In the remote landscapes away from modernity
stand the stone-cold monolithic monuments.
One, the Georgia Guidestones, the American Stonehenge,
and the other, the Neolithic Stonehenge, the British cultural icon.
The stone slabs are roughly cut by primitive tools
and astronomically aligned with the zodiac design.
These are set in an intriguing geometric configuration,
wrapped in controversy, the megaliths incite curiosity.
The stones are systematically arranged, not as walls,
but as questions framed by the blocks of ambiguity,
leaning onto the winds of whispering mystery,
their shadows stretch longer than human memory.
It’s not yet known if the Stonehenge
marks the ritualistic ancient burial sites
or the prehistoric religious healing place,
erected as the conceptual symbol of peace.
The nameless builders of these structures are history now,
but the stones remain as the perplexing patterns
of their thoughts, now the sentinels of silence,
and the enigmatic ancient thingamajig of riddle.
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.
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
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.
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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.
by Wayne Wysocki
The man was neolithic,
Awesome was his might;
His soul was rough and rugged,
Twas made of Neolite!
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.
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
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
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.