Neolithic Poems | Examples

Since 1948

The fire was burning like inferno 
Blood, burned fleshes of the people
Ashes of lost hopes and believes
Under the rubbles of the ruined city

And the skies beyond the river 
Beyond the seas of human aspirations
Occupied by the invader and the allies
With the lies and hatred and arsenals

Again, those children without limbs
Among the shadows of the dead bodies
Smelling like burned fleshes, rotten
Yet, with memories- burning like hell

The leaders around the round table
Like those cannibals of Neolithic age
Beaming in joy, with wider smiles
Smelling human fleshes burned alive

Yet nothing was objectionable after
Those lies and deceptions of October 7th
As everything was just in accordance
With the Nakba, since 1948. Since long…

©SriSuvro 3rd August’ 2024

My Brilliant Nephew Guy

I did not think you knew what an azimuth was, I said to Guy.
“I am not a Neolithic,” he told me with a sniff, I know why…
Some people misjudge this brilliant child of two months past twelve.
His mind goes where others have never had the chance to delve.

What do you use it for? I asked, testing him just a bit.
“to install satellite dishes,” he said. He is a precocious little chit.
We were at the Wambuul river where the Casuarina trees grow.
Not an elegant place, but it suited us down to each toe.

Guy suggested knapping a bit of flint while we were here.
I had some of my tools so I said “of course, why not? where?”
His mind was lightyears away, for he had his brain in a book.
Reading about quasars, for his mind grabs knowledge like a hook.

Strange Things Found In the Lost Tomb of Zarathustra

It was never exactly pinpointed
for only the African Crowned Eagles knew of the twisting paths
to its misplaced place.

In that crystalline chamber, upon that gold dusted floor
were found much thumbed volumes of all Nietzsche’s
works,
a penguin in a glass bell,
a twig cut from the tree of Life one million years from now'
A windblown leaf but only the wind that blew it.
a silver cuspidor, a ancient helmet made of Pittsburgh steel,
a Neolithic moonshine still,
a copy of the illustrated Karma Sutra,
several debunked words of wisdom from Aristotle,
an Olmec Letter Opener.
and a stuffed tufted rat.

The find has been carefully transported to the Smithsonian
where neuroscientists are trying
to solder together all these missing links.

The NYT has declared these odd finds
to be ‘Russian disinformation,’
but ‘Bokonon’ the mythical poet-sage of the Republic
of Never-Never Land
has blessed each artifact and declared them
to be far too strange not to be absolutely true.

Haze of Abhorrent Mystery

Sulfuric dew sonatas, rustling in a bobby reek
Vermillion of umbra and debased conundrums

Rosemary pulp extracted from the pulpy bosom.
wilting amid the cranberry tackle
blubbering irises with a tinge of snow

Crimson lava that has solidified.
painted with the scent of murdered love
No longer a viable supplement; prohibited.

Lilith's spells were drenched in blood hype.
In crisp dears, a neolithic Pandora box shivers.
It drizzled a steely dolefulness across my core.

Written: December 12, 2022

Mysterious Monoliths

In the remote landscapes
stand cold monolithic monuments,
one, the Neolithic Stonehenge,
the British cultural icon,
and the other, Georgia Guidestones,
the American Stonehenge.

The stone slabs roughly cut
and astronomically aligned,
are set in geometric pattern,
shrouded in mystery,
wrapped in controversy,
incite interest and curiosity.

The Stonehenge marks the burial site
or prehistoric religious healing place,
erected as the conceptual symbol
of peace and unity.

The Georgia Guidestones are possible guide 
to the age of reason,
depicting the concept to rebuild
devastated civilization after apocalypse.

The builders of these enigmatic structures
are hidden in the realm of anonymity,
yet visible in their work of art 
their concern for the humanity. 

November 27, 2021
Contest : Georgehenge Stone Cold Minds Reflect
Sponsor : Joe Maverick

Neolithic Man

Reflecting on Stonehenge
Ancient mysteries
Neolithic man left behind
Their enlightened thought suggests
heaven and earth are twin powers
harnessed through astronomy 
Standing stones silent witness.

Sunrise, sunset, and solstice
Natural chronometer 
heaven's perpetual pulse
Celebrations long since dead
Echoes muted
Excavations ongoing
hypothesis abounding.

Abiding mystery
What drove this undertaking?
How was knowledge obtained?
Science of astronomy
was remote truth for ancients
Removed from Sailsbury Plain
other henges' ~ Question why?


Reflect
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by 
Joe Maverick 
04/10/2021

Moral Absentia

The missing link of their humanity
got replaced by Neolithic bonds,
uncivilized howls of cruelty
Crucifixion affliction in iron lung demand;
release the wolf, kill the Lamb
Many Stone Age hearts
numbed by the touch of their Ice Age hand

Shrill vocal vote count,
Pliocene election in rudimentary action
Selection process yield feral satisfaction,
innocent blood amount

Such hollow compassion,
an enamel mirage
Arctic fox visage
smiles in frozen fashion

Spiritual dementia!
Void choice cast with null gravity,
causes grey matter to serpentine tongue wither
from Paradise entropy

Moral absentia,
such a soulless endeavor, verily
Golgotha roll call was a Leviathan ballot slither:
Double helix cross of savagery

The most ungodly deed
recorded in history — 
Ancient voices on an apocalyptic trajectory
The stench of Praetorium sin, 
echoed by those 
who primordial breathe 


7-4-21

Spiralling Motions

Neolithic stones
Majestic motions upward
Bathed in fairy prances
Ancients questioned the meaning
Of the skies above,
Many assuming they knew the truth
Pertaining to solar systems and solstices,
Those humans were created,
Along a perilous journey
That led them to Paradise
In ancient spiralling motions

New Grange, the Cradle of Celtic Culture

The pure stream rumbles out, surely sacred
With magical properties evoking sighs.
Ancient secrets of this place become naked.
Suspicions, therefore, do quickly arise.

Will fertility come to its demise,
Or will seeds of ideas, thus, be blended
For evoking unique spiritual highs
In pure streams of light where the rumble ended?

On we go to the Valley of Kings belated;
Here, Neolithic farmers brought the seeds to rise.
They penetrated the landscape's celebrated
Cultivated grounds of buckwheat and rye

Pinnacles do reflect through holes so high.
Those ancestors here believed blessed.
When the time came for solstice sunrise
Their chambers then danced illuminated.

But December twenty-first makes sunrise,
Bright light awakening above their heads.
No doubt, strangers do cheerfully advise
Of the power in agriculture's bed.

Rocks therein were by hands carefully laid
With their messages for many generations' eyes.
Is change better for days so sacred?
A light piercing through my heart reveals flight
In pure soul streams.

Rugged Individual

by Wayne Wysocki

The man was neolithic,
Awesome was his might;
His soul was rough and rugged,
Twas made of Neolite!

Clarity From Obscurity

CLARITY   FROM  OBSCURITY

Time the wanderer  -
For  a pyramid moment stilled  -
On a rain-filled winter night
In dark  narrow streets
Often  hostile, alien,
Tonight  familiar friends,
Seems  to  offer  safe limits. 

Certainty in darkness and  no intrusions,
Sure in the woods of Arkengarthdale,
In snow-strewn lanes of Lamesley, 
Or  ankle-covering bluebells
With no path trodden yet.

Gleaming patches of  light  
Reflected in the rain pools 
Lead away through dark entrances,
    -only lit on solstice days  
     when fate is face-to-face 
     in New Grange or Giza  -
To unseen distant streets.They remain   
Closed in bright sunlit days.


30   December  2019 .



NOTE.       The neolithic structures at New Grange, Ireland,    and  at  Giza, Egypt    share the  feature of being angled to receive sunlight only  at winter solstice (December  23). The entrances to the structures are otherwise always in   blackness.

Celebrating Impulses

The huntsman’s horn in
The School Boy is non-
native. But he likes the 

poem, hears a snake-
charmer’s pipe vicariously,
empathizes with Blake’s

boy’s love of  innate 
freedom, and then doodles
in boredom. Next period,

he slips down from
the top of Pythagorean 
theorem. He snoozes in

the Neolithic Age at noon. 
His brain balks at learning.
Teachers avoid pain with

peace of passivity. **** 
virus infects his inner 
system. Parents are too 

busy to install anti-virus. 
He draws obscene pictures
with a charcoal, as if raping 

the urinal wall. He rises
up in the hashish fumes
and floats in the space. 

Holes in the thought-layer are 
invisible to him. He runs 
wild, celebrating impulses.

An unrefined man is
a malignant growth
from the negligence.

First printed in The Literary Hatchet

Will You Be My Sanctum

Can you read the jagged story in my eyes
The scars and burns on my hands
It speaks of eons drowning below the depth's of one's misery
To be against the Abon tides
People built their personal kingdoms to rise above
To stand upon an ancient dynasty
All I ever needed was to feed my link integral
So I may not be a sacrifice to the storm of life
Will you be my sanctum
Temples of Aphrodite stream across the ways of solicitude
Can you be the arc that transcends my Venus icon
The vertical depths above Gia
Imprisoned by the stars of Strata
Erase the Neolithic forlorn
Erase the suffering with an embrace
I do not want to gaze out into the brine
To be thrown into the cage of feral minds
Are you the heritage of the quintessence
A myth, a legend, a acme
The celestial who can divine the brittleness

Primo Vere - Spring Comes

Spring comes
Quietly--
Not with the bleating of lambs or
The tweeting of birds or the
Beating of butterfly wings

Spring comes
Silently--
Celtic through the Neolithic stones,
Unheralded by peering shadow-seekers
Rummaging around on the Second of
February, and unannounced by a
Banner on the front page of the
National Enquirer…

Unpresaged by pregnant April 
Showers,
Spring comes--

Alive


Nota bene: This is one of the few pieces of juvenilia I have preserved.  It was written when I was at college (the University of Florida), in 1979, when I was in the English Department High Honors Seminar.  We had an assignment to write a poem about Spring, but to try not to fall into the usual cliches. I thought it might be fun to mention some of those cliches ironically.  We had one-on-one tutorials with a number of well-known novelists and poets; one of mine was with the poet Richard Eberhart.  He told me he liked this poem and that it was a good one, so I have kept it these four decades.

Visit Wiltshire

Wiltshire is a lovely place too be
A county with plenty of history
Neolithic rocks from north to south
You can even see a white horses mouth

With walks over undulating ground
Find the mystery of the giants mound 
You can see where the soldiers train
On the expansive Salisbury Plain 

With white horses carved into the hill
Walk around them enjoy the thrill
If you are not able to do the walks
Visit the heritage centers hear the talks

But if all else fails jump into the car
You can easily see them from afar
No queuing required and it's free 
Come to Wiltshire and you will see

Stonehenge, Avebury stones too name but afew
I guarantee you will go phew
Ingenuity of the people before
Its amazing, it will not bore 

Moving those rocks that weigh a tonne
Without machinery just father and son
Carving horses into those chalky hills
Showing us, all thier artistic skills 

So visit Wiltshire and see these sights
Plenty to do from morning to night
Let the country air cover your face
Do this slowly it's not a race

Enjoy your trip to this county 
Paradise Yes without the bounty 
Meet the locals and have a chat
Enjoy a cider you can't beat that

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