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Wednesday 21 April 2010

Early man tells of a rite of passage

Early man tells of a rite of passage

The shock of it went with us to the grave,
a long crawl down through Mother Earth, limbs raw,
some torn to shreds; thoughts brief, confused; in awe
of phantoms in that dark arena, cave
of altered states (induced, adrenal, brave
or oedipal), its contours stained for boar
and aurochs; childhoods blown away like straw
in ghostly lampsmoke, light and flambeaux, wave
and strobe. Horse notions whinnied through our skulls;
wolf, fox and bear sang anthems in our souls.

Long gone from dyes dabbed on with lichen wads,
they thrive beneath your hemispheres, those gods.
Entrenched in dark, illiterate, mute cells,
they dream old dreams and cast archaic spells.

Haiku #122

We floating voters
are waiting for a promise
to improve the weather


bard said...

What a creative topic for a poem! Excellent writing.

Unknown said...

I love the sounds in this, Dave. It really does conjure the world of the ancients.

Send your haiku into the party HQs, they'll get right on to it.

CiCi said...

Promises that cannot be kept, I think.

@ctors Business said...

I do feel very much left adrift on "the eternal sea" at the moment!

Elisabeth said...

It seems apt to go underground at this time, Dave with all those volcanic rumblings.

Trust you to remind us so eloquently of our forbears. Thanks.

Kass said...

Love the play on words with the two kinds of cells. Phantoms in our dark arenas, indeed.

Voters do tend to float
along with politicians'
liquid promises.

Helen said...

Thank you, Dave ... for leaving a comment on Poetry Matters. I'm not sure how you even found it. Mother passed away in May 2007 ... I wrote lots of poetry during the last few years of her life. Another great effort from you today!

The Weaver of Grass said...

Lovely poem - love those old cave paintings.
If we are floating voters, Dave, maybe we are waiting for a change in the direction of the wind.

Ronda Laveen said...

Very nice imagery of ancient grounds and times. About an hour from where I live, at Castle Crags, there are some old petroglyphs carved in the stones and stained with iron oxide believed to be from shortly after Atlantis and Lemuria split. They are very interesting.

Carl said...

Looking back at our time and what we did as a people... What will they think of us and how will it impact them. We will serve as a cautionary tale I think.

Jim Murdoch said...

My gut feeling is that early man would not have been nearly this eloquent.

Anonymous said...

Nice poem. The picture is great too. I have always been fascinated by ancient paintings and ruins.

Have a good day Dave...:)

Dianne said...

Love the sound of this poem, wish I could hear you read it aloud, Dave.
-rich and rounded.

Dave King said...

Encouraging. Thanks for it.

Thanks for the comment.

I thought I'd start with Mr Brown as he says we have the best weathermen in the world. It's only right, then, that he should get us the best weather to go with them.

So what's new?

That sounds lonely - or have I misread?

You're right, though it hadn't occurred to me.

Thanks for that. I do appreciate your floating point.

Thanks for that. I didn't really expect you to find it and reply.Just felt impelled to write on the off-chance.
Sorry to hear about your mum.

Weaver of Grass
Thanks for the compliment.
Another wind of change?

They sound absolutely fascinating.

But what will caution them - and of what?

I'm sure that's right. It's a valid point, but to be authentic I suppose I would have had to write in ugs, oogs and groans.

Mr Stupid
Thanks for that. Have a good day yourself.

Meri said...

We floating voters
may wait a long time without
seeing any real change.

Dave King said...

Better a floating voter
than one sinking in the mire
of party puzzlement.

Unknown said...

This is a very strong poetic outing--I like the 10/4 sonnet split, which is unusual but works really well here; as others have mentioned the sounds throughout & I think especially in the first 10 lines are very strong--this actually underlines the all-important turn in the final quartet. I particularly like the rugged language in lines 6-10.