The stone age warrior
sits in his cave
and admires his handiwork,
paintings crudely sketched by his primitive hand
in blood and ochre, scenes of hunting and slaughter.
In the flickering light of the fire,
some of the figures appear to move.
The drone age warrior
sits in his cave
and witnesses his handiwork,
the paintings are not his, though still rendered by his hand
scenes in blood and ochre, of hunting and slaughter.
Fires are flickering, but
none of the figures appear to move.
Stephen A. Roberts
Blog Archive
-
▼
2015
(365)
-
▼
December
(31)
- Yuletide Blues - Diane Scantlebury
- You Call This A Golden Handshake! - Lester Queripel
- Obituary - Lyndon Queripel
- Gull - Tony Bradley
- Sonnet For Newtown - Andrew Barham
- December 26th - Trudie Shannon
- Do You Believe? - Ian Duquemin
- I Believe in Santa - Donald Keyman
- Song Of The Christmas Turkey - Richard Fleming
- Festive Birds - Tony Gardner
- December 21 - Stephen A. Roberts
- Altogether, not a bad trip - Tony Bradley
- Ship In The Sky - Lyndon Queripel
- Port Soif revisited, on a calm day - Bryony de Lat
- Grizzlies In Town - Andrew Barham
- The Human Sickness - Ian Duquemin
- Men In Ice - Richard Fleming
- Pink Sky - Kathy Figueroa
- Syrian Carol - Diane Scantlebury
- Closure - Tony Bradley
- A Time Of The Signs - Lyndon Queripel
- Late Night Shopping - Donald Keyman
- Cave Paintings - Stephen A. Roberts
- Where Man Had Been - Ian Duquemin
- Memories - Trudie Shannon
- Another World - Diane Scantlebury
- The Butterfly - Liz Woodington
- Georgia - Bryant Doyle
- It's Winter - Kathy Figueroa
- Am I in Rochester? - Tony Bradley
- Autumn (Nature's Artist) - Ian Duquemin
-
▼
December
(31)