The Paiute tribes, before they fell*,
were known to use, masterfully well,
copious pumice and obsidian,
found on the alpine meridian,
where the Long Valley Caldera blew to hell.
* "fell" might not be the right word. A little Internet research tells me that one of the Paiute tribes, the "Bishop Paiute Tribe" has a reservation near Bishop California, near the Mammoth Lakes area, where I collected pumice and obsidian as a child.
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 earth wept for no reason
under a soft articulate noise
of auctioned lives,
a beautiful dream, slowly dying.
Rottenness seeks in the soul
righteous prey,
grown from pure moments
in which the whiteness of thought
nurtures the hope of cleanliness
away from the smell own rot,
inherited from primary birth.
I feel the path in the whites of my eyes
through the chain of peoplecrucified
only for the future millennia.
We collect the rusty nails with tears
let's stick them on the sky.
Through the ancestral valleys
the blood of the crusaders flows,
furrowing the carapace of faith
to destruction.
One earth,
one history,
hangs like a ripe fruit
in the grown tree
from the heart of the universe
ready to taste the putrefaction.
On another branch
a flower opens
in the prehistory of another fruit.
The earth wept for no reason
under a soft articulate noise
of auctioned lives,
a beautiful dream, slowly dying
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
Yacking Yang
Left Brain
Seeks ego-health information Now
While Right Brain wealth
of green integrity
sees/hears
smells/tastes
feels/touches
ecosystemic bilaterally redundant experiences
ReMembered from multiculturing prehistory
up to Present Here
including Sacred Now
Witnessing
Yacking Yang
Left Brain
still seeking
ego-health care giving
and receiving ego/eco-balance
in green inside/outside silence
and red regenerative sounds
resounding EarthTribe's
Open Whole GreenSystemic
Earth Day and Night
revival.
a fragment of before
prehistory rhetorical relic
some long ago thought
where imagination blooms
as reality withers
not quite dead
our dreams
become fermentations
something to sip
when it is time to believe
to have passion
in a worthwhile cause
but what do we know
beyond today’s wishes
and tomorrow’s intentions
the future is a horizon
we have yet to see
what we will remember
comes much later
after what is
ceases to be
Preterists want back their laurels lost, fingers crossed.
Predators pray for their ruling permanence at the rest's cost, fingers crossed.
So many fingers, so much paltriness; So soon their crossing, their anagnorises so late.
Commanding o'er the entire terrestrial has always been the fickle finger of fate,
from which no one can e'er escape, from prehistory up to date.
Be you owning mansions grandiosely gilt or holding royal sword's hilt,
unaffordable is this finger's slightest tilt-----
Power and prestige, worth and wealth, quick as a wink, all sink into silt.
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?
He
Sits
Waiting
Patiently
On the white heather
With green and gold enamelled head.
A
Late
Summer
Visitor
Lazing in the sun :
A dragonfly with lace-like wings.
Like
A
Fossil,
Motionless,
From prehistory,
An insect frozen in amber.
As
A
Larva
He’s waited
Five years water-bound,
Finally free, he flies away.
Every moment your breath touches is filled with completeness—you held the whole universe
On the tip of your tongue (and keep it spinning and dancing and singing moment by moment).
Your love is the great predatoral roar,
The soft caressing tongue of a lioness
It hides in every misty crevice and majestic mountain; in
Every sunset and sunrise and dainty wild flower. The cause of your great sacrifice (a chasm,
Gaping down to the center of the deepest soul
blacker than the inside of nothing, filled with all the horror from
prehistory to post oblivion
Uncountable hearts from innumerable holocausts)
As you were rejected by yourself, by your father, but your eternal companion
You cried out, and were sucked in (It Is Finished.)
I like to read and think about
Tyrannosaurus rex,
and gigantic brontosaurus,
with his long and slender neck.
Pterodactyl was a reptile
that flew just like a crow.
I wouldn't want him overhead,
with me stuck down below.
Their skeletons are on display,
so everyone can see 'em.
They're in a place--I think it's called
the dinosaur museum.
I've seen these creatures on TV,
in movies, and in books,
so I guess someone must really know
exactly how they looked.
But I wish someone would tell me
how they determined whether
these critters were upholstered with
hair, or scales, or maybe--feathers.
Magnitude, the depth of sleeping oceans
where bright eyed creatures, unseen by
man, prisoners of prehistory,
denizens of deep emotions,
swim a primeval mystery
unsolved and undefined.
Sometimes they caper crazed and blind,
lashing with trident tongues or
languorously wrapping suckered limbs,
engulfing the nerves, the much maligned
attract of secret wicked things,
the smoke of silt and dread.
And still immortal words are said
to motorise the mouths and eyes of
men and women ruthlessly
at loggerheads on ocean beds,
"I love you" spoken ceaselessly
in the timeless seas of time.
In the elemental
Lies the trangression
In the captive recesses
Prehistory enhanced with
The bindings of developmental
Snowfall, arching beyond
Never grounded but when compressed
Understood
Epiphanous nobility attained yet
Never closer but by starfall
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