*Image found HERE


my hair like a brushstroke
digging through pallets
of mushed strawberry and pale grape,
rippling like a cold glass of sangria,
through the silence of wreckage and late sleep,
searching for where do we begin
between the clouds streaking through
the veins, ripe and blue
of disenchanted entities,
distant, loose ends
over orchards of concrete.

They dream of us,
as supermarkets,
hand grabs and rows
of love and sadness,
eager palms for their mouth water,
instant soup.
When they yawn,
our most nurtured offal extends
gone, swallowed, melted
like vanilla pudding
among the lanterns and lights,
quiet and waiting,
stretched across the street
like drool.
There is morning, in a white suit,
polished, collared, expiring
with the steady clockwork.
There is a dozen stewardesses,
elegantly black, wildly docile,
taking their lunch break,
dropping the Sun’s teeth
in their coffee like sugar.

Most birds are gone,
except the ones that orphaned
sing in the belly of the machine,
a cruel wind
mingles through the sleeves
of drying laundry
and it kisses dead,
it stirs bone dust in the ectoplasm
of suburbia.
I scratch through the schedule,
I am shredding meanings,
I’m demanding answers;
a graffiti on Russian,
which I do not speak,
tells with its darkened fingers
“We want, hence we are screwed.”

I am searching
for the words
that were not planned

In a square of asphalt,
a parcel, edges white,
almost like calculated innocence,
the square like a deserted island, a land
that I own,
the land
that owns me

and words, never tailored or touched
to debug an emperor’s lung
and unhinge it versus the limbs of oaks
stoic over the wheezing river;
words as raw blood
running amok the music boxes,
I inhale for no predetermined chaos,
like wildflowers in hordes
that pushed their heads
through hoarfrost,
to meet the geography of my waste,
swaying in rows,
in detention, beauty in spite
the rule of season,
the naked, the white –

an angel of golden strands
strolls there, beguiles,
touches every stalk, every leaf,
gazes into every eye;
he drives
his beige, metallic SUV
over their verdant beds,
he does what he does
and does not regret,
but carnages, and smiles,
like it must be done.
With things.

He knows of blessings
and of timely hours
and what needs die, and when
exactly will a flaming star
adorn the world again
and keep secret the trade
from unsuspecting visitors
that ask too much.
An angel would know, after all,
what should and should not be touched
or asked,
but did and done.

I don’t.
I search for living crickets
inside myself,
drowning in evaporated lilac,
draining the sound of myself
to the distant buzz of steam engines.
I hoard decapitated stems,
I am growing us to learn
where do we begin,
where do we end,
where are we between the gears,
half flesh, half bronze
and it makes me
sit for hours
at the parking lot
behind my building and cry;
like a human,
to believe.

*Sharing with dVerse OpenLink Night. Do hop over and have a read at the amazing contributions.


~ by Oloriel on November 23, 2016.

28 Responses to “Archaeology”

  1. Your images are so believable and real, yet you manage to make suburbia surreal.. (maybe that what it really is)… Maybe that how it seems on the edge of separation, in that shadow where it’s not really dark and where we just sustain.

  2. What you are learning is that we don’t know where the beginning is and where the ending is. We are merely caught in what you call the gears in between. No wonder you cry. I cry, too.
    My humble thoughts are just my opinion on your eloquent thoughts.
    I do like parking lots & alleys for a place to think. Often I find art, which usurps my thoughts.

  3. Da da, to je to. Stavio sam psy video na blog pa sam se sjetio da je neka psy figura pratila moj blog, i brijem da si ti ta figura.


    Ne znam, ne ide mi čitanje poezije na engleskom. Promakne mi nit kad prevodim cijelo vrijeme u glavi.

    Ja nisam neki trancer, ali volim poslušat. Ali znam ja tu ekipu: samo jedete gljive i pljačkate benzinske i opasni ste.

    Ma ja sam sAMO SVRATIO POZDRAVIT i sad sam skužio da mi se caps lock upalio ali mi se jednostavno ne da brisat pa ponovo pisat malim slovima.


    I vidim da imaš puno followera i to je zanimljivo jer to znači da utječeš na masu ljudi a to znači da bi te uskoro iluminati mogli roknut.

    Ali to je samo moja pretpostavka.







    Zlatni lanac

    • Jao coveche, fala ti ko rodjenom, odavno se nisam ovako srcano nasmejala. Nemam ja veze sa transevima i gljivama nikakvam, ja sam ti klasichna metalika 😀 Iluminatima da kazesh da uspeju iz prvog puta!
      I u pravu si, pratim tvoj blog, i svidja mi se kako pishesh jako. Nisam u poslednje vreme mnogo na WordPressu, pa oprosti sto ne posecujem tako cesto.
      Pozdrav i zadrzi sve ovo za liste, ja bih neko penziono 😀

  4. you wove long rich suburban images

  5. I wish for the angels to lift us up and do our work ~ But I do empathize with the despair and angst in the cycle of never-ending questions ~ Really enjoyed the city scenes but mostly, the hope in the ending lines ~ Enjoyed the rich images of your work ~ Thanks for joining us at OLN ~

    • Thank you very much for your heartfelt comment, Grace, I wish for the same thing you describe, but sometimes I get hit with the fact that life is often a harsh contrast between what we wish for and what we deserve.
      Thank you very much for the opportunity to share my work! 🙂

  6. What amazing sensory images you collate to create such an atmosphere. I so enjoy watching people, in parking lots, terminals, doctor’s offices, coffee shops–wherever. Always such a source of inspiration and, for those of us who write prose, dialogue and story ideas.

    • Thank you very much for reading and writing to me. I completely agree, observing the people in their mundane activities is so much inspirational, it always inspires me to write poetry.

  7. /a powerful , powerful poem. I’ve read it 2x but I need time to digest. The imagery is strong and at some points, overwhelming but perhaps it’s just the ‘shock of the new’ and overwhelming to me, and no one else. The despair, and then the raw humanity at the end….this also reminds me of some of W. Stevens powerful work….your imagery soars.

    • Thank you very much for taking the time to read and comment. I understand completely what you mean when you say “overwhelming”, so don’t feel bad about it or like you need to force an understanding or embracing. I hope you can cling to the hope of humanity in the closing lines 🙂

  8. A cascade of gorgeous images…

  9. I agree, your images are vibrant with depth and emotion ❤️

  10. I think this is beautiful and I thought the first stanza set the scene so well- it felt like we were lost and buried between the lies we were sold about the world we could have and that now we are left with the realisation that however tarnished it is all we have and we have to somehow survive and make it strong. Thankyou for writing this.

    • Thank you very much for sharing your beautiful words with me, I am delighted that despite the gloom tones of my poem, you eagerly and openly let it speak to you. I really appreciate that!
      Thank you once again for reading and writing to me, and have a wonderful, wonderful day! 🙂

  11. Love the phrase “dropping the Sun’s teeth in their coffee like sugar.”

    • Thank you very much for reading and commenting!
      I never know if people from around the world use the same expression for Winter Sun. When it is sunny but very cold, we say “Beware the Sun with teeth!”

  12. When I started reading it, it took me to the sea, it had big white sails, with barrels of food, we perched into a port with a big market, we tasted new flavours unknown, slept over in a tavern with night lights under our windows, early morning we took in the land to explore this new and unknown world, we found new things somewhat known to find oneself at the end in a place alone with a book in the hand…that is the trip you took me with this poem, thank you!

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