The Bog Man

 

When the moor succumbs

to bitter progress, they’ll dig

and find the bog man

 

stained by centuries

pulled from the glistening peat

like broken old roots

 

and rattle dumped for

an archaeological

examination,

 

his leathery hand

still clutch clawed over his keys,

a gold tooth glinting

 

in the hollow skull,

attached to slough skin fallen,

remnants of a beard

 

they’ll deduce he died

of cold and fear, the moor is

dangerous they’ll say,

 

it consumed him whole,

so satisfied they’ll drain it

and the ancient peat

 

will smoulder and yield

imprisoned in the concrete

silent in the mire

© Mel Melis 13/10/2012

 

I’ve not been entirely happy with my Haikus (on my other blog) of late. I went for a run and lo and behold, some inspiration. Running is thinking time. I wrote a poem about the mind cleansing solitude, the creativity to be garnered from a run, away from all that distracting technology which clogs our lives, how it touches something ancient, something physical, brings us closer to the animals were are.

Today I considered what it would be like if I were lost on the moor, sunk into the peat, only to be discovered hundreds of years into the future preserved like one of those bog men. What could they deduce about me? Would they work out I was more than just a stupid jogger who broke his ankle and sunk into the mire? Probably not and to be honest they wouldn’t need to, as they’d be right!

I’ve stuck this 8-haiku (5-7-5) piece on my main blog as it is more of a narrative poem. The abridged version is on my Haiku blog.