Short Excavated Poems

here  i  stand
roughly hewn
from  a  block
lifeless    too
excavated in
tawdry   glint
eye  collapse
with consent...

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Back in time, fondly
    Treasured memories of my
           Youth excavated



Dial It Back Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Maureen McGreavy (Winner: 5th Place)
Date written and posted: 05/03/2019...

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I left her in a makeshift hut
Tugging scarecrow ropes
Scaring hundred of birds
Saving pregnant rice stalks.

She was 10 years old
I am now 60 years old
I have a dream last night
I revisited her…

Together
We excavated unforgettable gleeful moments!...

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A perfectly predictable purplish tabby cat misbehaves
Dancing across magnificent magpies excavated graves
Squirming yellow shining housefly larvae she enslaves
Swimming  through thick sticky b-positive tidal waves
A polka dotted butterfly with stiletto and cream shaves...

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Unearthing blind roots, cyclic thoughts
spin round again
as if they had just come to me,
and had not been arriving forever.

Abandoned living-spaces excavated
from under the forgotten foundations
of elsewhere.
Places we leave our sweat in,
litter that never goes away,

stuff in pockets that once belonged
to a best jacket.
A best life thus far – but when?...

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A laptop waits in its black nest.
I consider not writing anything,
ignoring the blood deep voices.

I wish I had a few ending words
to write, completing one story
and the beginning first lines of another.

If I look away, distract myself,
voices might remain un-excavated.
This house of windows and keys
may stay shut, silence pound 
on windows
I can no longer open....

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Dawn’s sunrise
with the ocean tide low
reveals new shells, like jewels aglow

Mollusk’s homes
recently vacated
just waiting to be excavated

Shapes and size
of wide variety
laid out as far as the eye can see

Rolling waves
will soon come to reclaim
these low-tide jewels of ocean fame


by, Joe Flach for nette onclaud's PARALLELOGRAM DE CRYSTALLINE contest...

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Spacious comfortable country residence
extended and upgraded, sleeps eight.
On the fringe of a conservation village
elevated distant views, sheltered
solar heating, well insulated.

Sympathetically tucked into a south facing hillside,
extensive well-manicured terraced gardens.
All amenities, motorway and railway within 5 miles.
Paradise on four levels, décor understated
a dusty sand hole, ant excavated…...

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Every word burns
on the back when
cut by the scourge.
Every word bites,
when the mouth of the night
kisses
Every word bleeds
in the bloody poem
of a broken love.
Every word is awkward.
when carved
upside down
Every word transgresses
when by itself
excavated
But the word poetry
when the poet plants it
reverberates and radiates,
sprouts everywhere
May it be so ...
always sacrosanct
the word
poetry !...

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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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predispositions exposed now
opening up that can of worms
lies uncovered that were meant to be kept hidden
yearnings brought out from hiding 
gathering up truths that where hidden behind the lies 
realms of true reality exposed to the light of truth that was hidden by clouds of doubt
a secret realm that existed within the subconscious has now been excavated 
perhaps for the betterment of all involved 
helping all to see much more clearly then ever before...

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Letters to an Unknown Woman by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan

When years go by, when years 
go by and the air having excavated a ditch
between your soul and mine, when years hurry past
	and I be the only man to entertain feelings of love,
a being who hovered an instant in front of your lips,
a poor fella dejected from walking through gardens,
	where will you be? Where
	will you, O! child/daughter of my kisses!

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2016...

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She tries to think how she might make it real.
She feels like a windblown flame
just a meaningless username.

This morning she excavated the garage.
Rope (is it strong enough to hold?)
She thinks of e e cummings
balloonman far and wee
feels herself to be
an anchorless balloon, floating free...

Voices and faces are fainter, receding now...

And it will recede, a tide going out
the flame of her wick blowing out
and a final blessed silence
soft as black velvet.

...

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Colour Schemers

Arab Traders excavated
Europe laid the foundation
The New World framed it perfectly
The rest of the races roofed it

This …
Inordinate economic concupiscence
Shadowy sham, animated by a violent passion
An extraordinary alteration

So… 
Nature convulses
Human dignity reduced to 
Colour: Black, white, brown, yellow

But …
The scale corrects itself
The clock resets
The scheme falls apart

Because …
There is only one humanity
It’s you. 
It’s me....

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