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Steven Forrester Feb 2014
Where can start
With an Apollo heart
Where can I run
When chased by the moon and sun
An infinite race
With an Adonis face
A quick pace
In the presence of grace
Like Zeus I am powerful
Like Hades so sorrowful
With the temper of Aries
And as quick a wit as Hermes
I have an appetite so ravenous
Like kronos
And just as Dionysus
My parties are rapturous
So I find it difficult
Despite my piety
I believe I've failed
In finding one single
Equivalent diety
In reference to "the hellopoetry pantheon" (in which I was not included)
jar  Oct 2013
three types of love
jar Oct 2013
a few months ago,
you asked me: "What is love?"
As you can see,
it had taken me a long time to understand the question myself,
but I think I've finally come up with an answer.
Unfortunately,
the English language
has only one word to describe something that has limitless interpretations.
In Greek,
there are three words for the three basic types of love.
Eros;
lust.
This type of love
is when you find yourself doodling their name
on the inside of your history textbook,
dotting the I's with hearts
as if you are 13 again and you were just asked on your first date.
You chose that textbook
because it will be the only place no one would ever think to look.
You think about everything you would be far too shy to say or act in person,
making out in the back of a movie theatre
not caring who would walk past,
sneaking off away from your friends just to have two measly moments of what you both call "peace."
Most often,
this type of love is encased in "I love you"
only to obtain a certain goal.
Virginty,
a picture,
or even just one more night
of having them in your arms.
Eros is not authentic,
it is emphemeral.
Phileo;
Brotherly Love.
The friend you would drop anything for in a heartbeat to make sure of their wellbeing,
but also the neighbor you see from time to time watering their garden.
They ask you
to tend to their garden while they are away,
and you do it
even though you've never spoken more than a paragraph to the man
because it is what you believe is right.
This type of love is the devotion of time and energy without any promise of compensation in return,
purely out of the good of heart.
Phileo lasts as long as the people do.
The final type of love
is Agape;
unconditional love.
In religion,
we are guided
or pushed
towards showing this type of love towards the diety.
Yet, very rarely
it is shown towards a human being.
Unconditional love
is the ability to say so much with only uttering a single word.
I have experienced this love,
it is great pain
and great sadness
but the feelings of pain will never leave my lips
in case they are transferred to the person i wish to have the least pain.
This kind of love
is when it is not only enough that you think about them every waking moment but every slumber-filled one as well. You have hung up your needs at the front door along with the key to your heart and devoted yourself entirely to them,
even if they don't reciprocate.
They have been adopted by your body and taken the form of a vital *****.
If you do not
pay absolute attention
to them at all times
you will run into many problems.
You need to keep them running smoothly in order to stay alive and healthy,
because without them you are nothing.
You are a sorry sack of bones with a beating heart with no purpose.
Unconditional love is taking all the lessons you have ever learned
all the rights and wrongs you have finally learned the difference between and throwing them out the window.
It is the thin line between sanity and insanity,
heaven and hell,
and safety and danger.
You walk the rope
from building to building
without the promise of a net.
Unconditional love
is authentic,
but not emphemeral.
((Love *****, don't do it.))
Amelia Jo Anne  May 2013
Diety
Amelia Jo Anne May 2013
I have a habit
of hypnotizing myself
I like to put on my veil
a shroud of alteration
marry myself to the haze
again & again
I baptize everyday before I
light the world on fire
lose myself in the afterglow
live in the confusion

I love the girl who is
the sister of Leila, Ophelia, Astrid
o, Sweet Mother Mary
pray for me, stuck in melancholy
& losing ground
unity in Heaven's Rose
you are euphoria
mostly because I have
arranged my wills
to center & propel
those wills of yours
think for me
show me I can't live without you
can't
do for myself what you do for me
let's swim in the river
where I forget everything for a little while
enrapture me
all day every day all ways
Katherine Laslie Nov 2015
I am the sly fox
Sacred and misleading

My spirit,
You worship
A treasured diety

Beautiful, though I am
I am horrible within
Tread carefully
Treat me with care
Or ignore me, if you so dare

I am the sly fox
Colorful and cruel
Loyal, though I am
Don't ever take me for a fool

My spirit
Is in the air
I can hear you
Anywhere
Don't underestimate
A wild fox
That can't be tamed

We are born to destroy
For, destruction flows through
Our veins

Be ever wary
Stay alert
Keep your voices
Hushed and unheard
The sly fox
Is on the loose
And knows of no boundary
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
it can be nothing but a deviation from modern
       concerns -
i was once in a pub, drinking a beer -
and this medical student turns to me and asks:
- if you could be a god, which one would you want to be?
        without resistance, without hesitance the reply?
- hades!
            of all venerated beings - his: the sole "phatom"
so feared that no palace of worship was
              erected; that's right: no temple in his name;
but just imagine my shock: a medical student
who supposed the existence of gods -
                    and yet in a society where there are these
diaper atheists... these biologists
                        and physicists - these proponents:
they really take the romance out of the universe -
              and here is this hippocratic oath adherent
and he's inclined to believe in the gods:
             for the sole purpose that he can manage
complicated tasks on the "microscopic" stage -
                                         in his niche -
                           while on the macro-plataeu
he's like:             well nothing explains nothing,
or the many other nothings.
                                  rare to see a plural form
                                                  of that singularity.
but of course: the mere thought contemplating the gods
is comforting - evidently we're not the people
to suggest or enforce a ritual to sacrifice one's time
with a duty of prayer -
                           walk into any monotheistic temple
and film the lunatics... sober lunatics: which is worse
than watching intoxicated lunatics dancing as if
they might be enthralled by the concept of prayer.
       just looking through the aeneid glossary -
can you even imagine if they will someday unearth
skeleton of centaurs? obviously you could only
unearth dinosaurs first, however much you push down
in geological terms: the older remains are unearthed
first, that's the tectonic dynamic: older comes first -
             in organic terms: skeletons are, after all: organic
materials... and centaurs might not be an ease
metaphor to stomach after some time -
                                       but what is the darwinistic
improbabilty of their existence, that once was, but now
isn't?         what is the darwinistic improbability?
             it's about time we force these questions,
since darwinism has lost all of its scientific sensibility
and has become level-tier with marxism in
       the battleground of culture - it has finally caught
up with marxism as a cultural impetus.
                         yet peering into the aeneid glossary
i had to invent at least one god, and one river of hades -
a. acheron - the river of grief
      b. cocytys - the river of wailing
  c. eridanus - a river leading into the underworld
d. gela - the river of laughter
   e. lethe - the river of forgetfulness
     f. styx - the river of hate
  g. ucalegon - the river of uncaring.

              what is indicated: i once had the idea to
compete with the styx - the river borrowed from german:
the zunge - or the river of tongues -
                        perhaps idle talk, the river of gossip -
or of those who drank from it: became prone to
the whisper of the god janus - the two faced god,
who, upon ushering his two tongue's into
      the drinker's mind: split the drinker's mind in half.
yet i find the concept of the river ucalegon
more befitting to this realm... named so after a trojan
warrior - still, the literal, simply: not caring;
                                          and do the dead care?
if the living can only muster a cult of the grave -
                   but not the cult of memory -
                                       no wonder so many pass into
the shades, through sheer neglect in organic remains
of their legacy.
     so of this god?
                              well, narcissus and his brother
                      solipssus -
but there is another, akin to the ancient diety of the latins,
namely quirinus (romulus deified?) - rooted
     by origin in quirus - meaning spear.
       i really can understand plagiarism on a polytheistic
scale, how zeus became jove, how kronos became saturn,
    how pilumnus has no greek equivalent -
   how hades became pluto -
                      that i can understand, a plagiarism
on a polytheistic scale... but what happens on a monotheistic
scale? tyranny against the mind!
                enforced labour for a mere sake of an argument,
what happened when the qu'ran was written.
                      and since we're on the topic:
słowianin - słowo
            and the horrid english slav( ) with a supposed
missing limb of                                e...
     again: know your mother and of that earth speak
the tongue - it is derived from, quiet simply word...
so we are wordsmiths first, keen workers? sure.
                         but wordsmiths first - in essence -
         and indeed, if there was the ancient italian god
           quirinus -
                           it would seem natural for the opposite
of a spear, akin to the maxim: the pen is mightier than
the sword...   ergo?
                                          quill...
      ­                              and the diety?
                                                          ­       Quilios.
           for a silesian peasant, that might translate
into regional idiom as -                        Piórkowiak:
patron of god of poets, with enough ***** to conjure
                         such explanations - that those in
the hippocratic community might appreciate, even they
can... but obviously, the cultural darwinists
                          have but one answer, and it's almost
       akin to the islamic dictatorial stance for defining
                              what culture is, and what culture isn't;
sensible? was it really about sense & sensibility?
                  maybe for jane austen is was... not here... not now!

p.s. Quilios, as combined from qui (who)
          but also borrowing from heliocentric -
                  or simply helios: sun -
                              writing illuminates: or, (he)
                                                           who illuminates.
Isabelle  Jan 2017
Goblin
Isabelle Jan 2017
For 939 years he is living
To live such a long long long life
I do not know if it is a curse or a blessing

Centuries swiftly passes somehow
Past to present, present to future
He was there before, he is here until now

Every death of friend or foe
He witnesses and will never forget
Left alone, soul is full of woe

The Goblin’s immortality
Was said to be a punishment
And never an eternal tranquility

The sword stuck in his heart
Is the key to death he longed for
Then only his life and misery will depart

It is only the Goblin’s bride
Can pull out the sword in his chest
So for centuries he searched for a wife

Until fate finally reveals itself
One look, ahh, a lovely bride he met
Sad love he utters to himself

This love will cause him death
But after a long time, it made him feel alive
Now he don’t want to lose his breath

But his choice will only bring demise
And his newly found happiness
Will only last until his bride dies

Pull out the sword, the Goblin will turn into ashes
Let him live and his bride will die
What a tragic story, love until one perishes

“I have to disappear to make you smile
This is the decision I have to make,
I have to end my life”


It was long ago planned by a diety
Immortality not a reward but a punishment
A sad love, it was their destiny
Note: I somehow altered the ending.

Inspired by Goblin, a korean drama which I finished watching last night. It was sad yet beautiful drama. So beautiful that I can't get over with the story.
SassyJ Sep 2018
Let’s dally in pain
coat ourselves in coal
as we await the apocalypse
when the diety will declare
death to the society
death to the communion
death to the society

Let’s the emotional turmoil
become the boil that bursts
all the unhappy drafted chants
when the diety will declare
death to the society
death to the communion
death to the society

All the clouds will burst
with chalks of clay
those chunks that mend
As we amend to a neutral
at the leyline of a sublime gift
where the interface of energy
draws attention to the waning moon
under the shear of unwanted hearsays
as such a time is drawing nigh
As their sacrifices drown the night
At the crossroads where ...... two wrongs never make a right
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Apr 2021
Can one wish
to become a Hindu deity?
Well, one can wish
that wish, and perhaps
in self-delusion,
come to feel
it has happened.
Or perhaps instead
of becoming a social worker
to help the poor and hopeless,
one chooses instead
to attend Columbia Law School
and then pick up a MBA
and go to work on Wall Street
where one can make billions,
no longer millions,
and live in Greenwich
in a grand home big enough
to house the homeless of Hackensack.
A private jet would be nice
to have to jet about the world,
eating at only 5-star restaurants,
sleeping only in beds
of luxurious hotels real estate agents
in Fargo can only dream about.
How about yearly attending
the meeting of the financially mighty
of the world in Davos?
Wouldn't that be swell?
Well, it depends on who you are
and where your heart lies
and if lies don't bother you.
An avatar you do not make.
Either you are one, or you're not.
Be your real self as soon as
you can to find out.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
MAHA SHIVA RATHRI
Truth, goodness and beauty are eternal trinity
They are the qualities of rarity and divinity
Today the Hindus celebrate maha shiva Rathri(the great night of goodness)
may this Hindu festival bring upon you all brightness and greatness!
Christians believe only Yahuwah as reality
Muslims regard only Allah as divinity
but Hindus believe that God dwells in every entity
and worship every plant, mountain, river as Diety
Atheists plead God as mere irrationality
but nobody can deny the trinity
which are more internal than external
God may not be truth
but truth is God
God may not be beauty
but beauty is God
God may not stand for goodness
but goodness is surely God
Let us all strive for the trinity
Truth, goodness and beauty
AD Letwixt Oct 2018
Melodious moonlight thy clear liquid spreads
painting all in lavender hue
and moistening lips wait for the kiss of your words, muse
You sing through her parted lips your cryptic hymns and poetry,
words wound together in strange nightly meter
that twist together and shift like tree limbs tangled
and petals cast down the stream

To bathe in the rippling water
and wait for clarity to wash away the rough edges of the mind
let the stones become smooth
and mind like bowstrings, taughtened.

But the crowds protest in collective indignation
all members chained together by common trepidation
lest altars crack under the weight of strange words
and the diety's light grows dim
they sharpen what was dull and loose arrows in laughing mirth
into bodies' crooked minds uninhibited and feet unshackled

The ones in the crowd yell with groans and laughter
but they groan also with the pain of what is constant death and birth... they are resigned to their tradition's lies
and perish ten thousand times.
Nascent generations yell out in incredulity until voices become hoarse and skin turns gray, resign themselves to murmur their insolence in dreams as they whither slowly away.

But the one who, in nighttime, sings
and bestowed by muse's mind, from human lips part
words and strange poems spoken blaspheme
will live but once and one day rest
by the shifting branches and on grass by trickling stream
and not by chain's clanking arrest.
Maggie Neer  Aug 2011
Nonsense
Maggie Neer Aug 2011
Today the world begins new lives
Reborn new
A phoenix prize
A old soul merely metamorphisized

Yet equilibrium remains the basis
For the illogical
Yet chronological
Order of homeostasis

And I do believe
Indubitably
In the infinite
Infinitely
Exponentially

We're all composed subatomically
All we want is stability

You want my opinion
Here's my two cents

You think that's gonna pay the rent?

Get off that couch and pick it up
Perhaps it's fallen heads up
Cause God knows we could all use some ******* luck

If not
Make your own
Flip it over
Turn the record
For the record
This song is over

Needle eating soundless motion
Captured on a carousel of 4/4 time

But you're consumed
By the commotion
Of the emotion
Of stainless steel
Stealing you

Today you and I begin new lives
Reborn new
The phoenix lies
For in your eyes
It's simply
Innocence
Simply
In a sense

Hands keeping timing
Telling me it's past tense
Hands intertwining
Telling me it's not yet

And I think we're intact
But in fact
The entropy of you and me
Has certainly
Got us slipping into passionate disintegration

Because you're entranced by the segregation
Of a million minuscule lights
Cubically distanced
Creating a whole
With a hold
On you

But me
I'd rather be a broken piece
Than one ****** up whole
Because at least
One out of ten broken pieces
Are quite pretty

Like the faces staring back at you
Trapped in their box
Where the walls absorb their pleas
Thriving off vibrations of their screams
Feeding off you
Trapped in their box

But HELP!
I've got this problem
I've got this hole in my shoe
Not through the soul
Ripped through the side
Pierced through the skin
Exposing me
Hiding within

And I am listening
To the pitter-patter symphony
Of twisting
Knotting
Nodding off
Into twisted fictions
Friction
Of twisted knots

So help me Maiden Marlboro
Save me Lady Nicotine
Before you're consumed
By my temporary satisfaction
And become nothing
But the ash hanging upon your precipice of life
With every burning second

But me
I'm not the type to let you sit there and hang
I'll flick you off
And flip you off
And watch you fall with a
BANG!
Goes my brain
Snap, crackle, POP goes the weasel
And round, round, round go the wheels in my mind
As I wrote, wrote, wrote you letters
You said marryme, marryme, marryme, marryme,
But that life was but a dream

Dear Planet Earth,
Today I begin a new life
It's the same cup of tea
With just a pinch of spice
And a little splash of crazy

Fueled by an endless series
Of connections
Coincidences
And personally prescribing medicine

Today
I am baptized by the rays of a new day
Projecting a mirage
A facade
Of a God
Of a Diety
Hiding inside of you and me
So I'll salute you
Then shoot you
Just so I can set it free

Because I am that which must always overcome itself

Forever
And ever
Forever
Endeavors
Davy  Jul 2015
Diety gone wrong
Davy Jul 2015
Ever since I very nearly died, I believed in you.
I believed there was someone that gave me a second chance in life.
I went to church and read the Bible to find religion.
I always thought you were a warm, kindhearted person who shaped this Earth for the good of mankind, but it turns out you're just an evil mastermind who enjoys playing sick, cruel games with people.
I've prayed for you to take me under your wing, but now I pray for you to get the **** away.

God, even though you live in people's hearts and you're immortal, you're dead to me.
No offense to all the religious people on here, it's just my feeling.
Grace Pickard Jun 2014
It all started here;
Some thirty students-
Minds controlled by their puppeteer,
Walked in clueless

My mind came colorful, progressive-
Only my beliefs sprouted!
The seed had already been expressive
Just- the stem was clouded

The renaissance fertilized the soil
Dry, cracked, barren, deprived;
Destitute of the benevolent oil-
Used to awaken thoughts: revived

But what truly blossomed my bud-
Were the French philosophes,
Who's blue, liberal blood-
Solidified my leftist approach

I have always been the optimist;
Through many deaths and rebirths-
I knew it wasn't the apocalypse,
And instead kept the beauty of earth

Because I filled my life with fascination,
My opinions bloomed:bright and rich.
The rain could not cleanse my veneration,
Not to a diety, but to my democratic itch

My petals are strong to hold bees-
Who cannot fly or make honey
It's my civic duty to fight this disease
That in life- one is subject to money

However, I am not just one of Paine's flowers,
I am an independent with liberal powers.
This is part if my informal final paper for ap euro- I decided to answer each of the five prompts with poems

— The End —