To Rose! To Rose! a primitive prose
Your rose, like a rose to my nose
It pricks with thorns, but, on my heart adorns
Till my heart grows and forever glows
To Rose! To Rose! a primitive prose
I'll follow wherever the wind blows
A pleasant breeze, from primitive seas
Swear I'll sail to wherever it goes
Hand sewn farm patch quilt
Primitive paintings
Sheep, pigs, cows, chickens
Snow falling outside
My kitchen decor
Peace in my heart
Comfort from home
Backs of my teeth
Soft, warm cat fur
Girls giggles
Time ticking
Heat humming
Apples
Laundry
Wine
(19th century Tibetan Wangden rug)
Primal Properties
I look around at all the art I have collected
An assortment of inherited, home made and bought,
Ranging from African to Asian to Persian
With a smattering of European and American
In paintings and ceramics, carvings and weavings,
And the quality of primitive earthy energy
Is what strikes me most.
There is a refinement of technique in many
But it’s the primal essence
This technique is serviced to express,
The marriage of natural materials
And natural sensibilities
Through the transpersonal lens
Of a supernatural force
That defines it,
The definition being one of feeling/perception
More than verbalized thinking.
What is this irrepressible force
Our bodyminds create with these primal properties?
Life.
(11/18/24)
How the primitive gain power
I don’t have a clue
They’ve no time to smell a flower
Or to plant a new
They’re spiritually greedy
And inevitably sad
Not at all like me, indeedy
I’m an easy-going lad
I’ve no time to crave for power
Take this country, anyone
Come invade my garden flower
Tramp it in the morning sun
Here’s my ID and insurance
You can burn it in one pile
With myself, at such occurrence
Smell my ashes with a smile
You consider me a nation
You’re a primitive moron
Pray about my fake salvation
Watch me thriving on your scorn.
Roses are red
violets are blue
Your mouth is rubber
My feelings are glue
Why must you hate
I haven't a clue
Your narcissistic
Negative mind
Affects us too
Every time
Soon you'll find
Yourself alone
But before I go
I've got one more poem
Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But your words really f****** hurt
all world wars have proved
men soon turn into monkeys ~
Shall we start a war?
20 November 2021
Her smudged face in the bathroom mirror,
seen from bruised sheets.
The open mouths of high heels
one face down drunken, the other gaping.
Headlights strafe the curtains,
a scant dress clings to the oily back of a chair.
The room has washed up
on the grey surf of dawn.
She walks back into the room.
Her slip white as bone,
sallow skin dimpled by day-peep.
In the dark, she told you her story
as you drowsed beneath a shadow mind.
You did not want to know her
and now she won’t look at you
as she leaves.
When she’s gone,
you lay for a long time
in your cotton shrouded tomb;
it is way too big for how you feel.
She is so primitive, someone whispered.
I smirked, knowing they meant me.
Odd for sure, another agreed. Someone who never met me.
But of course had heard the rumors.
I am primal, I told them, telepathically.
But they were too advanced to pick up on it.
Too far evolved from their aboriginal ancestors to understand.
I loved the knowledge that they would have to live many more lifetimes
to obtain the primitive they thought they recognized in me.
One ventured closer, and kept her eye on me.
She watched my every movement, so I because entertaining.
Picked things up and examined them, as if I knew what I was doing.
Then plunked them back with a sigh, breaking two of them.
Her best china apparently.
Does she not know the disvalue of material things?
“She is primitive,” she reported back to her little gang.
I did not apologize for the aftermath of the breakage.
That would have confused them even more.
Midnight at the beach
Moonlight on our sandy feet
Moist lips warm and sweet
April 9, 2020
12 pm PST
English Haiku
5-7-5
I'm sorry did I wake you?
I tried to tip toe past your door.
Was it your conscience that woke you?
Or my tears dripping on the floor?
I know I muffled my sobbing..
My internal pain you can not hear.
So it must be that your guilt ridden..
From how you threatened me with fear.
Please stop, do not get up!
I just want to get some sleep!
Please just leave me alone..
I promise you won't hear a peep.
I promise tomorrow I'll leave..
You won't have to see me again.
I've no where else to go tonight..
But tomorrow I'm on the first train.
I leave you as a bad memory..
But the pain suffered has all been mine.
Stupid me keeping my mouth shut..
Just so you could gloat and Shine.
One day people will learn the truth..
Because leopards dont change their spots.
Sooner or later a victim will speak out..
And you will go down at all costs.
I just want to escape you..
I may be weak, I may be frail.
But I'll be there on the sidelines..
When your handcuffed and sent to jail.
Deep rooted symbol in the Inuit culture, the inukshuk is rudimentary, primitive but effective communication. Through centuries, it is still a practical directional marker used as vital hunting and navigation aids, coordination points, indicators, and message centers.
remote voice
shattering the silence
of hesitation
Published in my photo/haibun anthologies ~PRIMITIVE~ 2019 and ~ANCESTRAL VOICES~ 2019
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
I’ve watched those blokes on YouTube
Building using primitive skills and gathering food
I’ve come to the conclusion so readily
To survive after the apocalypse won’t be done so easily
For firstly you need a tropical jungle to find
And having bamboo available brings to mind
This can be used for all sorts of things
Irrigation, cooking and walls you’d wing
So for us sitting in the temperate zones
Would not survive as well alone
So if it looks like the world civilisation will end
I’ll hightail it to northern Queensland to rebuild and defend
© Paul Warren Poetry
Simple, innocent and decent they were
Never timid for they were raw
Always observant
Always on their own and supportive when needed
Doing what they felt was right
No diversity in religion
No contradictory ideologies
No rigorous search for true love
For in their environment existed real and true love
Food they had in abundance
For agriculture was their lifestyle
Then there came globalization
Bringing with it modern evolution
Then there they are in confusion
I am of J, I am of M
Now the order of the day
Gradually their primitiveness is no longer primitive
They are no longer supportive
For competition is now the order of the day
Each man with his ambition and selfish interest
ABSOL
Primitive and Dimunitive
When things started out they were primitive;
Person's existence was small and diminutive;
Came long way,
Night and day;
Are advanced we must always be inquisitive.
Jim Horn
Bent down blue in prismatic fashion
refracted in reflection mirrored in sight
flames flicker and my mind twirls
round and round with an image seen
dancing with the flight of the flame
absorbed in defiance of the perceived sane
Primitive pictures bringing about motion
fauna at play in the peaceful meadow
the cobalt sea submerged out of focus
and imagination is left to wander about
dwelling through caves of thoughts hidden
a production of an indescribable landscape
Painting colours dipped religiously in red and white
conceive the inconceivable emerging from the light
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