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RAJ NANDY Aug 2016
SECRETS OF THE STONEHENGE IN VERSE
Dear Readers, I present a simplified version of the true story of the Stonehenge, on the Salisbury plains of Southern England, with over a million visitors every year. Declared as a World Heritage Site since 1986.Left out many technical details to curb the Length!
Hope you find this interesting to read.  Thanks, - Raj

SECRETS OF THE STONEHENGE IN VERSE
                     BY RAJ NANDY
                
                     INTRODUCTION
Shrouded in ancient legend, rituals and mystery,
Forming a part of ancient History, in the County of
Wiltshire on the rolling Salisbury plains,
Thirty miles north of the English Channel, stands the
megalithic structure  - The Stonehenge.
Dating back to some 3000 BC during the Neolithic Age,
Long before the Egyptian pyramids got made!
Some of its secrets have finally been unraveled by
Archeologists of our time and age.
It was a period when early humans changed over
from being nomadic hunter- gatherers,
To cultivate land and domesticate animals, to
become settled farmers.
This ushered in a new social change in the history
of Human progression,
Which got reflected in huge stone structures to
mark this advancement and occasion.
For these megalithic structures were bigger than
the tribes of men or the community;
Marked burial mounds and places for performing
sacred rites and magical healing rituals, for the
entire community.
Stonehenge was aligned to the mid-Summer and
mid-Winter Solstice, with the rising and the setting
Sun.
Served as an astronomical calendar for the turning
of Seasons, when crop cycles also begun.
Some scholars opine that it was used as a Lunar
Calendar as well,
Since Moon worship predates Sun worship by
Pre-historic men!
It was long before the invention of the wheel,
written script, and even metal implements.
This monumental structure speak of Stone Age
Briton’s greatest achievement!
(
Period covered is from Late Stone Age to the brink of
Bronze Age.)

BRIEF LAYOUT OF THE STONEHENGE
Cutting across myths and legends archeologists
and geologists have tried to piece together the
Stonehenge Story,
Which stood like an enigmatic puzzle for the
last Five Thousand Centuries!
Scholars say construction commenced around
3000 BC, but progressed only in stages spread
over the next fifteen centuries.
Initially, a large earthwork or a ‘Henge’ with a
circular ditch and a bank was made,
With 56 timber posts around the inner perimeter
on the windy Salisbury plains.
Used by primitive man as a burial place, but for
rituals later got linked to other smaller sites.
With processional avenues leading to River Avon,
to honor dead ancestors with sacred rites!
Entrance to the ‘Henge’ was marked by a pair of
upright Slaughter Stones weighing 28 tones, and
6.6 meters tall.
But only one remains today lying flat on the ground
after its fall!
Some 256 feet from center of the ‘Henge’ on the NE
Avenue once stood the Heel Stones 7.6 meters high!
As a marker for the Summer Solstice showing the
position of the rising Sun in the Midsummer sky!

          BLUE STONES FROM WALES:
Some 1000 years later, 82 Blue Stones were brought
from the Prescelli Mountains of Southern Wales;
And the earlier timber posts with these Blue stones
was replaced.
Each stone weighing around 4 tones, was brought
over a distance of some 250 miles to the plains of
Salisbury,
Loaded on hollowed out log boats fashioned like a
mini barge, to sail during high tide into the Bristol
Estuary!
Pulled over land on greased wooden rollers, and
loaded again on mini barges down the River Avon.
Since Avon flowed closer to the ‘Henge’ site in those
ancient days, which is now known!
(Some Scholars feel that the Blue Stones were swept down
closer to the Salisbury plain, during the close of the last Ice
Age! These Stones were believed to have powers of magical
cure too!)

              THE SARSAN STONES
During its final phase of development came the larger
23 ft tall Sarsan Stones, weighing some 44 tones.
From 20 miles north of the ‘Henge’ area dragged on
sledges and rollers from Marlborough Downs.
These stones now formed the outer ring capped with
stone lintels, replacing the Blue Stones;
And the Blues Stones were moved inwards and
rearranged in the horseshoe and circle shape, as
presently seen and known!
(NOTE: Sheer muscle power used to drag the stones with ropes
made from plant fiber of the indigenous lime bark soaked in
water for weeks. Stone lintels were sculpted in the shape of an
arc to cap the SARSAN Stones to form the outer circle. Wooden
scaffolding & ramps were used to hoist and position the heavy
stone lintels horizontally on top of upright stones! Sarsan Stones
were hard sandstones tougher than granite! However many of the
stones of this Ancient Ruin are missing, leaving some unanswered
questions behind.)

        CONCLUDING THIS TRUE STORY
Archeologists and scholars using radiocarbon dating
have tried to recreate the Stonehenge Story.
This ancient ruin with many unanswered questions,
now remain protected as an Iconic Monument of
British History!
It stands as an astronomical time clock and is also of
spiritual significance;
It also symbolizes the ingenuity of Human Mind, its
power, and endurance.
I conclude with a an extract from a poem by TS Salmon
about the STONEHENGE here below:-
“Warpt in veils of time’s unbroken gloom,
Obscure as death and silent as the tomb.
Where cold oblivion holds her dusky reign,
Frowns the dark pile on Sarum’s lonely plain.

Yet think not here with classic eye to trace,
Corinthian beauty or Ionian grace.
No pillored lines with sculptured foliage crowned,
No fluted remnants deck the hallowed ground.
Firm, as implanted by some Titan’s might,
Each rugged stone up rears its giant height.
Whence the poised fragment tottering seems to throw,
A trembling shadow on the plain below.”
(*Sarum = old name for Salisbury.)
Thanks dear Readers for your kind attention span ,
I have simplified by cutting short many details the
best as I can!
ALL COPYRIGHTS WITH RAJ NANDY OF NEW DELHI
E-mail: rajnandy21@yahoo.in
Andrew Parker Jan 2014
****** Poem
1/26/2014

In the mind of a ****** person who doesn't rarely ever get ******.

This is nice, getting to watch online videos on my laptop.
It is entertaining to think about.
Wow, what did people used to do in like ancient times when they got ****** without electronic devices?
Back in the ****** Ages, did they talk to horses in their stables or something?

I really wish I remembered to bring that guacamole to my bed,
I don't want to get up and grab it.  
ugh, but the salt sounds so tasty right now.
Hey, why do we say stuff like 'sounds tasty?'

Maybe I should write a poem about StonedHenge.  
haha henge henge
haha

Okay, that might have been a bit too much.
Do I always follow my stream of consciousness like that?
How long has this song been on?  
Wow, it feels like forever.

The point of this poem at the beginning of the high
was to demonstrate some big idea that I thought sounded really smart
but I think I've lost it now that I'm a ****** person who doesn't rarely ever get ******.
I'm gonna get up and get the guacamole, bye.
Pebbles Feb 2011
Cold stone
Circle
Power of the years
I stroke your surface
And try
To connect
To your history
When wondering on how you came to be
I have decided
That Giant's
Must have carried you on thier backs
There is no further explanation
I could possibly find
I have taken a little from you
Power that is
And I leave you a little behind of my own
cpy;2011 - inspired by a visit to Avebury yesterday morning - I so love it there :)
christhamF Oct 2011
Within a mere winds wisp
from the henge,
It stands, majestic.
Built by calloused hands,
Of stone pillar, carved
By centuries of raging Usk,
to rise above Isca Silurum.
The cambion desires and dreams,
Realised by this last enchantment.

Within a mere winds wisp
from the henge,
It falls, forlorn.
Razed by calloused hands,
To jealous rocks, wasted
By centuries of cooling Usk,
to lay beside Isca Silurum.
Staring at catherderal skies
over nights of firefly summer.

Two jacks, used.
I forgive my Camelot.
Oh, Tennessee wind is blowin',
Skies been lookin' grey.
**** hounds keep on whinin',
And I ain't seen your face.
Oh... in so many days...

I'd ask you over, baby,
But it seems there ain't no space.

Oh, Mose is in the front room,
Sleeping on the floor.
There's a leaky pipe in the bathroom,
And no henge on the door.

Oh, if I hardly please you,
Can't give you a home you'd like.
When I worry about the things I say,
Honey, that ain't no life.
I don't wanna die unfulfilled and empty;
I should live my life now or I will never be
Someone destined to make a change;
We are just a spec in time etching a name on a henge

Life is not a waiting room just so you know;
We must learn to hold onto something and learn to let go
A story involving you and me in a one big show;
God is the witness as we all walk life and learn to grow

Forever and ever a scar one way or another will always remain;
A reminder that we took a wound we cause ourselves just to stay sane
So we know that we are still alive by the methods of feeling pain;
God help us for insanity sometimes is what we only have to maintain...

Contemplations and thousand questions why seek answers we don't want to hear;
What's the truth we are looking for is already here breathing, closer than a tear
The one that falls from our eyes every night we feel troubled and praying for guidance;
But then every day we walk the lines of blasphemy and complete defiance...

So what do we want?We want heaven but we live like hell?;
So what do we need?We neglect to stand sometimes but easily grasp the ground where we fell?
Staying as low as we can and cowering deep, instead of looking up and reach for a climb;
So my friend start making up your mind cause' all life offers one thing and it's called "time"...
More of my life pondering poetry..Hope you guys see the lessons I wanna share where we all know deep within but neglect to follow sometimes \m/
ottaross Dec 2013
There among the lushly verdant
Mosses damp and darkest green
Enchanted by a single word and
They call to life the darkness queen.

She slept with one dark resolution
Born of ages long forgot
Sworn to find her retribution
For what his villainy had wrought.

Sorcery built his path immortal
Claimed her castle of the North
Centuries five bring forth a portal
The key? One word to call her forth.

In an old, forgotten oak chest
A parchment found, it told the tale
Three women struck out on the quest
Resisting rain and blowing gale.

Gathered round the glade of green
At time foretold by old quatrain
They prepared to raise the queen
One word to resurrect her reign.

Rising now from forest floor
From deep within the ancient henge
Brought forth she flies to wage her war
Raised-up by one brief word: "Revenge"
"Stolen Thoughts" project:
-First line borrowed from Kelly Rose's "Jacaranda Tree"
Mikey Pooler Aug 2016
This is the story of A boy whose name is unimportant, and to tell this story we'll have to go back in time.

To Samantha, A name which left foot prints  in his mind so enormous that he oftentimes could only remember his own in portions.

See? Such a name is why this boys name is so unimportant, and as for his story? Well we'll have to go back to a time where in his mind, a sense of time is precious and rare to find. Even his sense of mind is torn to portions.

Yet another of the boys increasing misfortunes from Samantha, and her foot prints ever so enormous.

So when the boy decides to try to go back in time to recall the crime which left him oh so distorted, when a robber bearing Samantha for a name rushed into his endorphins. To a time when his cerebral cortex was a door, and a name was its door henge.

He says;

"To tell this story of mine we must go back to a time when- well... when the colors first ceased to shine"
Mikey the Poet

A Poetic Story: PART I
(A Boy Whose Name Is Unimportant)


I'll be releasing this story in parts.
Kodjo Deynoo Aug 2010
On an island in the west country,..
In the Queen's land, where Black-beard,..
Once played on, as a young child..
And called his home, among the contours...
Chained men and tobaccos..
Once brought fortune lust..


Bridges were built, and train tracks laid..
By the man Brunel, who wore as long a hat..
Ships and cathedrals, sugar factories..
Bansky's graffiti, treasured marks on walls..
And stone-henge laid a stone throw away..


Roman baths, in near by Bath..
And underground passage, of tunnels..
Laid for walks and rivers paths..
Horse mountain and Welsh borders..
Sat not far away on looks, across the channel..


But for the one thing, that makes Brizz so special..
Is the sanctuary, it provides for lost souls..
This here laid land, a place like home..
Gulliver did be so proud, to call his home..
Away from home, as I do, away from home..
Briss Bristol  is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at www.poetrysoundbites.blogspot.com
Sidd Kingsley Jan 2012
Here I sit still, awaiting the answer,
Awaiting this testament,
Awaiting my retreat.
For soon will these
Closed doors be locked and unopened,
Or pushed to let light in, unshut and unsheathed.

A poor fool am I, who sits on her hands.
Talking in melodies, but ne’er across the land.
Whose voice is a weapon, but only in mind:
In soul, but not earth,
In heart, but not time.

The people have chosen, we stand in defeat.
No triumph,
Their triumph,
Inequality: not deceased.
We’re Animals, savages- away from the fields;
Asleep;
Unmoving;
No weapons to weild.

In silence, pure silence, I seek my revenge.
I seek out their vengeance, But only with eyes.
My mouth is tucked inward, held fast at the henge.
No words will escape me,
Nor actions,
Nor lies.

My heart is not true, so they say, so
I trust.
But my mind does not falter,
I know what is just.

For am I a lost cause?
I know it, I’ve seen it,
I’m not even true in my mind.
But Hope is a strong friend, an outcast as I am:
An outcast that oft leaves me blind.

And now I sit still, awaiting an answer,
Awaiting this testament
Awaiting my retreat.
My heart is a closed door, awaits to be opened.
Pushed to let light in, unshut and unsheathed.
I wrote this back in November of 2008.
A W Bullen Jul 2016
The melting toll of empty hours,- chaste

Among the dry-stone steeples,-stirs

The cobbled rune of foetal wonder.

Forgotten waifs, in teasing, see

The scheming torpor of our ways

Then mingle in the vaults of our regret,



Through half closed eyes the

Unremembered rise on drafts

Of innocence, to spell their names

In Spirit in these scuttled, pin drop Realms.

The utters of an arcane tongue  that

Whittled horses from the hill,  now merge

Into the chiseled henge of lanterned Citadels.
Those born in the " Chime- Hours" were said to have " The sight"...
Max Hale Jul 2018
Solstice midsummer is famous for revelry around the stones
The sacred stones on Salisbury plain
Laid as monuments by our ancestral people
The henge of countless moons and previous seasonal
wheel turns stands steadfast
Silently they hold the history we crave to unravel
The years of news, turmoil and worship
The rising and setting of our life-giving sun
The bitter cold winters, likewise winter solstice
Where few find solace holding their offerings
Or enjoying the feeble warmth from a far away star

The nature of Stonehenge carries the enigma
Which makes it special, mysterious and commands
Respect, awe and love
I believe like it's close neighbour Avebury
The Henge will remain enigmatic
A giant in the soil of the flat plains
Certain to give us the love it once received from Druidic
Peoples laying down their hopes and their wishes
Spending time absorbing, making and mending
Rekindling the connections around themselves
With the earth, through this massive conduit
The sacred stones everywhere hold their story
Close to their chest, the mirrored knowledge
That embraced the folk that built the magickal elements
Will be there for ever
Claiming the fascination of the masses but the respect
Of few that understand the real Stonehenge
Fish The Pig Jan 2015
ta meg hjem
gates bevoktet av Troll
sterke menn
sterke kvinner
sterke folk
la meg kjempe sammen
med deg
bror
søster
den kalde kan ikke skade oss
la oss gå hjem
til skjønnhet og fredelig
til frisk luft
og vennlig gatene
feire til Ragnarök
og henge vår elendigheter
på Yggdrassil
over bro
over Troll
der det hele begynte
la oss være brennende som våre forfedre
smart som vår kin
vi har fortsatt tid
la oss gå hjem,
la oss gå hjem,
la oss gå hjem,
Jeg lover til å pensjonere det en dag
Kamblamian Jul 2015
I had a great time.
would live to see you soon.
I'm fearful to see you
Because I know when I do that I might tremble.
I'm not sure if its because I don't know you well enough,

Or of its the fact that  I am betraying myself.

Mystery girl no more.
I'm am not an open door.
I know what it is I have been scouting.
So here I am mildly pouting
What is this though.
My legs are not a fashioned henge.
So I am a ***?
***** and rude because they don't split.
I'll take no banana
And that's just it...
All over **** place with my emotions
Khoisan May 2023
A
sword
for the sworn

A
palace
for the queen


A
bride
for the estate


A
head
above his fireplace


A
stone henge
of cobbled grace.
Queen Camilla of England
Tony Luxton Oct 2016
I'm told they marvelled
at the winter sun
rising through the henge
symbol of times gone
times to come, longer days
renewal of life's ways.

We think we understand
the coming and the going
the passage of the seasons
nights days fortunes made lost
death's cost and yet we fight.
Timothy hill Mar 2017
Beyond our milky way whats there.

Black is the summary, of all space it's tinted with the sun.

So how is there black.

Black is said to be pure creation, right so as birds and planes are full of flight.

We are here spining on a tilted axis.

And have yet to discover the all of its being.

If a simulation, is pure and high grade depition.

Reason of war, our experience is surprisingly devoted to evolution.

If doors didn't have henge would they be so useable.

Some what confusional I know this is.

With schedule being made and projections of completion becoming done.

We all are organized and fit to handle any task.

Achive we strive to ring the bell at the highest climb.

If all was made and designed what's the fun in the vines.

Optical illusion, the eye's can not figure out.

Why is five colors in different contrast make the eye see shapes.

Oh now two, dimensional objects weave threw space huge compared to 3d.

See in space out of gravity and radiation belts.

Sizes of objects get super sized.

There is no time, no limits no occupation.

In space of all concepts.
Space reality what is it.
Jay earnest Jun 2017
back at home they called me bart and they laughed whenever i'd say the word
jellybeans.


threw up on a bearded hipster gothic hermaphodrite on 2nd wave estrogen and on that
punk rock kick with
a hint of nu-metal

and a tinge of hip hop.

suicided inside the Walmart with one of the leaf-blowers and left the cart pusher to
remove of the carcass
and greeted by a nurse in LA.

haven't lost 33 pounds but am triying
with a steady diet of beans.

pinching my nostrils to look more ethnic.

on the board of racial relations and have received the ID
and now
conducting an interview with a guy in a stone tent in wales next to ****** henge when it reopened last sunday.


you know you're gonna have to go back to work tomorrow
and you're gonna have to put in twice the effort because
Jessica is sensing that you're 'falling behind' and it's essential that you
prove to this firm otherwise and pick up the slack
so these numbers don't continue to dwindle in this high-market season.

got a can of tuna, cold to these
lips.

banana up my ******* up to 6 inches half-way
****** for a day.

forehead is split
and eyeballs are soaked in ink.

back to the strip mall to get a free massage and sexually harass the
glass stand.

'NO.
TAKE MY MONEY AND SPEND IT ON ORANGES.

she cries a lot nowadays,

and I feel bad especially in the mornings,


and love has just turned bitter
but mostly tepid and
indifferent
sure
#k
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
earlier in the day i dropped into the local co-op for
two ciders and some cheap white ***...
jeez... like ******* on a star anise...
or eating a tablespoon of cinnamon with some
sichuan peppercorns: tong- 'umbing...
cheap ***** alcohol... no wonder it's a cringe fest...
sooner me: ******* a lemon - gratified than
this terrible escapade...
some five hours later i dropped in (again)
for two pints of milk...
first time round she was gearing up to her shift...
automating: hello, thank you, would you like
a receipt, would you like a bag...
have a nice day... paid by card...
oh i wasn't going to let her get away that
easily... for a cashier... god... what a lovely sight!
a sight before Picasso's **** with cubism...
hair done in an onion fold... or however
Shiva does his bun of hair...
such a lovely sight...
that running joke about how copper wire was
invented: two scots arguing over a penny...
the englishman has the least amount of money
in his wallet... since he'd sooner pay for a 90 pence
bottle of milk with a debit card than
cough up a piece of metal with ol' Lizzy's
effigy on it...
    i rummaged the house for a pound:
of value... not of weight...
        upon payment i placed the pound sort of:
"funny" into her hand...
some strange sort of magic: tensed muscles...
excessively protruding knuckles without
a fist... whatever it was... i managed to steal her
eyesight... she gave me a 10 pence change
and eyed me with those most feline sort of eyes...
darting with mascara and auxiliary enigmas...
blue... green eyed boy meets a blue eyed girl...
immediately that same pull...
like when my cat started to pronounce her hind
when being groomed...
those eyes are an anchor... i'm sinking...
what day is it tomorrow?
                   good on me for having a bicycle
and not a car...
no m.o.t., no road tax... no insurance...
  plus in London with the "green" congestion
charge creeping up to include the A406...
tube... bus... train... bicycle...
i'd sooner get to Hyde Park on my bicycle
than if i left the house and used public transport...
hell... i could have asked: fancy a quickie in
the Bower forest... midnight... the moon ought
to be ******...
all this from... placing a pound coin funny on
her hand... jeez... i must have touched some nerve
ending... woken up a nervy octopus...
her pupils started to squirt ink all over me
while i ended up walking home with two pints
of milk and an イレズミ that not only covered
my back but my entire face...

summa summarum...
me &... dating? when i can excavate so many words
from a meeting of eyes that entwines for
about a second and as briskly: feverishly
disappears: i wouldn't want a profile debauchery...
uncomfortable meh and & oh sows...

... eclipse mount gay Barbados ***...
a *** so refined it can be drank solo... straight...
better than mr. whiskers & ms. amber...
*** so good... it tickles the left side of my brrr
ain...
my nose and makes my moustache into a frizzle...
moustache: mouse... t'ache: take...
moose: t'ash...
on point with the katakana:
five free standing vowels
but only one consonant...

                 no ideograms... almost Hangul...
not as compact: terrible in terms of punctuation...
lower case upper case: non-existent...
oh and if you were to throw in
that who shebang when katakana is discarded
and hiragana is employed: interchangeably...

agreed... you ought to have an ideogram
for... say... red squirrel (somewhere):
risu aka... or aka risu...
                                       リス赤
a bit like... our, western, ******* by comparison:
emoticons... eh... a little bit less of everything...
but i will not have the same fascination
with ideograms like Ezra did...
however complex the skeleton...
what comes at the end of the complication
is still somewhat of a shared sound...
shove shoe into shackles...
call it: foot... if you'd like...

but ideograms and... say... traffic lights...
prompts... surds... almost...
see green: go! *******! go!
amber... gamble...
red... stop! stop!
why isn't green replaced with blue?
blue i.e. go water go!
perhaps because if it were blue...
in direct sunlight... it would not be all that much
visible?
i don't know i don't care
for once i don't want a scientific explanation...
science was fun... no... since chemistry and the thrill
of alchemy has... been exhausted...
toothpaste... shampoo... we're good to go...

back to the chemistry of the kitchen...
just wait while i drop a black cardamom grenade
into the the topic of cooking up
a biryani... "risotto"... you'll be gagging for
a sip of Laphroaig...

i need to visit the brothel...
hmm... i just read this one article in the printed press...
losers... losers everywhere...
as a fatalist: winning is hardly: winning...
losing is a de facto: delay button:
buttoned up tux... smart penguins one minute...
choking seagulls the next...
that i read the printed press: in paper...
well... with all the weekend magazines...
art critics... t.v. critics... restaurant critics...
fashion...
i like to read what solipsists read...

"incels are crackpots and not philosophers"...
james: not the Marriot 'otel...
i was going for a joke...
an incel, a jihadi... a don juan walk into a bar...
into a nunnery...
better still... an incel, a jihadi and...
jimmy savile walk into an orphanage...
at least one walks out an Abraham...
is that even a joke?
who's winning? status...
they're still going on about the fate of Afghanistan
like it matters to them: not being Afghans...
oh how the women will suffer!
Louis... calm Louise...
it's not like the rest of the... Ummah cared that
much about Afghanistan to begin with...
the fleabag riddled infested cave dwelling
cousins of... an idea that is now...
the absurdity of Dubai...
a bit like my romance with the Scots...

what about the jihad that ought to take place
to... free those Chinese Muslims
in the indoctrination camps?
no jihad for the Uyghurs i suspect...
evil west... blah blah... ******* blah...
i'm going to slobber on that f- and subsequent blah...
for m'ah UMMAH!

- i almost forgot how much fun it is to cycle from
outer London into... a tourists' paragraph...
gall: i was, oh i was... so so... amazed...
by the sights!
my favourite sights...
stern suited "alpha" males of Bank
through to the sugar babies of Oxford St...
if one oriental chick didn't take a fancy
at this "viking": flash her knickers:
Rolling Stones?! where?! where?!
i would be surprise...
through little Sri Lanka through
to an even bigger kaput: of Islamabad...
sorry... but coming to Marble Arch...
those drums... those red flags with Arabic script...
m'eh... some holiday... Dickens was cited...
i got off my bicycle and fell on the greener
than grass symptom of.. something...

lay there... caressing what somehow would
have been a beard... or the top of my head...
oops... gravity and this bulging sack load of:
running dry the project of society...
amphetamine charged:
running dry on dinosaur-juice!
drums & the whole celebration...
i almost picked up a raven feather
i almost pulled out my makeshift
hand-pistol and pulled the trigger at the audacious
drummers...

it's their own: you know... Hyde Park is...
living the livid part of...
all is the living the livid part of
Hazlitt wrote a book about it...
containing hatred: with proper categorisation
of where to deposit the required effort...
well... a momentum ******* like
no other! contempt breeds contempt...
if i am a "westerner" deemed contemptible
by these... sophisticated:
people... cave-dwelling folk... discovered
fire... by way of the Quran... no worries...
i'm just waiting for the invasion
of the Polacks... hell... i'll see what the Russians
are up to... ***** chess ***** chess...
literature... knee depth: alias: no need
to bother...
contempt breeds contempt...

otherwise London looks pricey...
i still like to be the tourist on a ******* bicycle
ever now & then...
CS2 *****... those cyclists are like
pedestrians... let me sing joy in clinging
to proper traffic... trucks... buses... HUVs HGVs...
whatever... that overpass over the Bow roundabout
just gleamed: it SCREAMED! i'm empty... ride me!
so i did...
ha... a man and his bicycle: too bad
it wasn't a horse...
to hell with the car... me: i peddle... i generate my own
momentum...
head full of cashews...
enough pressure and the proper sort of attire
of the tire... cwunch: rrrrr-everse...
a puddle of gangrene meddling in oats on
the pave-                           -ment...

quintessential 1990s song...
crowded house: take the weather with you...
or the Afghan cave network...
which might make the Mexicans shy up:
sober... ******* spastic fantastic:
straight line dig...
but not the flea-infested last cousins
of the Ummah... beginning with
Dubai... of course the Muzzies have
no problem with their brethren sitting on
dinosaur juice... wasting it...
cities in the desert!
castles in clouds!

daffodils on make-shift islands in the middle
of the Pacific: watch the Taiwanese blush...
best to look the part...
status: WINNER... whiner...
appearances are everything...
the devil didn't come with fire & sulphur...
he came with... smoke & mirrors...
gesticulating: like Lee Evans...
this... elbow... doesn't... "row" / "work"...

spaz fantasticsch...

people take photographs of themselves:
no one ever hardly has their picture taken...
onanism par with the monobrow of
that... quizzical "Quixote"... of the haxan
brush strokes... never mind...
spot the alpha male spot
the eye-blinders!
om om... mega mega: *****-****-show:
best perform... in latex and no ******:
snooze the *******... please... ha...
ah... hmm...

we through with the greek alphabet?
no beta orbiters?
good to know some people managed to...
sort life out...
they kept busy... out of every instance:
a persistence... hey presto!
post-existentialism!
no no... we're done with concerns...
we're going to do a magic carpet ride...
right now...
conventional use of language is alreaady
too busy with journalistic antics
keeping up with the rubric...
2 x 2 =

          bring me fire! it's time to learn from
Islam... well... if the Mongols are not willing
to plunder one more time...
for a surname in Pakistan being: Khan...
but... the genes... being diluted thus...
no sign of lemon ******* sputnik in the eyes...
well then...
inter-racial breeding...
it dilutes itself after about two generations...
it's a nice idea...
landlocked in mirrors...
guess the time: call it sea...

mind you... "you"?! i was boggled down in this...
times cryptic crossword no. 28,058...
i'm terrible with crosswords...
looks like the grandfather of
sudoku died... マキ (aerials... ki... key...)
       カ (k'ah... i can almost see the ア...
but Shinto emoticons help me... i can't see the...
K's at)...
               Yi: jaw dropping: jittering: alias
for a gloated in giggles Jinn... drunk sober
on gin...
that's Yi: Ye! not an upper-case Greek:
by the gammon load... pierces pearls...
and skin so... troublesome it ought to require...
dying the hair: PINKSCH...

maybe just maybe i'm terrible at crosswords
because i'm entrenched in bilingualism...
suppose i give you a clue...
then the whim...

      not British, Weimar dramatist is
genuine...
                      ECHT...
that's einz? the one time a german will utter
the letter Z like it's not a slavic C
via the cyrilic ц?
    *****... probably works miracles
where otherwise **** ought to do...
            
some script - girl mostly follows it...
   ITALIC...

conjuring ghosts seems to be a science:
by comparison...

ECHT EIGHT EXT... yes.. i have Eaten...
have i ate? yes... but am i late to
whatever is happening in ol' Liban?
no... i'm pretty sure to be on time...

i'll cycle through to central London
once more... come tomorrow...
i'll hijack Brick Lane...
by pebble by pebble
and make it near impossible to cycle
a road-bike on cobwebbed streets..
because of the 23cm wheels...

freezing point: if i had children...
such are the latitudes of joys...
the best thoughts come:
but i will not be deserving a funeral...
there will not be a procession...
i'll simply... tidy up...
i'll disappear...

for a while i imagined myself
the speed demon stabbing myself
in the neck... in the thighs...
anywhere available to make a relief
of the suckling oysters to the female
genitals...

oh cruel cruel nature...
why so unforgiving... ha... ah ha...
so realistic... so... intrinsically: charged...
fickle wording: pudding...
my half cleft hiding position
in the ***** of the hardest 'ock... roar...
akimbo one calls it...

Faroe Faroe...
       greyish skid... "jeg" blomstrer...
"den": vilje... henge...
hen-gh'eh...

              i love women... but it's a terrible
"idea" to **** a ******...
i prefer prostitutes...
not that i have lost anything...
or gained anything...
is it anything nothing more or less...
anxious western beta orbiters looking for
a hook-up...
i don't want to be a banker...
i don't want status...
i don't want the world...

            none of this envy churning crap will
work on me...
whatever the size of the harem...
between you & me...
David or Solomon?
David... for defeating Goliath...
and writing the Psalms...
of course Solomon is the king of Envy...
king Solomon:
la Rachefauc...

                   le rachelacaut

la rochefoucauld... Solomon...
wisdom or a man... arrayed with keeping
a harem... anyone could be wise...
if he had... entry to pillow-talk...
wet-a-*****... in a harem...
oh **** me... all the wisest hebrews
gesticulate...
by the signs of the cross...
rabbi i... please do not put my name down
on the future plundering:
this here: "reserved" whiskers... ahem...
whizz...                      -dom....

HAUSÉ....

honest­ly? the Cyrillic alphabet?
looks like cheap-****...
it's somewhat Greek... but...
but... it's a work-around...
i can work with it... what are my alternatives?
******* Glagolitic Croat?
Filmore Townsend Jan 2017
starting, this power that's been so very
missed; longing, staring, as instrument become
effigy. no one tried burning it, though. maybe
a stake pre-posted could have helped with
that; then again, people don't like to be told
where, and most importantly what, to burn in
ritual. some family traditions die hard, or more
so, don't die at all. much like turtles - figure it
out; that's some analaphor. (that's some mis-
pronunciation, huh) and, here's a little add-in:
time will find this half-sheet; something, some
intangible being means to an answer. I never
even posed a question; paradoxical. You kept
me aware when a trip went a little too hard.
i have a timidness when thought turns to losing
this vessel. i'll ******* lose it someday, of course,
mind the blind; there, worlds not shined. hasn't
been but their static for some time. work from
the bottom once more; a henge of stones named
a pyramid - that thought crashed, but a quick
wit could bring us back around to the topic of
catacombs. but, nope. nothing.
102516

thought process: letters
Megan Sherman Feb 2022
Would life ***** a challenge
Within my path to bliss
I would seek the henge
By gods and spirits kissed
A portal to the ancient time
That’s gone and very missed
Beget to me the bardic rhyme
In I, the music, tryst
Pip Jun 2018
The church bells ring softly
The dreamers think fondly
A dark veil lowers over the unity
Of a sullen, gray community
Hymns are sung in sorrow
But the sun will rise tomorrow
Will they try again?
They're going to give in
Demons sing a chorus
For the one who went before us
Knowing he will seek revenge
On the one that broke him off henge
The angels gaze in fear
Knowing his goal is so clear
The lost heir of the world
Smiles as his flags unfurl
He'll haunt the man that brought him his demise
More generations in on the surprise
He bares his fangs are the world that brought him down
He won't go out until he's worn his agate crown
The people that once loved him
Now he has them by the chin
No flowers on his grave
No sacrifices gave
He spends all his hours
Toppling world powers
The ones that loved his novelty
Shrink back from his cruelty
After a while the generations found a way
To shield him away from the light of day

But here he comes
What great fun
Watching all the children scream
Look closely you'll see the gleam
There, the eyes
See their prize
And lean in for the kiss
Now he's the king and there's no one to dismiss
The killing sprees
The fantasies
He accomplished in one blow
Make sure all the world will know
Growing unrest
Puts him to the test
Can he handle it alone
No, he can't make it on his own
He claimed his reward
And was taken by the sword

The church bells ring softly
The dreamers think fondly
A dark veil lowers over the unity
Of a sullen, gray community
nivek Nov 2018
I asked for help from the ancestors
(our skin and bones)

(Someone played dice)

and someone beat the drum

We met in a ring of Stones

in Orkney. We had travelled
from Stone Henge a place

where the police had beat us
and beat our caravan of life
into a small and smaller ring
of some kind of fake life.

Scattered in body
so alive in spirit.

I live here in Orkney
where ring of stones
you can dance around

and be at peace.
Tom Shields Aug 2022
Discomfort with ambiguity
the theme of closure
here's a hard life lesson:
the Pyramids weren't designed or built by cryptids
desperation for grand designs
Stone Henge credited to alien hominids
crossing the divining lines separating man's minds
from imagining human kind capable, and inescapable
reliable and just lie, re-lie, deceitful and deceivable
great apes, savage, and unnoble, creationist crops
ripe and now grim reapable, ****** slider switch hits
the oozing of faith, confidence and humanity feels seepable
no human accomplishment is keepable, on a potter's field for all history
the blueprint of unfollowable chaos randomly defined a grand design, is sleepable
there, ignore, snoring minds, theories strictly confined the outer possibilities
orbiting the thin air, small grey planets choked in binds, rock belts on too tight
it's as simple as the biblical angel or the unknowable terror that breaks the fabric of reality
an alien, with no context or understanding, nothing to draw from our own civilization applies
there is no fathomable way to anticipate contact or the endless anxieties
nothing to predicate how, if, we might communicate
it's a topic of marketable thought sold, undermining even the atrocities
slavery and brick layers longest days because it's more fun to think about
with a PHD, than lecture on practicality applied to those degrees,
there's certainly a more pragmatic audience for it; the enticing unknown
holds meaning, planetarily.
write
please read and enjoy
Jason Apr 2021
Like an alchemist, allow me to separate water from dirt,
I'm gonna be honest here, so please forgive me if this hurts.

She thought I cheated, so she cheated in revenge,
She thought I lied so she kept her secrets like Stone Henge.

"I know what you think of fate," she said to me,
Then she quoted some other man's philosophy.

She said she wanted to talk, then recited season 2 of Dawson's Creek,
I lost my temper and cursed her, then apologized for a straight week.

I knew for sure when she had me collect her, drunk, from that house,
She thought me *****-whipped, but I was a loyal dog, quiet as a mouse.

She said to me, "Here, talk to my boyfriend,"
Then she laughed and handed the phone to him.

A panicked hour I drove to rescue her from drugs and beer,
Only to be stopped at the door with, "Jason, don't come in here!"

He tipped her, stumbling, out the door, then said, snotty and crude,
"Take her, we're done with the *****." Man, I wanted to punch that dude.

I lay daily in a pathetic puddle of tears and teenage despair,
I sought only her voice, her friendship, maybe some form of repair.
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4306036/pestering/

I split this into two poems cause basically this is all personal **** nobody will really care about. Hi if you're here. <3

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