this text part of an ancient scroll?
the meaning was clear to no one
the beauty is in the ambiguity of the piece
I stared at the other archeologist
what did he mean by this?
Was he covering his...

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