Long Prehistory Poems
Long Prehistory Poems. Below are the most popular long Prehistory by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prehistory poems by poem length and keyword.
Dame Judy Dench
Loves to fish for Tench
When she fixes her motor
She uses a wrench
If she’s feeling tired she sits down on a bench,
DJD is polylingual;
Her favourite language is French,
When she has a pooh in the morning
It causes a stench
DJD is a strong woman,
When Germans talk about her they call her ‘mensch’,
If she gets excited
Her buttocks they clench
When DJD gets dehydrated
Her thirst she will quench,
She is a fine looking woman,
But never call her a wench,
DJD did military service
She learnt to dig a slit trench,
She's into prehistory
And loves to visit Stonehenge,
DJD don't take no -
If she is dissed she'll get her revenge
She is super organised
When she does her filing she uses a big hole punch
If she gets hungry mid morning
She pauses for brunch,
If Helen Mirren calls round they go out for lunch,
DJD is very intuitive
and likes to follow a hunch,
Her off shore investments
Protected her from the credit crunch,
She's a feisty lady -
A reporter asked if 'she had a carer'
Well he got a bunch
Of fives from this diva
But to her friends she is staunch,
Even Harvey Weinstein - DJD protected his paunch,
Said she had a tat of his name on her bum
Cos her career he relaunched
With Victoria and Albert -
She never gives an inch
If Bond is stuck in a ditch
She pulls him out with a winch,
She takes on all the bad guys,
You never see her flinch,
When delivering a soliloquy
She makes it look like a cinch
She should be world president,
Donald J Trump would be the first one she would lynch!
[David Kavanagh’s recent poem, ‘Of Infinity’ so
astonished me in its similarity to my own pet
theory, that I was inspired to finish this poem
that I had been struggling to get right.]
***
All the ingredients there ever were
The atoms of everything ready to stir
All of the molecules in you and me
Have been in existence since prehistory
It’s sheer mathematics it simply must be
Our atoms exist in perpetuity
All that there was is all that there is
And all that there is is all there will be
One big Earthly spice rack, our ‘from’ and our ‘to’
Yesterday’s old becomes tomorrow’s new
A smidgen of this and a teaspoon of that
A pinch and a sprinkle made me… and my cat
And when I lay down for my very last time
New life will come using bits that were mine
Because when we die we return to the rack
To season the new with whatever they lack
Though space ships go up and there’s asteroid hits
Our Earth doesn’t gain or lose that many bits
So cave men and mammoths and tyrannosaurs
Had bits that are mine and bits that are yours
The atoms that make up the grasses and trees
The monkeys, the bats, the horses and bees
Might one day be water or silver or tin
Or even your great, great, great granddaughter’s gin
So whether we’re burnt or laid into the ground
We’ll be going spare when the time comes around
It may be our iron or maybe our salt
For all that we are does not become nought
We’re made from ingredients from way back when
And someday we’ll all be ingredients again
And someone that you may have lost in your past
Perhaps you’ll rejoin in the same blade of grass
I live in a town where all things go in
reverse. The bushes grow reversely,
shrink smaller back into seeds, and roll back
into the past-life seeds. The river flows
reversely, very swiftly. My friends,
my nephews and nieces, my siblings, and
my parents walk reversely, and
steadily become smaller, younger.
Helplessly, I stand, watch, and cannot grasp
things back. The brains think reversely
into the prehistory; the handwritten
pages decrease, turning reversely for
never being lost. The ruined house of the
neighbor girl is built reversely, becoming
back the house of her young days. The
voices, familiar and unknown, talk
reversely into the afternoons and
noons and nights, calling up the wronged ghost
of a priest whose enlightened shout wakes up
the legendary copperhead, which slithers
and crushes a corner of the forest. A
tornado blows reversely, peels away
the layer of sedimentary rocks,
and shows thousands of ancient cities, where
millions of bricks become new again to
build countless clusters of towers, and where
the waving hands, smiling lips, colorful
clothes, villages, crow’s cries, and flocks of birds
fly reversely into the sunshine arc.
I solely stand, lonely.
Translated into English by Phan Tan Hai
Original poem titled "Song Lui" -- written in Vietnamese by Inrasara.
I am sunk deep
in the dark of this day,
peer out of a hollow
that holds the tribe's history
drawn in ochre on a rock wall.
Outside is a numb, frozen world
that yields little food. Animals
are scarce and I am kept alive
by stealth and making most
of the meager offerings that
fall to my spear.
I hate being here,
imprisoned in a poem, placed
in this icy wasteland of prehistory,
cold, abandoned in a pocket of time
by a poet sitting in a warm room
in the twenty-first century.
Note.
Winter Solstice will occur
on the the twenty first of June
for us southern hemisphere
tribes.
SEASON OF MYTHS
Inspired, but unlike all the rest
Driven, with a burning fervour
So determined to begin a quest
Not as a dispassionate observer
Assumed the mantle of a sleuth
With research and detective skills
Discover kernels of hidden truth
Once the source of worldly ills
Buried deep in a lost prehistory
A heady mixture of fact and fable
Decoding and revealing mystery
From artefacts laid on the table
Led further into darker reaches
Where surprises live in gloom
What every wise man teaches
Stay focused and in the room
The false trails and obfuscation
Exposing challenges to ability
Even to maintaining motivation
Carrying a heavy responsibility
My key discoveries made at last
As more evidence is analysed
Slowly teased out from the past
Academics will be so surprised
It sat still watching.
Then a dash, as it saw me
– that damned rabbit.
How, where, had it breached my defences
to eat my veg
to reduce my broccoli to stalks
my leeks to the ground.
I was approaching the village.
It sat still watching.
Then a dash this way then that.
Clunk.
The rear mirror showed it
dead.
I felt bad
to have taken life
– that life of my foe
a foe with fur soft to touch
whose relations had been our pets
to care for
and yes feed.
I am not a lord over creatures
but one myself
with foes and favourites
having a prehistory
of being predator and prey
with no soft fur.
I desire peace and prosperity
but am bound by an instinct
to control
to survive
beyond what is good.
When the resurrection comes
how will I be
with the Easter bunny?
I was told Jews were colonists and white
I wondered how to test if that was right
So I looked up genes, a simple approach but bright
Found Jews are at least half Canaanite.
This was found by looking at more than one Neolithic mound.
Bodies, bones, before the Iron age, DNA could be found
I bet my know-it-all debater hadn't thought of looking at that
He looks at debate as throwing me on the mat.
Who belongs in Israel is an ongoing fight
Interestingly, the Arabic speakers are also part Canaanite
But the relationship with Jews is uneasy at best.
Still, there was a way to test.
Europe's prehistory can be tested too
Most residents died, we look for a clue
5000 years ago, some evidence it was disease
Eurasian steppe peoples took over the keys
If you admire Stonehenge, please know
The people who built it had nowhere to go
Most of their descendants were gone by 2000 B.C
No one at fault, seek the truth and be free.
When the ability to write manifested itself among the many learned minds, accounting, and recordkeeping too, had manifested as what has become known to be called, history.
The routine breakdown, and the frequency in some reflective properties via some periodic order post-prehistory, as the assorted is gathered and assembled for review and interpretative insights, thus creating the effects and all that is belonging to that particular portion of history.
Remembering and placing events, people, and places, all of that, sorted out history.
The discoveries that were established, explorations of findings, investigating quests, and figuring out enigmas, such became part of history.
A miscellany of items and artifacts of life during any given period is a form of physical purpose to history.
A common source becomes noticeable and formidable as an organization, a religious order, a political party, a civil association, an action group, or a school recital, whether they be big or small, they are all part of history.
When events present themselves, as to how it is articulated and expressed, the wherefores and whereof, are indicators given to history.
How we treat some exceptional thing, our rendition of it, and our particular point of view, like understanding its artistic values, are intricate matters for the basis of history.
The changing of the nexus, fads, styles, precepts, and concepts; specifically, for this writing, nowadays interpretation concerning one's gender, meaning, 'Herstory' too, makes history.