Friday Nite Poetry: The Verse That Time Lost

Prehistoric man, Anthropos Museum, Brno, Czech...

Prehistoric man, Anthropos Museum, Brno, Czech Republic (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Last year, my good friend and mentor (yes I will always address him as such, as I have here in the past) Tom Holmes introduced me to paleo-poetics. Poetry about the experiences of prehistoric man, or about our understanding of him. We discussed this at length one evening, and by the end of the evening we came up with our own subset of paleo-poetics: neo-paleopoetry. It is something of an unintentionally ironic term as one of the rules we came up with for this new style was a ban on using any idea that would be completely out of place in the prehistoric man’s world. No mention of steel, bureaucracies or any invention, real or abstract, after the advent of the written word. We have both put out a few pieces and I even have a tag for it on Tumblr. Tonight I share my three newest pieces, and I hope they succeed, if not sterling examples of neo-paleopoetry, then as passable samples of paleo-poetics.

What could She Know?

 

Calmly confused
and more
than just a little curious
she canned the landscape
and then
the sky

 

She wondered
and then
wondered why
she wondered

 

Why had this
itching uncertainty
crawled into her awareness

 

Did the others worry
or were they content
to move
eat
breathe
and rot

 

The problems
pressed against
her very being
pushing her
onward
inward
outward
and beyond

 

She wanted to know
without knowing
what knowing is

 

She sought a name
for this
new
understanding

 

 

 

The Same Old Pathology

 

A first
the another
and more
then they
have the means
to account for

 

They wither
and weaken
falling
and crying
and the strong
young leaders
know not
what to do

 

They are afraid
of the dying
of the truth
they want to ignore
the fact
of their frailty
and their own
imminent demise

 

They leave them behind
these rotting
family and friends
unwilling to be burdened
unable to witness
unconcerned
once they no longer see

 

 

 

First Rhythm

 

He slams his hands
on the fallen tree
the blows keeping pace
with the thumping
in his chest

 

He want the others to know
what he feels
and he has
no other way
to show them

 

Faster
and frenzied
he passes on
his excitement
for the coming hunt
and his fellows
feel their chests
beat in time
with his actions

 

Advertisements

4 thoughts on “Friday Nite Poetry: The Verse That Time Lost

  1. Christine, I love this. This particular stanza stood out for me: Did the others worry
    or were they content
    to move
    eat
    breathe
    and rot
    Such a power awareness of potential isolation. I must this poetry also reminds me of The Earth’s Children Series by Jean Auel, a Portland native.

  2. Pingback: A Spring In My Step | Hand of Ananke

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s