Part one
Long ago in Macedon
Beneath the burning Sun
While busy bees played midst the Thyme
And butterflies made flutter,
When savage Ares thought to stir
And sleepy gods to mutter.

Philip brought his bride back home
To Sun scorched Pella, full of grace.
Alexander then, the son she bore,
Strong in body, fair of face.
God loved; his mother - and Zeus, she swore,
Had made her son destined for war.

Beyond all that expressed and those
Symbolic sacraments whose right
Olympias endorsed and with her child
Against the king made with to fight:
The savage dancing and the wine;
Dionysus her Mystery, and the snake divine.

But, to baulk her Gods the King stood fast;
The boy his lessons made to do:
Stern duties, Leonidas taught;
Culture, from Euripides.
Logic, reasoning, Aristotle;
Riding, hunting, fighting too;

As well he took Eurydice,
Of Macedonia, nobly born.
The niece of one called Attalus,
A General - now to Philip sworn.
But of children would he dare?
Was Alexander not the rightful heir.

He, known to all, a son of Zeus;
(as indeed Dionysus;)
Thus which Oracle would say
That his was not the rightful way?
The furies tore their hair, they said
His mother - she would see them dead.

First a girl child then a son.
That questioned Alexander’s right.
Its threatening presence, that’s the one
Olympias swore she’d go to fight.
She, with Megaera, Tisiphone, Alecto; those
Jealous, angry, vengeful, daughters of the night.

Intentions though can wait for years,
And so Olympias, exiled, bode her time.
While Philip with his oldest son
Defeated  Athens, Thebes, the Sacred Band.
And thus with Nike, hand in hand
Unaware of plot, of Delos, do they stand

Now with the might of all things Greek,
Of Persian conquests set to seek.
Who knows what Philip might have been
Did not his Moirai intervene
When Pausanias with frenzied, savage, vicious knife
Cut down the King to end his life.

Treachery, ******; why do they shriek
And spit their venom to depose.
What moves the fates do you suppose?
Poor Pella - standing now so cold, so bleak.
Olympias - of her twas said,
Enough, she cried, I want him dead.

Thus Alexander born of love because of hate,
While dying Philip trembled, shivering in the dust,
He, who history would remember as the Great
Assumed his place because of fate - and not because of lust;
Whereas Olympias, mother, regicide, Clotho’s *****,
Ensured because of murderous fright,
Despised she’d be for ever more.

——————

Part two:

And Power it cloaks the young man’s shoulders,
He who sits now on the throne.
The hills resound, fierce acclamations,
(Beaten shields and upraised spears.)
From the lowland raucous cheers;
And thus the Phalanx starts its slow march.
While on Pella, Kratos leers.

For despite the cloying, nursery care,
His father rarely being there,
He’d sacked a city, then elsewhere
(Harsh matters in the harshest school)
The boy had ‘gainst the Maedi, proved the rule.
So, when his generals came they saw
A man, the fighter fit for war.

And at the meeting, his first greeting
Of the generals as their king:
Eumenes, Leonnatus, Demaratus bold;
Erigyius, Hephaestion, all friends, and friends of old;
He takes each hand, gives each the stare
Then puts it bluntly will they dare
With Macedonian might - to Persia would they go and fight?

Bucephalus, in his stable, snorts then lifts his head.
Flames flare, fierce burns the fire, but now the bull is dead.
Killed as sacred hymns are sung and ancient prayers said.

———————-

Part three:

And on the plain drawn up in ranks,
Do Alexander’s men give thanks.
Shield locked with shield, dressed by the right,
Thirty thousand men to fight.
The black Dooms gather, grim-eyed, glare
Towards the east, at Darius where
With Memnon - he of Rhodes who seeks to meet
With Nike’s favour, but with Macedon incurs defeat.

And those, all those, who roar that day
Seek for glory, fight for pay;
Well trained; well drilled; but no one saw
Such bold adventure, ****** war.
Just feed us; pay us; give us arms
They cry, and then we’ll fight - as Philip taught;
For, Alexander, at this point of time
Still in your father’s image are you wrought.

And though the phalanx, Philip’s joy,
And Alexander had its value, as a boy
He’d sought for ways to better it and - of course
He did that by the use of horse - and lance.
Thus those who called him merely Philip’s son
Were wrong. For Granicus proved him to be one
Of those that through their own estate
Are by history called the Great.

So - the Granicus river, fast and wide but never deep;
It’s muddy banks in places sloped and steep;
Preventing Phalanx and the use of spear;
But Alexander, his General’s words chose not to hear,
In fierce and ****** fighting proved Parmenion wrong,
That Alexander’s Tyche, his Macedonia, was too strong.
With Rhoesaces and bold Spithridates dead
The Persians turned and from the battle fled.

But Memnon’s Greeks,
They who’d hefted shield and sword,
And stood their ground - in seeking quarter they
were slaughtered almost to a man.
Survivors, they were sent to Greece, enslaved.
When questioned why,
Alexander said - because I can.