"fossilised" poems
On my way home from work
I passed by a *****
In a tent-sized, plain orange t-shirt.
It was forever-stained
With fossilised fluids;
A chest cavity of spilt milk,
And subsequent tears.
A double-take took me
To the green and brown keratin
That dragged relentlessly over concrete.
His sloth paws were protesting
Every step of grey existence,
In the colourful expanse of new morning;
They were clawing the ground
And submitting to gravity.
He looked right on through me,
Through everyone and everything
As if part of a hologram
That was no happier, but at least
Apart. I re-count his limbs to ensure
Whether he is even human anymore.
I surmise: only partially.
He milks his palms whenever possible
To heal the cracks of wind exposure
And old substance abuse.
This was no doorstep lounger;
He was a stray cat with no freedom,
And only washed his hair when it rained.
Then, as I later adjust my mask
In the foggy bathroom mirror,
Mind preoccupied with dissertations,
Affectations and payment schedules,
I realise that it is I who has lost my humanity.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
They sat across the room from each other
Mother and daughter, alike in appearance
“Don’t you remember?” the mother said
And for that moment
The perfect image of the daughter’s previous world sat there
Fossilised.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 12:54 PM UTC
little star,
cold and timeless,
ebbing in the gloom,
breathing like lungs,
exhale dust.
thin blanket,
old and creasing,
grey and faded vermillion,
stealing our shadows,
a penumbra.
aged animal,
majestic in death,
raising its horns skyward,
embers in ashes,
fossilised stone.
our patron,
quiet and brave,
bringer of gentlest creation,
player of sounds,
little star.
May 20, 2022
May 20, 2022 at 8:21 PM UTC
A blur that breathes, growing and abating,
tides of people, entombed in steel,
flowing and fading on riverbeds of tar.
A place of nomads,
all draped in cloth.
A place of symbols,
of concrete and rebar
Sheets of cold, ice grey
Falling spindles, cold rain
A graceful procession
With a bellyful of tears
A dreadful cortège
A heralder of fears
A young forest paved with ancient crushed stones
Nothing left but the inheritance of a thousand unknowns
Nothing left, but old fossilised bones
All that has happened is what I know
And all I know is what will happen.
All that remains is what I know
And all I know is ruin.
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 4:30 AM UTC
I stared at my open palm –
purple speckles of a fossil unfrozen by the mere
heat of my touch.
I stared at my hands –
cold and dry come wintertime, layers of
reptilian scales making my little
dinosaur claws rigid, unforgiving.
I imagine myself a warrior woman of sorts – eyes fossilised into icy hardness.
I stared at the sword in my hand and with a great swing,
I slice the stone of youth down the middle, separating
the old from the new, specks exploding:
red, blue, yellow,
thrown across my hair.
Under layers created by millennia of pressure and grime –
the mineral of understanding.
It gleams so that my cheeks flush red with blood from within,
And my neck reaches to the sun,
my eyes widen, beginning to melt and drip.
I close them.
I stared at the insides of my eyes, and
a speckled horizon stared back.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 9:05 AM UTC
achenial planets,
yet un-spawned,
suspended, seemingly strangled,
by an indurate umbilical bind,
sway in the breath of this nascent spring
forsaken fossilised baubles,
from a Christmas you’d rather not
be reminded of
and while their skin breathes our dirt
I write my words on their
parchment leaves and rips
of litter, to leave
scattered for the rats
who live in the shade,
to read
at their leisure
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
History
a mystery
of facts
and artefacts
swallowed by time
evolution
or revolution
fossilised claws
and medieval wars
fallen in time
monarchy
hierarchy
ruling society
to equality
change over time
existence
a distance
from memory
a stone in a cemetery
rotting over time
shut up
boxed up
laid down
in the ground
shipped to a new time
forgotten
or a mystery
written
our history
forgotten in time
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
ANC and Joe Slovo
ANC took on the white-run system and won, we hoped
for a new free country and apartheid free country.
The “Rainbow Nation sprung to life reconciliation, dancing
in the streets, which have become crime-ridden by now.
But the ANC cannot rule forever, and it is fossilised
And has of lately written history that leaves out many.
Indian and white people who helped to end apartheid
Are being pushed aside like it was only a black affair.
Do you remember Joe Slovo and fought for a free Africa
For forty years, ah, but, he was white and a Jew, he gave
All he had for the cause, but now slowly like many Indians
Are pushed into the background.
I think the leadership ANC have been corrupted it will sink
To the level of Zimbabwe, they broke their promise to help
Soweto, but it is still there, Joe Slovo is no more.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 10:21 AM UTC
Swimming against a current so much stronger than I am,
Battling my way through the waves,
But it's becoming harder to breathe,
Harder to think,
And I find myself drowning,
Sinking further and further
Into the unknown,
Floating endlessly into the abyss,
My body slamming into
Shipwreck insecurities,
Fossilised memories,
Trapped pain in rotting chests.
All because of one tiny detail about myself that I loathe,
Loathing so much deeper than the seven seas stacked on top of one another.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
Breathing cold vibrancy,
the earth and sun remind us
that whatever prattles on the surface
will be layered over,
fossilised,
and judged as advances
or fat, white dead ends
by the clever folk ahead
Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 12:52 PM UTC
still to ferry out depths
no petty parrot poems
to divvy up the score
nor ramp-up efforts
climb into lightning
totally unafraid of the scalding rods
feet out to sand dollars
cool as cucumbers
like walking on the spiny surface of an outer moon
crinoid wishes crumble like walls of an ancient civilisation
as saddle wrass masticates half-born ideas with Aristotle’s lantern
rendered sessile, bloodclotting measures kick in
as emergency repair kit carried on the sidelines
brittle stars are bandaged and fossilised as ambulacra pull tight
overgrown daisies fail to fly free and loosening pollenseeds are all caught
lick up that salty brave snot
and brace face to that taut wind
this urchin with star backed burden
bears no cretaceous page
just bobs on hope
in relatively quiet waters
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
Lamentations and a trigger
Questions and closed walls
Loneliness is a dark place to be
When you're a riptide in the sea
We are the hunters and the terror
And we give ourselves away
To every strobe that once brought euphoria
Cascade into the darkness of the day
At gunpoint no lies survive
As they walk the weary wastelands
As you think dog days are over
Knives find peace in hollow hearts
Darts and an anchor
Death by December
Sealed with a kiss and
Promise to deliver
Roses thriving on the remains of the night
Trampled by a stampede of prides
Crags that congregate for catharsis
Fossilised into the ground
Dusk and dawn
Dust and pawns
Lust and taunts
And we give ourselves away
One December morning I found my feet in the deep water
After a storm
As I brewed and brewed trouble
In the form of marble shards
In the innards of a porcelain cup
The holy grail of languor
Skin meets teeth
Placidity greets
Habits die hard
Victims live vicariously
Through rose-tinted glasses
Waiting to be saved
Sinners can't be brave
Like broken ocean waves
The darkest days are over
So rejoice
For the worst is yet to come
But there is silence
Silence in our downfall
Even with nine suns arising
Caressing the canvas that shrouds the clouds
Even as the firmaments fade to black
Sinners can't be brave
Sinners can't be brave
And we need someone to save us all
Save me
Here I lie beneath the rubble
With my mind in a mess
And my heart in a storm
Save me
Before I become brave again
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
Let's have a conversation
we've never had before
where I dazzle and surprise you
and you pin me to the floor
and the world falls out of order
in a new and perfect way
and we wake up on the faultlines
of a fascinating day
Well I know you have it in you
for myself I'm not so sure
as my hinges they are rusty
and I can't unlock the door
We have calcified in comfort
we have fossilised in fate
and I want to shake the sureness
before it gets too late
And it's not that I'm not grateful
or would rather be alone
but we owe it to each other
not to cast the world in stone
So let's have a conversation
we've never had before
let's take the wrong road home, love
and remind ourselves there's more.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 3:45 AM UTC
We are passing through a blue
period after
a grey period: 'Surely
a green age will follow.' You
stifle your remorse. We are on
our way to
yet
another chance
for tears
in our mother's eyes. Don't you agree? Mothers
enfolded
in the depths -the depths
of land dear
to our souls - where the gods
live
steeped in their
energy. That energy
is proof enough that never, not for
one single
moment, have their hearts
departed
from that magnetic place.
Magnetic? Of course...
Alone in those lands,
they hang on to their sadness, their wisdom,
while their children
reach out to catch
the golden ring of freedom,
and the risk:
the risk of wandering on an endless,
senseless pilgrimage. Flying
like model planes? Oh,
the thrill
until -
three thousand, twelve thousand
years - they're found, fossilised in sedimentary rocks,
mothers
separated from their children, layers
and layers apart, preserved,
with a bit of luck, in mint condition
(maybe) buried
with all the things that might
be needed in the afterlife...
A movement
from East to West, following
the progress
of the sun. What
was I saying? Oh yes, we are passing through
a blue period, after
a grey period...
Liviu Ioan Stoiciu, from Born in Romania, Contemporary Literature Press, Bucharest 2014
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
Run boy
let the wind
rush wish
to catch up
with your
motorised limbs
let the
sun set
falling want to
coo as
quick as
you can
race your
weary
smile
let the sky
and the
nighted blanket
have envy
of your
magnanimous
retreat
remember
the starry
eyes of
that boy
you
whispered
goodbyes
to
on his neck
like kisses
like
gentle breaths
like promises
the whiskered
kitten in
your heart
which purred
as he
held
your hand
so tight
you
could barely
stop the
wilted
smile
and
flooded
heartbeats from
drowning you
whole
he held
your hand
so
tight
you thought
he
wanted
to
run too.
Nail
half crescent
imprints
of fossilised
hands
they hold you
you trace the scars
they hold you
and you
wish they
would keep
on holding on
as you
run.
Run boy
run into the sun
let the
memories
of open fields and
flower chains
and dotted kisses
trace your
heart with
strength
let yourself
run
until the
city walls are
snowflakes
against the
mountain
until your home
is only
a house
in your dreams
until he
until he is
only a shadow
on the
horizon
and you can
keep on
running
with his
words
on the backs
of your feet.
'love you.'
Run boy
so one day
you can
run on back
and
take him
with you.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
The ruins peered out from behind
The blue-flecked crag
Where eagles nested.
Wind-blown, storm-tossed
Only the walls remain.
The turrets are now heaps of grass covered
Bricks, the keep a muddy mound.
Here, once were warriors,
Draped in furs, bearing swords
That glinted across the sea in defiance,
Defending the land from strangers.
Here, once were warriors-
All long gone!
Time itself has altered what once
Was considered unalterable.
When kings ruled from inland palaces
And long powerful ships caressed the jagged
Shore; now washed up on the beach
Like the kingdom they protected, flotsam:
Cruelly ruined planks of elm, distorted by
Sea and salt; masts broken and disfigured.
A once glorious people, now gone!
Palaces overthrown!
All hanging onto unforgiving Time
Like fossilised carbuncles.
Ripped from Time in a plethora of
Anguished voices dying slowly-
Calling out for resolution.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
Eight years away from home
were the years that rob my life companions,
I lost all those that I love; the loved ones I so cherished dearly.
Now I stand in the centre of the village; empty-
without a voice to welcome me
except the memories of them; the twenty of them
engraved in their twenty separate headstones
to ***** to visit whenever I want for the rest of my life.
And if I return again in eight years time,
I sure know will find my footsteps fossilised along the muddy fields
and sandy beaches of that empty village.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
The frail engines of the past
still linger
on the fossil fuel of indoctrinated
perceptions of love,
that were a wonder of the old world.
But found to be filled though
ignorant filters of the present.
Prudish, falseness of male masculinity.
Were all engines of unfamiliar injections.
That fuel, the love bound within
the pistons of our revving heart.
Fossilised yet each of us
still seem to be able
to ignite the fuel of others yearning.
The old engines are redundant,
new ages of passion
fuelled by the spark that a generation
accepting that the fuel of love isn't singular.
But that we ignite off any source
that'll help our heart run in unison.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC
Housed in a walking stick
the King stuck a feather duster at the top
fancied his fourth wife and tickled his fifth.
Ten mutton chops later
a gourd of red blood wine
two scoops of brain cutlets
he was feeling better.
With a bowl of imported shrimp in hand
battered and buttered
with chilly powder ,a chilli *****
he was getting excited at the prospect
of knocking his seventh wife
but a flagging spirit ruined his ********
and he commanded the courtyard maidens
to dance like Queen of Sheba
on the High Priests entrails
as the music beat a violent end
to heads rolling in the dusty desert sands.
Done.
He counted the bowed heads
and picked the odd number out
to even his court ****
The cradle of all creation was found ten yards
away in fossilised rock after five years of
guessing it must be around here.
Author Notes
Parody of procreation.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
We were none the wiser, I shopped the stalls,
for bread, for father was treating us to a
luxury.
He'd been offered overtime, and we didn't have it
very often. But he knew we were down, and hungry.
Feeling the earth move, the gods were either hungry,
like our empty stomachs.
Or they were punishing us for not giving enough praise
for there gestures of kindness..
We heard the rumbling of Vesuvius, like an empty belly
rumbling for worth.
Then we heard the screams, as the mountain spat its
anger towards us, we had no where to run.
To hide from the mountains anger was futile.
We huddled together,
praying to our gods
for salvation..
But our plea's were unheard,
had we put our faith in the wrong god!!!
Hearing the dark snow fall like pebbles and then the
ash of concealment.
Suffocating in our prays, we huddled tighter than
life's last breath... and then we
were like statues
frozen in a moment of futility...
A once flourishing moment, buried in times
concealment.
We were found, shells of our former selves,
huddled in eternity a love.
Fossilised in a last moment,
telling the future we died together,
a moment of love shown through the ages...
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 3:48 PM UTC
Illusions scattered throughout time
Gaining depth and colour as they shine
Ghosts of spirits laid long to rest
Shining stars made the most of us
Yet even in the darkness before the dawn
To mankind each minute newborns cry
Propagating plants in forests high
Treetop dwellers pass silently by
Leaving nothing in their wake
The gamblers raising up the stake
As mirrored reflections paint the past
Treasures buried unearthed now at last
Bones long fossilised to rock
Worn down mountains valleys top
Seashells washed upon the shores
Lifes avenues with unkeyed doors
Shattered fault lines run askew
Remind the earth of all that’s true
In ages past the impact craters
From space the end of dinosaurs
(GE2014) (C) Reserved
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 6:42 AM UTC
*It’s another beautiful evening
Quiet and peaceful
Except for the sound of my footsteps
On the coarse white sandy beach
Of clear turquoise sea
As I retrace our love path
Hoping to find your footsteps fossilised
On the sand*.
*But the truth hurts the most
That the waves have washed away
All your footsteps I am here to find
And the wind has blown away
All your romantic scent
That used to permeate the air
All have vanished into thin air,*
*It’s just another beautiful day to start all over;
To start a new memory that will linger forever*.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
would it be good to still be so hairy you could lay down in a wet field and be comfortable enough to have a sleep even though it was minus ten degrees? Were we ever that hairy? Could we make ourselves that hairy?
Science is a wonderful discipline, maybe we should be looking at that kind of insulation instead of burning more fossilised history, and opening up the possibilities of habitat instead of destroying them.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
It would be good to be fossilised;
hard stone in deep.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
#*
Fossilised pale leaves
Reflection on the window
On trees lively green*
🍂🍃
Jan 31, 2021
Jan 31, 2021 at 6:59 AM UTC