Tag Archives: #ancient

From Ancient Lands

From the ancient lands of Mesopotamia,
A story of friendship and love,
Of a king and a wild man, united,
In adventures that took them above.

Gilgamesh, the mighty king of Uruk,
A man of strength and fame,
But with a fear of death that haunted,
And a longing to escape that claim.

Enkidu, the wild and free spirit,
Born of the earth and wild,
A being of raw, untamed power,
Who was destined to be exiled.

But fate had other plans in store,
As Gilgamesh and Enkidu met,
And a friendship was born that day,
That nothing could ever forget.

Together they battled fierce monsters,
And faced the perils of the unknown,
Their bond growing stronger with each step,
Their love like a seed that was sown.

Yet even in victory, Gilgamesh,
Could not escape the fear in his heart,
The fear of death that loomed above,
And threatened to tear him apart.

So he set out on a quest for answers,
To find the key to eternal life,
But in his journey, he learned a truth,
That cut through the pain like a knife.

For he realized that life is a gift,
A precious and fleeting thing,
And that true happiness lies in love,
And the joy that it can bring.

And so, with Enkidu by his side,
Gilgamesh returned to his land,
A wiser and humbler man,
With a heart that had been re-manned.

The Epic of Gilgamesh, a tale of love,
Of friendship that will never die,
A reminder that in this journey of life,
It’s the love we share that will help us to fly.

:: 03.11.2023 ::


SAILOR SAILING BLINDLY

On one of these laps of the fishing boats with their red sails that scour the island of the insane we look up.

The woman who was staring from the harbour is back there, in a sea of people.

We read about the great gap between the people and the colonialists.

The press that did not come here that shows pictures of half-naked women with white clothes and black teeth.

The madness of the man on the second floor is beyond the penetration of the purple arrow.

We read the messages of the leftist and the feminist struggle in Portuguese and Spanish and we do not know what it means.

The man who raises up the voice of union does not know the relatives who listen to the voices of the streets and of the flowers and of the trees the voice of the ascetic saying that does not stress the ear.

I clearly knew beyond this stormy weather within my head. I am the poet writing this prose.

The sailor sailing blindly — flying!

:: 07.02.2022 ::


LOVE IN 1500 AD

SHE was white and pale working cooking, cleaning, looking after
children and spinning.

Producing large quantities of thread from wool and falx to weave into
clothing — bedding bags, sails and other items.

With a distaff tucked in your belt, it was easy to pause your spinning while
performing another chore like stopping spinning just long enough to feed
chicks and an enormous hen.

He met her in a meadow and fell in love with her.  She, her glory was much more.
Love then controlled by reason in the 1500s but the rise poetry of Coutry Love became
a highly spiritual desire by the God of Amor.

How love you were.  With golden wheat hair and thin fingers and a brilliant mind.

:: 06.15.2022 ::


FUZZY ASTRONAUT AND HOLY GHOST

FOR SALE: a leather heart of thoughts
the book of lovers called ‘words’
forget how you hate
tie the tongue to a diseased palate
inside your poisoned mouth:

we sell the bodies of priceless souls
inside pristine teapots

Holy Ghost come to me
fuzzy astronaut inside case
of helmet and suit
singing forget-me-nots
watching wild phenomena below
opon Earth’s skies
From the moon’s ancient machinery
–blood and hydraulic heart
of your Mind:

Monstrous, and lit without End.

:: 02.15.2022 ::


TWICE UPON SUNNY DAYS

PLEASE GIVE me my pardon
written by God’s own Holy Hand
don’t say no |i’ll leave right now
nothing wrong mental health
if you give me fantasy now
[and]
ALL upon shark clouds
beneath butterfly waves
goes destiny into oblivion
twice upon sunny days
as the sun burns the ground
empires steal stars from
lover’s steely eyes

Into the night goes my thoughts
a broken crib of ancient jewels
peeling paperwall of forgottens
it pains to learn____stepping stone
of beauty called Life.

:: 12.17.2021 ::


AGING MEMORIES

it was 1493 when i, the little boy, ventured across
the hills toward Anchiano.
there i was found being thirsty and asked an old
man for water. He was Leonardo da vinci — he
said. My father taught me how to fight: my mother,
how to be gracious for a kind gesture.
i had never met a soul as him and he showed me
a painting and some notes. Asked if I was schooled.
No. Just in life to survive i replied.

Thanking him i left behind a remarkable
soul.

:: 07.25.2020 ::


AN ARMY DEFEATED

The sun rises as hope,
the wind is singing,
the small birds twitter,
the soul is all bitter,
my mouth is closed.
every animal weeps
within its cage
their heads never raising.
as a hole feeds deep within
our hearts — but if everything
around you is not quite as it seems
are we all we wish to be?
like an army defeated and so afraid
to see.

:: 07.17.2020 ::


EMBER TOMB’D WALLS

i recall the times so long ago
calling you until i lost
count oh…

all the falling tears
of a thousand years
and more

so sick so dead so sit
there and bleed some more
while i stab

memories of what-was
what-has has-been so sick

pushing against ember-tomb’d
walls encased unspoken dreams
i scream my heart out __
you dreeeeeam fondling
broken protocol

I know (we’re fools)
that time’s a school
stuck in now forward go
reverse the must of
fucking can’t do

ember tomb’d
ember’d room
sap a glue
encasing you

and all the tears
of a thousand years
and more

:: 07-14-2018 ::


SHADOW TOWARDS THE LIGHT

i hear a shadow walking towards the light
in all amazement i feel tonight is the
deepest of all the darkness

and in all the suffocating intention
i miss the sun but love the moon
its everything i was raised for this night

i was snared when so ruined
begged forgiveness but knew
there’d be no mercy for what
was brewing

One thing is holy
among the ruin
one thing is evil
among the beauty

And i’ll tell you
over lunch tonight

I’ll show you love
I’ll show you ruin
I’ll show you heartache
in all that’s brewing
within me this night //

:: 05-30-2018 ::


EVERY POINT OVERLAPPING EVERY POINT

AND the pot of gold was resting
there by the  contraption of another world
so baby cry, cry, cry and are we old enough
as a world to know baby
  we can cry and laugh holding
planets and stars within our hands
  yes, we are old enough my smiling
baby Jesus’ with a message at the
train station of life and death.
Especially the voices of crying
children who remember to know better
so cry baby we all try to hold on
to the future of our best wishes
and mostly we’re all programmed
by that way-station on the other side;
our hands holding unknown things
our minds almost remembering them
historical amnesia is our diagnosis
so baby cry
            so baby try
                        so my oh my
greed is an infection
muted voices a reflection
and all the tears like metal
the smell of static like space
lost astronauts in twisted steel
and the pot of gold resting there
by the contraption of another world
making my mind scream.
:: 09-28-2017 ::