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
and rot


The problems
pressed against
her very being
pushing her
and beyond


She wanted to know
without knowing
what knowing is


She sought a name
for this




The Same Old Pathology


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


They wither
and weaken
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
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


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



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
    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

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