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Thursday 3 February 2011

The Disillusioned Archaeologist

I have walked these moors at night
and walked the Cornish cliffs at night
and not disturbed a single bone
(as far as I could know)
of those who lie below.

And should I then dig down below,
disturb the bones to better know
the Arthur's and the Guineveres
who walked these hills
so long ago?

If I could dig deep in these hills
and find there in some ancient grave
the bones of what is yet to come,
those bones I would disturb and save
and savour all my days.


Louise said...

Beautiful poem Dave, very powerful

The Weaver of Grass said...

Oh wouldn't we all Dave. I often wonder what lies beneath our feet. The middleham jewel was found a short distance from here - what other treasures - not necessarily worth money - lie there undiscovered?

CiCi said...

Just knowing there are wondrous stories untold as you walk the moors
is exciting.

anthonynorth said...

Great ponderings - what is yet to come. If only.

Nana Jo said...

Wonderful poem. I like your use of the names Arthur and Guinevere. It's magical the connection we feel with the ancient. Disturbing the bones of the future is a fascinating concept.

Pearl said...

I have the urge to raise a drink to you. That was wonderfully toast-able.


Windsmoke. said...

Very powerful and vivid imagery. Just the thought of digging up someones bones is haunting :-).

Kass said...

What a lovely, well-written verse. It just sings.

Titus said...

Echo all of the above Dave, there is a real depth (no pun intended) to the writing. And I know the feeling you have caught.

JeannetteLS said...

Someone tell me why this made me tear up. Well. Perhaps it's better not to always dig to answer WHY a poem moves the core, but rather, simply to savor or savour the fact that someone else's words and thoughts DO. Thank you yet again, Dave.

Cloudia said...

I get a lot out of your words Always, Dave

Unknown said...

Maybe in 2000 more years, a poet will come across this poem on an ancient computer and want to dig up your bones too! Well penned Dave. I love the way you fashioned the rhyming scheme. Thanks for sharing this.

Kat Mortensen said...

Very nice, Dave! I wish I'd had a copy of your poem to recite aloud when I was at Tintagel in the 1990s. I think I should have been compelled to call it out to the mists of "Camelot".

Dave King said...

120 Socks
Thanks for that

Weaver of Grass
The true meaning of the word "romance", perhaps?

Very true. It provides the necessary frisson.

Indeed, if only... or would we?

Nana Jo
Hi, welcome to the blog.
I'm not sure where those two names came from, but once in place I knew I could not disturb them! The bones now... they may be another matter.

Thank you. I shall raise one in reply.

Yes, it is. I'm not sure that I could do it.

Thanks. Much obliged for that.

That is very pleasing. Of all the things I could wish would be caught, the feeling comes top.

And yet again, thank you. You write the sort of comment that makes me want to go on.

I a bemused and tockled by your hieroglyphics. Thank you so much for the Golden Rabbit wishes.
And commenst no2. Much appreciated.

Now there's a thought to be going on with! I shall give it some thought - see where it leads.

Actually part of it was a memory of staying at the youth hostel in Tintagel. To go to the loo involved a walk along a precipitous cliff edge. Okay during the day - but at night with a gale blowing...

Kat Mortensen said...

Dave - For some reason, I am put in mind of a scene in the Daniel Day Lewis movie, "Last of the Mohicans". Sounds worth holding it in to me!

Dave King said...

I'm sure I saw that film, but only a general schema comes back to me. I'm most intrigued by your comment - and very happy to be associated with Daniel Day Lewis, for whatever reason!