Neolithic To Greco Roman Time Lost Ritual Overtones
Neolithic rituals primal urges Greco Roman votive offerings
Neolithic polished axe hoards beg question votive victories
or authority to net rule in peace to execute like Roman fasces?
power jurisdiction wielded society as strength through unities
votive offerings prayers beg need fulfill embedded perplexities?
Bronze Age axe hoards morph into what high status artifacts
swords spearheads anticipate achievement of sharp pointed wishes?
define mist millennia centuries into cult time cut religious purposes?
swords spearheads buried ritually cast into water bodies peat bogs
sacrificed into bodies of water rivers bogs of no possible recoveries?
ritual hoard objects often all broken killing future utilitarian usages?
deposition purposefully discarding valuable items swords spearheads
achieves what individual social time lost fixated ritual overtones?
what mysteries into rivers lakes wet places cast what urge needs?
what neurons spark brain zaps fire camera flash in core vortexes?
votive faces eyes ears see hear appear ever attentive guardians?
terracotta votive offerings amass phalli breasts uteri fascinates?
possibilities pre Viagra Greco Roman Bacchantes desires orgies?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
Offspring Blessings Opposes Barren Desires
votive faces eyes ears see hear appear ever attentive guardians?
terracotta votive offerings amass phalli breasts uteri fascinates?
possibilities pre Viagra Greco Roman Bacchantes desires orgies?
offspring blessings opposes barren cursed shame couples childless?
votive offerings reasoned fixation items pepper ancient societies?
feature throughout diverse modern societies evil eye luck beads
patron saints crucifixes prayer beads ritualistic in varied religions?
an assortment of rites head coverings adorn male female devotees?
all share desires respect given gains favor with supernatural forces?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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To be a votive...
Oh to be the smile you adorn
Oh to be the twinkle in your eyes
Oh to be the melody in your voice
Oh to be the grace in your dance
Oh to be the poise of peace in you
Or to just be a votive to sunshine……
Oh to be the wind to braid your hair
Oh to be the earth to feel your feet bare
Oh to be the water to quench your thirst
Oh to be the fire to illuminate your temple
Oh to be the sky to echo your prayers
Or to just be a votive to sunshine………..
poem by Rishi Votive
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Flesh Burns In Mind Filament Flash Offerings
what morning breaks creaks worlds thoughts aquiver
what fire waking runs preys upon inertia desires river
storm fed from finger creek runoff mountain cascades
flesh burns in mind filament flash electric shock parades
art transfixed status artifacts votive hands made offerings
silver sight plies second sight night whispers sage delivers
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Haunted Shores
Herodias and I have led a phantom cavalcade
Through veiled and pagan history where superstitions reigned
And Christendom sought to pervet but poets of my name
Sang of penumbral victories that sorcery had claimed
The Graal and mighty Caliburn as votive offerings
To an England rearisen under vast majestic wings
These are the shores whereto my soul
Blood drenched and unredeemed
Shalt seek solace in secrets told
Through the whispers of a dream
From the woods Pendragon-born
song performed by by Cradle Of Filth from Dusk And Her Embrace
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Coal Picker
He perches in the slime, inert,
Bedaubed with iridescent dirt.
The oil upon the puddles dries
To colours like a peacock's eyes,
And half-submerged tomato-cans
Shine scaly, as leviathans
Oozily crawling through the mud.
The ground is here and there bestud
With lumps of only part-burned coal.
His duty is to glean the whole,
To pick them from the filth, each one,
To hoard them for the hidden sun
Which glows within each fiery core
And waits to be made free once more.
Their sharp and glistening edges cut
His stiffened fingers. Through the smut
Gleam red the wounds which will not shut.
Wet through and shivering he kneels
And digs the slippery coals; like eels
They slide about. His force all spent,
He counts his small accomplishment.
A half-a-dozen clinker-coals
Which still have fire in their souls.
Fire! And in his thought there burns
The topaz fire of votive urns.
He sees it fling from hill to hill,
And still consumed, is burning still.
Higher and higher leaps the flame,
The smoke an ever-shifting frame.
He sees a Spanish Castle old,
With silver steps and paths of gold.
From myrtle bowers comes the plash
Of fountains, and the emerald flash
Of parrots in the orange trees,
Whose blossoms pasture humming bees.
He knows he feeds the urns whose smoke
Bears visions, that his master-stroke
Is out of dirt and misery
To light the fire of poesy.
He sees the glory, yet he knows
That others cannot see his shows.
To them his smoke is sightless, black,
His votive vessels but a pack
Of old discarded shards, his fire
A peddler's; still to him the pyre
Is incensed, an enduring goal!
He sighs and grubs another coal.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Christians were regarded as separated from society and therefore destructive of the Greco-Roman way of life.
quote by Kenneth Scott Latourette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strive to Revive After Every Fall (Somnathpur, Gujarat, India)
We were winging our way
on the coast of Gujarat from the east to west.
Hardly had we slept a wink
than we stepped on the blood-stained soil
of Somnathpur past midnight.
Some stray dogs woofed at our friend, Baskaran
whose suitcase-wheels were making
the rumbling noise of a bullock-cart of the past.
Seeing the choppy waters of the Arabian Sea
at the back of the temple-wall,
we were wide-eyed in surprise.
and we were comforted by a spanking breeze.
Our votive offerings were some coins
but God would bless us all as we were from the far south.
Some marauder of a jungle tribe from a far off hills
had looted the gold of the temple
umpteen times putting the people to swords.
He is no more but the ill-will he created remains
and it is inherited by the descendents, thanks to History.
We surveyed the havoc wrought
in northern Gujarat by the quakes.
But the Somnath in the South stands tall
amidst fatal falls of towering skyscrapers.
Strive to revive in life and thrive again
though hit by misfortunes countless.
That is what people feel seeing the salty winds
peel the stony leaves off the rocky walls.
---------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Offerings
Offerings...
Look what youre offering
By your hands, youve emptied my soul
But Ill find some time
Ill find somewhere to grow
Look out now
Has your mind been changed by the loss of this memory?
Roll on
Youve got some time on your hands for where you are now
Bleeding the offerings
Yes you are now
Bleeding the offerings
My time to sit you all down
My time to save you all now
My time to lay it all out
My time
See what youre offering
See I open my eyes
Your face seems to speak aloud
Seeing it all in my eyes
I see some things in your eyes that have never been shown before
Roll on
Believing it all in my eyes
Youve got these needs but Ive got somewhere to go now now
So leave it alone, its my time
With so little time its so hard to find somewhere to go
Bleeding the offerings
Yes you are now
Bleeding the offerings
My time to sit you all down
My time to save you all now
My time to lay it all out
My time to save your souls again
My time to sit you all down now
My time to save you all now
My time to lay it all out
My time
song performed by by Candlebox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We have today a fairly thorough knowledge of the early Greco-Roman period because our motivations are the same.
quote by Arthur Erickson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lady who offers her Looking-Glass to Venus
VENUS, take my votive glass:
Since I am not what I was,
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Pukllay Inter-Community Awareness
Pukllay harmony stresses
it is important to ritual fight
to reinforce separate entities
purpose entire point
of ritual conflict
is to resolution meet
together afterward
to united celebrate
union as one people
to embody
the complementarity
of opposites
distinction between
two communities
is clearly defined
then brought
together to form
a single entity
sense inter-community
awareness respect
emerge in wisdom tolerant
the purpose to create
tinkuy a sense of unity
among the participants
in survival Andes
wise encounters
of differing energies
like ‘Yawar Mayu' rivers
of symbolic blood offerings
ensure tinku social harmonies
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Bright Side
Water of peace beyond the seagulls
Blue horizons that blossom like roses
Dream like hope in crinoline bouquets
Leave the dragons of purging
Leave the spirals of rhetoric
Time has golden clouds of sharing
Walk in safe armor
Light has conquered all fear
Hands with joy
Rivers glisten with stars
Awake in the forests of reality
Shells on the shore of love
Visions of geraniums
Lady slippers on the bogs
Peonies in the gentle breeze
Let your neighbor hear of rainbows
Reap the love given to all
Open the corner of your eye
Bright golden swords gleam
Fruit lush with pruned hope
Seek and you will find
The flowers are always growing
I'm living on the bright side
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Hastings
The Greco-Roman and the early Christian Religions,
I am Hastings in the land of the Bible;
But your doctrines are not the same as sated in the Book of Truth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The roadside bathers
The water of life streamed
Through the broken roadside tap
The sun burned like a death-fire
On bodies, bloodless and charred.
The white cloth clung to flesh
Laying bare embers of lost hopes
Unceasing the water flowed
Onto the soap-lathered bodies
And thence into the foul gutter
If only time went reverse
These ebony bodies would love
To swim back to the safety
Of that primeval water body
From where they had journeyed here
A journey back from fire to water.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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Roman Polanski: What is There to Debate? Whether Rape is Rape-Rape?
I know he is great director.
I know that he had great stresses in his life from childhood on.
I know that he had won countless awards for his cinema, his ‘magic’ and his craft.
I know that Roman Polanski is a statutory rape predator.
I know that there was something in his psyche that little girls had done.
I know what rape means, it is control, and it’s been 32 years ago,
- he had control or am I daft.
She said “No, no, I want to go home”
“It’s been so long ago”, his fans do say.
It is sort of like meth head saying,
“I promised you $400 for that guitar I bought you from last year,
But not in future and not today.”
And the infamous Bill Clinton line
-'It depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is. “
That one still confounds me still to this day.
(But not as much as Caitlin Upton’s response when she was asked a question in a pageant about geography I do recall.)
Roman Polanski is a fugitive from the law.
I know that Roman Polanski is a statutory rape predator
The French blame the US level of justice.
Roman elected to live in the US not France,
Do in Rome what the Romans do.
And if you ‘play’ you have to pay.
And if by chance,
You run afoul of the country’s law pity the fool.
His next stop is a prison cell door.
Especially, when you are a 40+ year old man taking advantage of a 13 year old girl.
I know that Roman Polanski is a statutory rape predator.
Roman Polanski gave her alcohol and Quaaludes,
Consensual sex, hardly it behooves the point,
Someone should lock him up for the next 32 years in the joint.
Roman’s violation of the law is not only against her,
But it is a violation against the People of California,
And consequently, the People of the United States.
I know that Roman Polanski is a statutory rape predator.
If Roman Polanski is not extradited,
- then a part of millennia of common moral law is about to fail.
If Roman Polanski is extradited he will not go free on bail.
If he were Marc Rich and President Clinton was in power,
And if Roman Polanski gave serious money to Clinton’s Library,
Roman, like Marc Rich, could be pardoned, exonerated-either or.
Roman should pay for his abuse of a child whatever years ago,
She quite older now but the state doesn’t forget.
Especially when his lawyers instigated the recent events,
-that too do they would soon regret.
But when its all said and done,
I know that Roman Polanski is a statutory rape predator.
10-2-09
poem by Joe Rosochacki
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The Fury Of Guitars and Sopranos
This singing
is a kind of dying,
a kind of birth,
a votive candle.
I have a dream-mother
who sings with her guitar,
nursing the bedroom
with a moonlight and beautiful olives.
A flute came too,
joining the five strings,
a God finger over the holes.
I knew a beautiful woman once
who sang with her fingertips
and her eyes were brown
like small birds.
At the cup of her breasts
I drew wine.
At the mound of her legs
I drew figs.
She sang for my thirst,
mysterious songs of God
that would have laid an army down.
It was as if a morning-glory
had bloomed in her throat
and all that blue
and small pollen
ate into my heart
violent and religious.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Stratum Thoughts Timeless Imaging Womanhoods
wow such style pride
in the walk of the character
with fine hat finesse set
at an angle of precision
the boots
the personality
the cloak
she walks a cloud plane
of existence her own
separated several levels
from normality street life
she is no clay cast offering
to gods or a mortal man
she walks on air rarified
passing mind image appealing
women stripped bare projecting
clothes too soon price pealing
passing votive female offering
stretching out naked emotive offering
pleasure timeless sensual offering
all manner of embraces
time of interlocked limbs
time of timeless couplings
into past shadows sinking
into places sweet sweat embracing
into perpetual life releasing
next to placement nude like an offering
time cast in an embrace producing
Earth Mother Mother Goddess enduring
meaning merges into meaning lines merging
meaning is implied
offered accepted
at viewers will rejected
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Smith
What is this magic you do?
Taming the fire
Bending the earth
Making beauty from brute strength
Giving death a sharp edge
Creating in your mind and fire
Tools and everydays that
Humblefolk might live in peace
Making death and making life
With the same hammerblows
Are you a god or a man
Or the spirit of earth and fire
That men fear and love you, Smith
Martin Swords March 2009
poem by Martin Swords
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Pukllay Harmony Restoration Blood Battles
sport many sports
embody a ritual of combat
trial by body muscles
instead of blood
letting battles in times
of repetitive wars
Andean festival of Pukllay
incorporated a time of ritual battles
between neighboring communities
‘Yawar Mayu' offering river of blood
in restored harmony cleansed a years
ill will between neighboring communities
conquering Spanish outlawed
community ritual battles of Pukllay
continued in remote Andean regions
battles were held at boundaries
between neighboring communities
men from the two communities
gathered to ritual battles fight
while women would sing songs
encouraging their local men
to stand to be brave to not
fear the river of blood
as battle took various forms
two opposing neighboring sides
might throw hard unripe fruit
or men might form opposing lines
strike neighboring men
with their warak'a slings
or fight close with staffs
what was aim important
some blood must be spilt
as an offering to Pachamama
blood offerings
to the great Being
who is mother earth
blood offerings
to the Apus
the Beings
who are majestic
mountain peaks
to Sacred Sites
what if a man died
during ‘Yawar Mayu' fight
a ritual rare event
his body was buried
as further offering on site
to the sacred Beings
in many modern sports skill
courage endurance even blood
is offered up in necessary games
there is a human need to vent
frustrations disharmony ill will
community balance restored
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Rush of A Lie
Ancient mountains swept with snow,
where a dropp of water begins to flow,
is the birthplace of a small stream,
and something I would never dream.
Streams turn to rivers great,
that make sure not to be late,
that go towards swamps and bogs,
and they keep going into the fog.
Have you not yet reached the ocean,
where all the world is set in motion?
Your waters have rushed,
fed by the clouds' every flush.
You've left such beauty behind,
just for bogs and fog to find.
Your droplet has grown;
at me your lies are thrown.
poem by Soren Valentine
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