Friday, November 7, 2008

An Ancient Tale #135 (part 5)

Old Horth leaned heavily on his talking staff
Walking with the weight of years and worry
His 47 anos have not been kind to him, but he stays in good spirit
And now with the coming of the winter circle welcoming God’s gift
The return of the Sun cycle
Placing the twelf totem, the massive pillar on its way
With the markings from the water carriers, Zethines
Soon all twelve tribes from all of the villages and the outlying hunters
Would gather on the plane of the ancestors
Near the mouth of the creation delta
The Henge mounds have been tended
Meat and grain have been laid aside
His apprentices have been schooled
Why did this script need to raise its hairy head again?
Capturing speech in markings in the dirt
Tales are to be told
Symbols on a tablet will cause the People to worship the clay
Not listening to the stories of God
Horth had learned all of the speech symbols from his teacher, Gareth
Gareth had been a great warrior priest, keeper of the scared tales
Hunting the lion that attacked Arrack with Gareth is how Horth
Became lame
On that hunt in the dust while waiting out the lion in the hills
Is where Horth learned these symbols
Gareth convinced Horth that the People must not create this false God
Or God would surely punish the People
Horth promised Gareth
The lion circled back on the pair and took Gareth and Horth’s calf muscle
Before Horth could strike a fatal blow
Horth fingered his talking staff, feeling the mark for Gareth
The marks on the talking staff were just memory devices for stories
They were not the same as the marks in clay
Children played near the wall, kicking a goat-belly ball
It was always good to hear their laughter
The Mothers were meeting in the fire circle this evening
They would be planning the lineage, arraigning unions, determining education
The intermingling of tribal blood was essential
Girls and beardless boys would be given places within
A village’s walls
Horth needed to see to the completion of the pillar’s position
This new one would align with the winter’s setting sun
The calendar would be complete
The first of the three was for the rising of the summer’s sun
The last of the second three marked its setting
The first of the third three aligned with the rising winter sun
This last one would mark its setting
These sacred days set aside to worship God and to praise his
Creative power and our thanks for his gifts
The summer festival is for life and creation
The winter festival to mourn our dead and show the strong connection
To our ancestors
Horth’s talking staff handed down from tale keepers of the long past
Leads the People in worship and praise
He wanted Zontan to follow him, but that may not be God’s will
Zontan remains an enigma to old Horth
After checking on the proceedings for the Mother’s meeting
He will head down to the grove of trees during the evening’s breezy time
To listen to the whispered words

Monday, November 3, 2008

An Ancient Tale #135 (part 4)

Weasels and jackals were active tonight
Zontan and Uris could see the distant glow of the fire circle
Three full moon’s from tonight would be the winter’s end
A time for both putting the year’s dead to eternal rest
And when the Mother’s would select mates for the hunters
And farmers, toolmakers, priests, and others of each settlement of the People
The Mothers determine who we are; the Fathers what
Zontan had avoided Bibe’s choices, so far
He was well past the time for starting a family
Even Uris had fathered two children by Bethe
They were fatherless now, but the Mothers would take up their care
The People’s tradition of the line determined by the mother
There were twelve settlements, descendents of the twelve daughters of Orb
Soon all would be walled villages along the river
Sumer’s wall was nearly finished and all of the stilled homes
Would be abandoned
Quetin was not comfortable about leaving his family home
He enjoyed the solace of living on the edge of the river and village
Near his obsidian store
Quetin did not have the solitude of the hunters in the hills
On the platitude above the river’s banks was the circle
One entrance pointed to sunrise in middle anos; the other to sunset
In the end of anos
This end of anos, the People would raise the last, the twelf pillar
Each one carved to match each totem village
The inner circle would be complete
Horth, a son of Greathe and the keeper of the tales,
Would speak on the beginning of time and our placement in it by God
Stories handed down from the time of Aamdam and Evean
Zontan was there last month with the debate to expel Uris
He knew the symbols that Uris knew and the abomination that it meant
Capturing speech in symbols for all to see and not hear
Put in clay with no interpretation
The Fathers felt the fear; the Mothers knew it

Friday, October 24, 2008

An Ancient Tale #135 (part 3)

It had been rainy and lonely those first few nights
With only some cold grains to eat
Chasing him out with stones
Sending him out of the walls into the wilderness
Bidding him to never return
Driven out like that first couple from their maternal grounds
Uris felt that the people had stolen the fire from him
He had stayed angry
On the fourth sunrise as his wounds healed,
He dried out and let that madness evaporate
With the water from his skin
He found flint, obsidian, wood, and the will to move on
It was a time to hunt, not just for meat, but for a way to continue
He could not fashion the spear tips to match Quetin
Using the obsidian and striking stones he made smaller tips
And with strands pulled from his tunic
Was able to make the smaller striking sticks
He twisted the twine into a string, bending a strong shaft
Made a bow as he had seen a northern man carry once
It would do
The hare on the spit that night tasted like victory
If not vindication
Uris tried to understand the elders reticence in drawing words
Betheadeeon had first showed him how to make some of the symbols
He didn’t know why it was blasphemous if he only pictured praise for God
Or showing the exploits of Gilgamesh
Some of the elders didn’t want these tales easy for everyone to see
Without them to tell them the tales
He would ask Zontan why the speech spinner-elder, Horth, had turned on him
Uris knew that Zontan could draw speech and hunted alone
He would track him when he came to the hills to hunt
They both knew how to set the symbols in wet mud to keep the words
Uris knew that it was death to be caught on the hunting paths
He knew how to hide his smoke in the hills
Damp leaves of the Tigrus tress suspended over small flames from hardwood
Skins from the hares would cure well and keep him clothed
But he missed his mother’s spinning
Maybe he could find a mountain tribe and hunt for them
Teaching them of God and Gilgamesh and of his people who descended from Eden
And cultivated the crescent
From one full moon to the next, he planned and hunted and scratched symbols
In far hills
Uris knew that Zontan would hunt the hills during the full face of the moon
He knew his rock

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

An Ancient Tale #135 (part 2)

The moon rise is cool in the hills above the river
It’s large, round, white lion face lights up the land and village
Dark rimmed eyes stare down
Seeing all
The dark will grow cold and long
I am grateful for the company while I sit on a rock, waiting;
Spears at the ready
Using a non-lethal end to make pictures of words
It is still forbidden to do so
Urisabethe was stoned for it, after only last moon rise
He has been banished and lives in these hills, alone
I will meet him tonight while I am on guard duty
The jackals are active tonight and I must stay aware
There is another lion pride that has killed our cattle
They hunt at sun rise when God sends us the new day
My people once only lived off of what God gave us
Now we are able to plant and grow;
Raise and herd cattle, sheep, goats
As well as hunt with skill; using knowledge gained from
The fall of Eden
The tale of the Gil – Gilgamish – has taught us how
I rub out the picture speak with my foot and take up the trail again
Of the lion pride
Wolves howl at the night’s light
I hear the cattle’s concern from far below
The first summer night when I took my man-lion’s tuff, I was 16 anos
My father had fashioned me a strong, sharp spear
I tracked the pride to its lair, Eathis taught me well
I did not pick out the old lion as I was told
But the alpha; I wanted the pride’s best
When I baited him to charge – I place the shaft’s butt in the sand
Holding it fast with my foot and drove its head deep into his chest
As he fell at my feet, I was not prepared for the roar of rest of the pride
At his demise
Only the fire circle that I lit with my flint kept them at bay
I took the beast’s head in my hands, and praised his spirit to God
Knowing the when I ate his meat and wove his main into my hair
I would grow from his strength
Uris taught me to draw that story in the ground
Someday, I will place that in wet clay and let it dry so that it lasts forever
Horth and other tale-tellers will pass it in the circle of fire
These talk pictures will one day be inscribed for descendents
Ancestors and descendents will be able to live in the same moments
Knowledge and stories
Something moves to my left – I heft a spear, ready
This night will be long

Friday, October 17, 2008

An Ancient Tale #135 (part 1)

The first time the men took me into the circle of fire and
I heard the full tale of the hero, the Gil
I was 48 seasons or 12 anos
Smooth faced and just beginning to learn the hunt
The full gray beards sat closest to the red leaping flames
And told about time before history
The circle of fire was the night time circle of time
The straight tall polls arraigned to time the seasons
Letting us know when the sun will lower in the sky
And when it will begin its rise in the sky again
Here in the Tigerus valley this time table determines our
Plantings and when we bury our dead
Our river provides us plants and meat
Plants grow, animals come to water
I am Zontanabide, son of Quetin, the spear-tip maker
And Bibe, my mother, herb mistress, knowing the property of plants
My father can see into the heart of obsidian stone
Chipping out the strongest tips with flesh slicing sharpness
The flutes he fashions fit tight into the split-top pole
He knows when the sinew is chewed enough and will dry
To hold it all together
He made my spears special for me to kill my lion and
Taught me how to throw straight and true with keen eye
I have my lion tuff tied to my hair
And I’m around to prove both his worth as a spear-maker,
My courage as a hunter
I’ve heard the story of the Gil for six winters
Each time I see into our past with better understanding
The word spinner, Horth, is the wisest man the people
His beard is white and long, his days as hunter are past

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

The Lottery

Eduard came night after night
And sat at his table to take in a view
Those bangs, the straight nose, the hour glass
And waited for her to sigh
But it was only that green liquor to take him away
But could not forget that down-ward gaze
Her painted face couldn't hide her beauty
The milk-maid nee' bar-maid
And that small mouth
That he could only guess would taste of
Garden peaches
The only way to capture her for himself would
Be to put her on canvas
Because he would never be able to capture her between his sheets
Her downward cast gaze matched his forlorn stare
Ah well, Eduard knew that there two-franc women
And that was a lottery he could win

Monday, October 13, 2008

Wet Socks

I’ve had wet feet since we hit the beach
Eight days ago
I’m sitting in a dirt hole, cold; it’s getting dark
And I can move back and try and sleep on the ground
When the night gets black
I have seven kills
Must think of them as Germans and not other men
I’m trying not to think of home
It seems like a long time ago I was playing football
In high school
But, it was just six weeks ago
I had never shot a gun before
Now I have seven kills
I hear my mom’s voice once in a while
But only her tone and not her words anymore
It was either me or them
The fire fight seemed to go in slow motion and
Last forever
I scan the field with my glasses
There must have been wheat here before...
It’s only a memory now
My feet are cold, but at least I made it inland
I’m only up from the beach somewhere in Italy
I remember reading about the Romans
And that’s all I know of Italy
Except that the Germans came and killed Italians
And now we must kill the Germans
I have killed seven of them, and they killed a bunch of us on
The beach