I wear Inuit clothing.
Wrapped in Paleolithic reindeer
I hunt mammoths and lions:
ivory a source to make art
and males with no manes to warm their heads.
I’m huntress, nothing more.
Men howl to paint me in caves
to represent the woman I am:
a bull for my head
and the edge of the rock my womanhood.
I’d rather kill with men.
I have humanly adventures with them
rather than pick berries:
I’m hungry not for fruit
but for bloody creatures to gain power.
A man gave me a flute.
It had three holes to make music
with my mouth and fingers, an instrument:
So I blew hard to call him
our spiritual connection one, him and I.
I'm a huntress, nothing more.
hair strands still hold sun drops
from the summer when we first met.
your kisses still warm on
And I can't take the heat.
of years of
Foggy head -doggy style.
Paleolithic dining to old records.
Turning, churning tables.
Through the blinds waves are crashing and the sun is shining. Glass blowing - pipe making - love creating.
Yellow bandanas and seashore marble.
Stars are aligning in their own perfect timing....
reminders of numbness thawing.
The horses feed on bat-moon meadow
their stone age stable now cobwebbed
hooves long rested from run
gone dusty by the wheels of metal
yet they paleolithic horses
graze in night’s paraffin-lit glow
smelling of stable and the wild run
and in the stillness finding
their world crumbled.
I saw the sun go out
Your smile turned upside down
And cold blue eyes
Brought chilly silence
To this ice age
Where one more dinosaur
I've been a dinosaur
In other times
When love came by
I had a mentality
With paleolithic limits
Three parts treasure hunter
to two parts scientist,
with picks and brushes
sifts through shards and ruins,
echoes of ancestral time,
burning for answers:
How on earth did we manage
to carve out shelters from the crust
tilting the scales
of survival in our favor?
A cliff house here, a cathedral there
a village by the river
chronicling our escape from
the shadows of pre-recorded time.
We wonder where they all went
and why they vanished, but the real question
that haunts our paleolithic selves,
is who are we and where are we going?
October 30, 2015
Caves of Altamira
on the northern coast of Spain
paleolithic drawings can be found
the old stone age of cavemen
in a cave high above the ground
in Mount Vispieres high above the plain
the name Altamira given for high views
that prehistoric man could paint
was such confusing news
it was assumed they were not bright
they had no artistic skills
then came that discovery
high up in those hills
bison horse deer and boar
painted plainly on the wall
18 thousand years ago
painted oils copied in the museum hall
even the Dan wrote a tune
to praise these artists skills
they were stars before Hollywood
high on those Spanish hills
Past altered states tests postive and subtle
Asshole So and so's teeter Paleolithic après time puddles
And submit terrible philosphies
Ashy stubble ticks politics
and sacrafice to peer approval sacralige
Test probably appears stable
Top patriarch's able suddenly to
Pop above submerged tables possibly
After, something tests patience awkwardly
Stumps tarot practioners and sex testers poor application sterily
Topology plain, astrology scorpio
Torpedo power aptly strikes to pedal antlers sour
Take particular appointments
Stop testing please apply sorted
Terror power and sexless torn pigs
afterhours pen and store tips, plow.
Alter simians testosterone, pow!
As scientists type papers about sexing tasteless past alligator snouts
testing partly after science takes party alliance south to pawn army
subtle tipped passion. artsy.
pick atoms smarmy
Tally past all sentences take pride
As stencils test pestilence. And sigh.
The previous alterations simply tried.
And didn't work, hence the present
Path lit incandescent.
I'm looking towards the east waiting for positivity to peak
You're turned backwards nostalgic for something that'll never come repeat.
1. Earth (Pangaea)
Pangaea heaved and shifted
beneath the fire-storm sky.
Colliding plates and spewing mountains
shook, roared and thundered
under the brutal chaos
of torrential cataclysms.
In time she yielded her ire
to millennia of pacific rains -
her severed crust
set adrift across the oceans
like gigantic earthen rafts.
Jungles sprang up and terrible lizards
came, grazed and left their bones.
Forests, grains and multifarious beasts
grew and perished in accord
with their past and future destinies.
So here we are - earthbound,
tossed from our mothers' wombs -
fated to live and breed
by the grace of miracles
far beyond our ken.
Beloved mother Gaia,
from whose dust we are raised,
nurture and sustain us
and sing us to our mortal sleep.
Air - earth's miracle brew of
oxygen, nitrogen and all the rest
meted out in perfect harmony.
Air - silent and still on a moonlit night -
driver of sheeted rain on window panes -
and winds that shake the trembling aspens.
Air - author of land and ocean squalls -
bringer of that ominous pallor
that presages a tornado's furor
Air - invisible aerial highway
for majestic eagles and turbo-jets -
medium of rhetoric and symphonies.
Air – window to the cosmos
and our fragile life–giving broth -
unwitting conveyer of toxic alchemy.
Keep watch my sisters and brothers:
the air we breathe is what we make it
or rather what we let it be.
Water like a capricious deity
wanders through time and topography -
cherished and cursed for
what it gives and what it takes away.
Gentle rains and strident gales
sculpt rivers and streams
through forests and plains
bound for union with the open sea.
Diurnal tides ebb and wane
at the whim of the charismatic moon.
Ice mountains advance and retreat;
rock-strewns moraines left in their wake.
soar over jagged cataracts,
spraying pastel prisms
across the misted valleys.
Beneath our all too fragile skins,
secret sanguine rivers navigate
our veins and arteries
bathing organs, limbs and sensors
with curative balm and sustenance.
Wellspring of all elements,
fill our daily ladles
and grant us the will and empathy
to bequeath the same to our progeny.
Two hundred million years ago
our Paleolithic cousins
seized branches from a burning forest
and stepped into a bold new world.
By the glow of fire-lit caves,
and the scent of searing venison,
they gathered wits and tools
to craft shelters and weaponry.
Their children's children would design
forges and furnaces, factories
and build engines that run on fire.
But their anxious siblings in despair
snatched lightning from the sky
and twisted by fits of anger pride
made also muskets, missiles, bombs
and nuclear Armageddons.
Loki, god of nobler flames
open our blood-stained eyes
and show us the means
to stay our arson lust and
abide by the light of reason.
Revised and integrated version, December, 2015