Heathen
Take note of these splinters of rough shale and bone
Each numbered and labelled here
Safe behind toughened glass
For these now redundant relics were
Most surely once
State of art technology and designed to steal breath
Take note too of these ancient tallow proofed
Water stained and warmed cave walls
Where back in the day we lived and hunted
Yes how we lived and roamed and loved
Until our hearts and our bellies were contented
It was here that once magnificent beasts
As big as London buses so they were
Did roam free
Now though I see only ghosts of them
In smoke from long house chimneys
Yet it is here I still see and taste a flake
Of you my love
Here too where a slice of me remains
Mid these clay masks and Coptic jars
Each filled with dried black blood and honey
Now sealed for eternity
It is here I see bronze nails and glass beads strewn
My old obsidian blade discarded
A single broken femur gnawed and drilled through
Here and there shards of painted pot remain
Fur and feathers have long since gone though
And although our residue and ancient DNA
Is still openly displayed precisely where we left it
It does not feel right nor like our home
Tis here my love they queue to stare through
Toughened glass and still they dare to call us both
Primitive and heathen
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Author:
Neville (
Offline) - Published: February 21st, 2019 04:33
- Comment from author about the poem: when informing us of what's inside the tin they can come in handy.. at other times.. maybe we should just try to avoid...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
Offline)
Comments8
Yep, we was roaming about in those caves centuries ago. Well I was. Was you too?!
theoretically speaking, yes.. so theoretically, I thank you.... N
Orchi and I were there, me with my two sticks to rub together to form fire, Orchi with his pet dinosaur moaning every time I swore if the fire did not appear, it took me a millennia to get the fire started.
Cor mistah, you dont half bring out the neanderthal in me. Me and the boys invented the spear you know.
57 varieties of us there was. They called me ketchup.
That may have been becoz you were lagging behind... thanks for throwing yourself into this scribble DA..... N
Inside a museum to the poet is a chance for fancy to impregnate the relics with seeing and tasting flakes of past loves - which your verse has done well - in fact so well that i felt myself there wearing the clay mask - - another thrill of a read Nev.
aw gawsh... you just gone and dun it again Fay... make me blush that is... you really are too kind
I stare at those relic and wonder. .....
....in the absence of being there, wonder is all I can do!
Love the read
You are indeed most kind and I sincerely thank you my dear Suresh... Neville
I love this! very evocative imagery, really nicely written 🙂
Thank you SerenWise, a visit most appreciated and then some... Neville
We find out so much about our previous selves nowadays.
Good write Neville.
yes indeed.. some times it dont pay to leave one's DNA laying around.... cheers my friend, truly appreciated, N
I had to come back to this one after letting it linger in my senses.
It made me want to reconnect with my inner heathen.
To let go of something.
Hey, how cool is that my friend bless ya.. let go I say and connect.... Neville
Maybe one day eh?
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