Two More Prehistoric Poems

A Prehistoric Face

I have waited, they say, for nearly fifty thousand years

for someone to recognize my face, to see

the rock, and on it the way I carved the eyes

and then the mouth, and smoothed the indentations

to mark my nose and chin; no need for ears

or hair or neck or any other part of me.

They also say, my people never tried

and could not, such artistic ambitions.

Of course not, and yet why not, for I am here,

A face when no one else would ever have

Thought of such a thing—they doubt that I could even think.

Why? Because we were short and stocky, didn’t shave?

Our lives, too, were short. I saw my children sink

into oblivion.  If I were not a maker, our grave

has no meaning.  I am the missing link.

The First Piece of Jewellery in the World

Of course, what else could it be?  The material, the skill,

The loving way it sits there in the cave,

As though it were left deliberately to fill

Your eyes with wonder, your heart, to save

Forever as a memory.  Thus carved

It was an adornment and symbol, lost and found,

Who wore it long turned to dust. Thus starved

Through lack of love and imagination, bound

In oblivion until released, made to taste

An interest never experienced by science,

A hunger for knowledge, game forever chased,

Trapped in the mind’s discovery, in the silence

Of the grotto’s mouth, a beautiful little thing,

To see and savor, to hear the ancient spirit sing.