Short Artifact Poems

time is not a bird
 don t need any artifact
flies sans wings in space...

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through the cellar door
the artifact of living
tangent universe...

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Artifact Not Intact

Trump is another American artifact,
Not having brains remaining intact;
Small tiny speck,
On top of neck;
Any intelligence at all always lacked.

Jim Horn...

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Artifact, uncertain
Degenerative and Facet disease
Broad based
Subarticular zone
Forminal
Narrowing
Impact
Root
Osteophyte
Spinal
Stenosis



If you understand this, please explain it to me!! :)...

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They are HOSTING ANGELS at
The gates of HEAVEN IN THIS 
HUMAN moment, at this piece 
Of time a  GOD'S   artifact.

Humans wait at the gate:
When do I pause?
Have I good CAUSE?
IS it fair?
Why should I care?...

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an artifact of a time gone by was found
it represents a time when all seemed well within the land 
till one day a giant orger came and stomped 
the villagers to death underneath his feet 
leaving devastation in it's wake...

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Shadow is the second identity
that changes shape as an artifact
of complex interplay of light and
the lighted like the flimsy motif of 
persona that we create as ever 
altering impressions under the
spotlight of the turning times on
our lives on the revolving stage.

July 28, 2019...

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light apparition -
is it angel that's captured
or human desire?


Brian Johnston
Date Unknown
Poet's Notes:
Response to a Facebook Woodland Photograph that could be real or could be doctored. Like a stain on a wall that someone claims is an image of Christ, the truth of such claims has no relevance to living humanity in my opinion....

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A cunning ape
 upon a diamond throne
tastes his apple.
 Our Saturn lets loose
arrows of piercing spiritual venom.
 Dominion and power
in the blood of a human head.
 A complete circle
unmanifest enclosing
 the devil.
Crushing all passion and pride;
 A white cone
gently rolling
 toward the Centre.
The disk manifests
as the One....

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On my journey through the sands of time
I find an artifact made from the stone of lime.
Hidden by the storms for all these years,
The sight of it brings me close to tears.
This is the obelisk for which I have sought;
A piece of history that all had forgot.
We all may die, but we must remember:
Life, it is short, but legacy is forever.
...

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Numb your cortex and let her siblings speak,
Dumb her with a dactylic drumbeat
And let the fronted sound put her to sleep. 

Turn off your domineering manager, 
So others may awake at waking hour
To pour their paroled thoughts into your art.

Let the furnace of creativity 
Create new combinations and concepts
For that is the art, not the detritus....

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A severed head sits upright on mud floor
coruscating in moonlight. It was a meditating
Buddha with eyes downcast after a perfect death.

With indecent exposure there was no artifact
to celebrate. The steel was rusted and the name
erased from the asylum.

You walk like a stranger in your home,
possessed, in merciless purity. The greatness
of unbeliever touches a giant guilt.


SATISH VERMA...

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He dragged himself along a narrow corridor,
carrying a golden cat statue with him.
He walked as though the weight of the world
was on his shoulders, as he vomited
out thick blood. His favorite white shirt
was now red and wet. 
On his skin, veins were dark
and swollen, as though they wanted to explode!
It is picking the artifact
from  goddess Bastet’s shrine,
that made him to be as he was…....

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A severed head sits upright on mud floor
coruscating in moonlight. It was a meditating
Buddha with eyes downcast after a perfect death.

With indecent exposure there was no artifact
to celebrate. The steel was rusted and the name
erased from the asylum.

You walk like a stranger in your home,
possessed, in merciless purity. The greatness
of unbeliever touches a giant guilt.


SATISH VERMA...

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A severed head sits upright on mud floor
coruscating in moonlight. It was a meditating
Buddha with eyes downcast after a perfect death.

With indecent exposure there was no artifact
to celebrate. The steel was rusted and the name
erased from the asylum.

You walk like a stranger in your home,
possessed, in merciless purity. The greatness
of unbeliever touches a giant guilt.


SATISH VERMA...

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You said, that I have a heart of gold.
I just smiled because I know that 
since the dawn of our time
you have broken it so many times;
shattered it into oodles of pieces
which I tried to repair - time after time,
then it could no longer resemble its true self.
It became something different, 
some kind of kintsugi artifact,
something golden, yet something hard:
completely useless for its predestination....

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Love can be looked at, as an abstract 
and can seem like an artifact, encased in a crusted bundle, 
buried somewhere deep waiting to be discovered

Love is found and excavated, gently brushing the ruminants away
trying not disturb the true essence that was neatly preserved

Now, Love can be displayed, so people can see that
even though it can be still, It can always be real 
If only you can believe that love can be, indeed...

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My love lit in darkness
absolute lightness that weighs,
subtle clarity in the dim
a gracious value that prays...
Paced current that accelerates
a freed engine that feeds
an artifact of love assembled
an arsenal of stored affection...
My love star curtain
a beam of light that transmits
peace of calm lake through life.
A well-constructed idyll that raises
a set of instigating purity
 the most it offers, most increases... !...

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I'm not your tearstained dishrag. 
Will you end your suicide note with a hashtag? 
Just lock me in the metaphysical gulag. 
The real world's too much a drag 
for a fag. 

I am not digestible. 
I am a hunk of pyrite lodged in the 
jejunum of bureaucracy. 

I am a precious and coveted 
artifact hidden at the bottom 
of a recycling bin, underneath 
empty milk gallon bottles. 
Their pungent swill is a grimy 
filter for my blind beauty....

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Enough thought
on the monsters and saints
within me.

And it's time
And it's time to zone
And it's time to drift
to another plain
   
                     where
                the
         trees
sing to the birds
                    at
                the
          first
    glimpse of morning

where hesitation is
lost
          (Intuition
                is
              God)

where
         internal conflict
is an artifact....

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I have been found;
Found like an old artifact.
I have been found;
Found like a dried rose in a book.
I have been found;
Found like a new hiding place.
I have been found;
Found like a family heirloom.
I have been found;
Found by my best friend.
I have been found;
Found by the one who holds the key to my heart.
I have been found;
Found by my soul mate.
I have been found;
Found by the man I’m going to marry.
I have been found;
Found by the love of my life....

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An artifact juts from the dirt
with glib glyphs and weird words
A man holding a snake
and the outline of a lake
Seem to warn present day man
with scrawl from a caveman
Is it cryptic scribble-scrabble? 
Is it ancient psycho-babble?
One finger points to the sky
Does it mean the time is nigh?
A broken ankh and a scarab
And an angry looking cherub
Seem to say, "Don't forget,
You came from the One who begets.."
Or maybe it's just a prehistoric cartoon
Drawn by some crazy loon...

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