"hopewell" poems - Hello Poetry

We sat in the overlook above the Serpent Mound in the heat of that garish July afternoon, sunlight scorching our pallid skin, like rays through a magnifying glass, till we could endure no more and sought the shroud of skyscraper elms --- halfway houses of leaf, bark and cellulose. Minutes before we'd signed our names in the visitors book, like giddy high-schoolers autographing a yearbook, recording our wayward lover's sojourn to a site the Hopewell worshipped in celebration of existence. For what purpose do we worship this ground? I wondered as we walked beside the curving icon, that undulated in rolled earthen coils down the slope, sine-waves loosed from a colossal oscilloscope. Are these coils symbolic of our future's meandering relationship? Her exploring hand upon my **** drew me from thought to evaluation of this unexpected caress. But for the heat, I'd have shown her what idle foreplay begets! *Great Serpent, this was not Eden's carnal karma acted out in a second Genesis!* --- though a symbolic egg spews from your mouth.

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Mar 1, 2012

Mar 1, 2012 at 2:10 PM UTC

brian-oarr

Fertility Rite at Brush Creek

We sat in the overlook above the Serpent Mound in the heat of that garish July afternoon, sunlight scorching our pallid skin, like rays through a magnifying glass, till we could endure no more and sought the shroud of skyscraper elms --- halfway houses of leaf, bark and cellulose. Minutes before we'd signed our names in the visitors book, like giddy high-schoolers autographing a yearbook, recording our wayward lover's sojourn to a site the Hopewell worshipped in celebration of existence. For what purpose do we worship this ground? I wondered as we walked beside the curving icon, that undulated in rolled earthen coils down the slope, sine-waves loosed from a colossal oscilloscope. Are these coils symbolic of our future's meandering relationship? Her exploring hand upon my **** drew me from thought to evaluation of this unexpected caress. But for the heat, I'd have shown her what idle foreplay begets! *Great Serpent, this was not Eden's carnal karma acted out in a second Genesis!* --- though a symbolic egg spews from your mouth.

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partially due to the weather, state of the roads. these are not just closed due to snow, some as cars slide, cause a commotion. it is a steep hill, the crimea, some call it a mountain steeped in history. plans change, while the bus windows remain ***** sbm. nails #notes and jottings Esgidiau Meirw Boot Dump, Moel Bowydd Primary Reference Number (PRN) : 14626 Trust : Gwynedd Community : Ffestiniog NGR : SH69924845 Site Type (preferred type first) : Modern REFUSE DISPOSAL SITE Legal Protection : Description : A mound of slate waste covered to an unknown depth with the (?burnt) remains of thousands of hobnail boots, heel plates, nails, eyelets etc. Dimensions 40 x 30 x 2.5m. <1> A low mound about 35m in diameter lies to the east of the A470 (Plate 66). Its earliest phase consists of slate waste from a shallow linear working shown on the 1889 OS 25 map. This is almost entirely covered by a dump of waste boots. The upper layer consists entirely of heel plates, eyelets, nails, screws, sole shanks and occasional sole plates (Plate 67). Beneath this is a thick layer of ash, also containing metal fittings. Until quite recently there was a grave slab with a pair of boots incised on it along with the inscription Esgidiau Meirw (dead shoes). The stone now lies on the wall of PRN 14777 (Plate 68). It was probably moved by the land-owner for safe keeping after being daubed with paint. The dump is known locally as Tomen Sgidiau (boot dump) and dates from World Wall II. The boots are rejects from a factory that was set up in Blaenau Market Hall to recycle old boots and shoes for the army. (Hopewell, 2005) A low heap of slate waste lying to the east of the present main road. The tip is covered with the rusted metal fittings of a large number of hob nailed boots, and other small metal waste, including nuts and bolts. There is also a significant quantity of a fine silty material – possibly the residue of burnt and decayed leather. On top of the mound is a slate grave slab with a pair of boots incised upon it and the inscription “Esgidiau Meirw” (dead shoes). The feature is thought to be a World War II army boot dump. (Riley & Roberts, 1995) Sources : Riley, H. & Roberts, R. , 1995 , A470(T) Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement ( © GAT) Hopewell, D. , 2005 , A470 Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement Pt I & II ( © GAT) Hopewell, D. , 2000 , Upland Survey 2000 , <1> Events : 40503 : Gwynedd Upland Survey 1999-2000 Moel Bowydd (year : 2000) 43801 : A470 Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement: Archaeological Recording PtI&II; (year : 2005) 40295 : A470(T) Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement (year : 1995) see also boot dump incomplete blog https://sonjabenskinmesher.wordpress.com/2015/03/26/boot-dump-2/

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Jan 16, 2016

Jan 16, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC

sonja-benskin-mesher

. plans change .

partially due to the weather, state of the roads. these are not just closed due to snow, some as cars slide, cause a commotion. it is a steep hill, the crimea, some call it a mountain steeped in history. plans change, while the bus windows remain ***** sbm. nails #notes and jottings Esgidiau Meirw Boot Dump, Moel Bowydd Primary Reference Number (PRN) : 14626 Trust : Gwynedd Community : Ffestiniog NGR : SH69924845 Site Type (preferred type first) : Modern REFUSE DISPOSAL SITE Legal Protection : Description : A mound of slate waste covered to an unknown depth with the (?burnt) remains of thousands of hobnail boots, heel plates, nails, eyelets etc. Dimensions 40 x 30 x 2.5m. <1> A low mound about 35m in diameter lies to the east of the A470 (Plate 66). Its earliest phase consists of slate waste from a shallow linear working shown on the 1889 OS 25 map. This is almost entirely covered by a dump of waste boots. The upper layer consists entirely of heel plates, eyelets, nails, screws, sole shanks and occasional sole plates (Plate 67). Beneath this is a thick layer of ash, also containing metal fittings. Until quite recently there was a grave slab with a pair of boots incised on it along with the inscription Esgidiau Meirw (dead shoes). The stone now lies on the wall of PRN 14777 (Plate 68). It was probably moved by the land-owner for safe keeping after being daubed with paint. The dump is known locally as Tomen Sgidiau (boot dump) and dates from World Wall II. The boots are rejects from a factory that was set up in Blaenau Market Hall to recycle old boots and shoes for the army. (Hopewell, 2005) A low heap of slate waste lying to the east of the present main road. The tip is covered with the rusted metal fittings of a large number of hob nailed boots, and other small metal waste, including nuts and bolts. There is also a significant quantity of a fine silty material – possibly the residue of burnt and decayed leather. On top of the mound is a slate grave slab with a pair of boots incised upon it and the inscription “Esgidiau Meirw” (dead shoes). The feature is thought to be a World War II army boot dump. (Riley & Roberts, 1995) Sources : Riley, H. & Roberts, R. , 1995 , A470(T) Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement ( © GAT) Hopewell, D. , 2005 , A470 Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement Pt I & II ( © GAT) Hopewell, D. , 2000 , Upland Survey 2000 , <1> Events : 40503 : Gwynedd Upland Survey 1999-2000 Moel Bowydd (year : 2000) 43801 : A470 Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement: Archaeological Recording PtI&II; (year : 2005) 40295 : A470(T) Blaenau Ffestiniog to Cancoed Improvement (year : 1995) see also boot dump incomplete blog https://sonjabenskinmesher.wordpress.com/2015/03/26/boot-dump-2/

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Dream of liberated fields, Producing penicillin And choking life out of The cholera of gunfire. Don't fear words summoned At the grave, They describe places we only Wish there'd been time to Know more intimately. This hour of reflection is then Half the battle --the battle no one wins. "Soldier on, ossuary! Soldier on!" Perhaps, we've reached The nadir of the Hopewell. How could we not?

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Oct 22, 2019

Oct 22, 2019 at 10:59 PM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

Dusk at Charnel House

Dream of liberated fields, Producing penicillin And choking life out of The cholera of gunfire. Don't fear words summoned At the grave, They describe places we only Wish there'd been time to Know more intimately. This hour of reflection is then Half the battle --the battle no one wins. "Soldier on, ossuary! Soldier on!" Perhaps, we've reached The nadir of the Hopewell. How could we not?

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These days are for the daisies, accented with juniper and babies breath A gazebo beneath a tree like shade on a cloudy afternoon With our glasses more vertical than not; I drink you in and swear away the day She smiles, because I stare off for long periods of time Reasoning, that I don't want her to catch me gazing at what I have no right to love A gardener's guilt Plucking the ripe and ready It's the time of season for cessation The paradoxical harvest An event of sustenance and death A consumer has no sensation other than taste A carnivore only taste one flavor Your flesh on the vine A rare and coveted commodity Past vintages become quartets of meaningless digits, like discarded combinations on a constantly changing tumbler The fortuitous ones will eventually get their chance, but only after the horticulturist has gotten his fill For I have forced breath into you Developing your unique character With subtle augmentations to your composition; and experience above all else Only the most bitterly tortured fruit becomes wine of notoriety A sadistic vintner periodically sampling the evolution of his wares Very often the inflictions are bored by both master and slave I feel it in you It's the only time I do Feel Misery is contingent upon company A fool's philosopher With flawless adages and quips He is no different Eventually we all will be met with the contradictions of our exasperated convolutions Then where will you be? Why, you have been made golden! A hopewell beacon amongst the treacherous and ****** You are now nebulous and immaculate Like the figure encased with in the marble Does the sculpture recall the stripping sensation induced by the artisanal hands of the craftsman? Or is it's ears filled with the clamoring? Ingrates and dolts who only appreciate the product rather than the steadfast passions of it's means Amongst the gawking gazers I am indistinguishable; as you are now to me

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Aug 2, 2018

Aug 2, 2018 at 2:14 PM UTC

Fimfivver

Napa

These days are for the daisies, accented with juniper and babies breath A gazebo beneath a tree like shade on a cloudy afternoon With our glasses more vertical than not; I drink you in and swear away the day She smiles, because I stare off for long periods of time Reasoning, that I don't want her to catch me gazing at what I have no right to love A gardener's guilt Plucking the ripe and ready It's the time of season for cessation The paradoxical harvest An event of sustenance and death A consumer has no sensation other than taste A carnivore only taste one flavor Your flesh on the vine A rare and coveted commodity Past vintages become quartets of meaningless digits, like discarded combinations on a constantly changing tumbler The fortuitous ones will eventually get their chance, but only after the horticulturist has gotten his fill For I have forced breath into you Developing your unique character With subtle augmentations to your composition; and experience above all else Only the most bitterly tortured fruit becomes wine of notoriety A sadistic vintner periodically sampling the evolution of his wares Very often the inflictions are bored by both master and slave I feel it in you It's the only time I do Feel Misery is contingent upon company A fool's philosopher With flawless adages and quips He is no different Eventually we all will be met with the contradictions of our exasperated convolutions Then where will you be? Why, you have been made golden! A hopewell beacon amongst the treacherous and ****** You are now nebulous and immaculate Like the figure encased with in the marble Does the sculpture recall the stripping sensation induced by the artisanal hands of the craftsman? Or is it's ears filled with the clamoring? Ingrates and dolts who only appreciate the product rather than the steadfast passions of it's means Amongst the gawking gazers I am indistinguishable; as you are now to me

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