Short Archaeologist Poems

An expert archaeologist found
Adventuring in a long trek
Egyptian sarcophagus 
Where rests a pharaoh and 
Dearly beloved 
Holding the hands
As promise
Of true
Love 









3-10-2016...

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it was a day
not unlike this one
when an archaeologist
… sore knees
… paint brush
… Friday fingernails
held my earthen skull
in his hands
and spared me a thought
his dirt-stained eyes
filling my empty sockets

and 
for a speck 
of epochal dirt
neither of us
heard the sun...

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In many and many ages hence
Standing on a hill that makes no sense
Archaeologist dig way down
Found way beneath a Royal Crown
Bad odor becoming intense

(This for Limerick Game or whatever passed from C.E.McMillen.  I pass the Limerick torch to 
Doris Culverhouse lovely daughter)....

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14:Passages plot themselves on maps
To get you somewhere.
Pour your soul into a hollow vessel
For the archaeologist to find.
To replicate each moment’s sound
Will never bring satisfaction
perhaps exaggerate boredom
Definitely annoy reactions
Because the vessel's form is unnecessary
There is no catch-all for past rains....

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Writing a good poem
Is like creating something exquisite
Out of shards of random rubble.
Inspiration is the mysterious impulse that moves a poet
To articulate them into something wonderful.
In other words,
A poet is like an archaeologist,
His poems are already inside him
Like relics waiting to be dug up,
Dusted off,
And put on display.
...

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the archaeologist stood 
on the original floor
above her was laughter
loving and war

the archaeologist stood
at the foot of a pit
beside broken lepers
and gentlemen sit

the archaeologist stood
in the ditch of a moat
where bloodied invaders
and townsfolk would float

the archaeologist stood
to her knees among bones
of all history's people
in all of their homes...

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At night I dig amongst the ruins
    of a past civilization
looking for signs
    of our lost love
but all I find
   is the shards
      of broken promises.
I call out your name,
    but all that answers
       is the wind
and instead of perfume
    my nose is filled with dust
       and the stench of decay.
I wish I could lose my fear
     that even after my death
          I will still wander here
               without ever finding you....

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