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Katherine Smith  Feb 2018
Katherine Smith Feb 2018

i almost made it out
the house
down the slanted
i nearly passed the garden gate
with tired
for a moment i thought i was free
no ghosts
       no ashen memories—
But bags in hand i couldn't help
and took
     a glance
I used to hate the myth of Orpheus, I think it's because I was scared of making the same mistake.
Michael Briefs Jul 2017
Journeys rendered dateless,
Wayward and extending out,
Round the compass points --
Dizzying aspiration to cease this race,
To slow my sprinting soul,
This pace splintering, in exhaustion.

Expiring breath of hope or of home
Evaporated in a distance
Vanishing and
On trackless tides, across
Labyrinthine depths,
Within the vast heart
Of the world
I cannot run from.

Yet, I moved to and between
The center or its peripherals, in
Singular or collectives,
Seeking pattern and
Drawing connectives –-
Brushing by and
Bustling among
Entranced In their own

I watched their movements
And their exchanges,
I heard their rituals and
In all these transitions,
They have no inkling
That their seemingly trite
Lives merely manifest
The epic motifs of the heavens!

Our imaginations mirror
The vitality of the gods!
We are as immortal as they!
Our simple, sensual stories
Are also enduring legends
As our pages turn,
Our flags are unfurling!

Just as our fellow
Olympians of old
Engaged in a marathon of
Endeavor to heights
From those mystic days
Since Orpheus’ ardent lyre
Sang notes
Of Nature’s divinity, Her
Eternal sweetness.

We need only sense that
It is in Nature’s essence
We are sharing.
With her, we are joined in
An undying marriage,
A unified pairing –
Our human heritage,
Our dignified bearing.

We share in that song,  
We share in that sweetness,
We share in that race,
We share in Her immanence.

This journey is our own.

It goes on, unending!
Dogslinwriter Aug 2018
Dear Orpheus,
You have been very patient.
The silence of a loved one is difficult to keep up with.
You still talk like nothing has changed.
I know this is scary.
I know you love me.
I know to love and not hear "I love you" back is horrifying.
I know that once your eyes used to light up looking at me.
I still see that light, but it's distant now,
Like the light is at the horizon ready to disappear.
I know I am asking for too much.
Loving someone who is dead isn't easy
Bringing back someone who is dead isn't easy.
Fighting for the dead isn't easy.
I know you believe in me because you've seen me alive.
But sometimes you can't beat death.
Your patience is everything to me.
I never knew how much hurt a dead person can give,
until I saw you hurting.
I want to come back. I want to return.
To our world.
To the enchanting music of your lyre.
I know there will always be uncertainties.
I know there will always be an Aristaeus walking behind me.
I know this time wouldn't last forever.
I hope you do too.
I know you have fought the gods and monsters for me.
So just wait, dear Orpheus.
For I am fighting too.

I am walking behind you.
I know you don't hear me.
Do not turn for I am trying to keep up.
Do not rush for it wouldn't make it any better.
I am a shadow, haunted by Hades, dear Orpheus.
Wait a little more, I don't want to lose you forever.
Your Eurydice.
JN Cole  Aug 2018
JN Cole Aug 2018
the birds will tell you
the birds perched along the black cable wires

the birds will sing you a song
when the edge of the sky breaks golden

when the golden breaks the somnolent


a mother is pleased with the clicking of the gas stove

how many mothers turn
their gas stoves on at the same time

or it could be a father
a daughter a son


a pan heating over the blue flame
a cigarette cherry

in a moment there is admiration
                                        ­                  salvation of sorts
                                    signal fire
warm radiation for comfort

the birds will tell you
a different bird for a different song

like that of the boy who played
Revolver on his phonograph

thirty years or so afterward another boy
a different boy searches in his shoe box

cassette tapes smelling
of dust and mold and old cardboard
 ­        Pink Floyd                                             Lynyrd Skynyrd
                                   Meat Puppets
                  Pixies                                t­he Melvins
Kiss          Queen        Metallica—

in the apartment with its stucco wall
how many boys have had music playing

the sound of breakfast
their mothers telling them off

keep it down

mothers want spoons and forks
clinking against their china plates

want washing copper pots
cast-iron pans

want tap water rushing
want to
                  scrub                …a w a y

want to jump inside the kettle
and shut the world away

she smiles at you and sees you off to school
have a nice day.

the birds will tell you
the birds perched along the black cable wires

will tell you who painted the girl
in the gas mask on the gray wall

her prayer in the quiet box above her head

                                         "WE BELIEVE"
         We believe that children in Africa will not starve again.
                  We believe in equality and good governance.
                                          We believe in world peace.
                                                          ­   We believe in women’s rights.

you have admired now for years and years

the birds will tell you.
the birds will tell you.

at the same time someone painted a sea turtle on the
back of the closet in the apartment bedroom

the birds will tell you what happened to the girl who
played with matches; what happened to the dog

the birds on the cable wire knew about
the old apartment, the one before you came to live in this new one

but the pine still stands in the front yard
the old apartment ashes now underneath the new

but with the same stucco wall
and the same pine tree shedding needles now for years

along the street
before the flood washed away bits of asphalt

there was a kid rushing home to watch the television before his father did, before the news, before he was told to study

now that the street is fixed, crack-less, hot black asphalt over asphalt; how many cars have passed

there is a kid now rushing home, his house just half a mile away
from school the kids now smelling like the sun

flushed and dotted with prickly heat
and sweat-soaked hair plastered to their foreheads and napes

how many of them
in the past twenty years cackled playing catch-ball

there is a girl now in her bedroom reading Breakfast at Tiffany’s
rare find at the book store inside the strip mall

before in the same room there was a girl smoothing the torn corner of Lord of the Flies maybe the book will be new again

maybe Ralph didn't have to have his mind all hazy
maybe she didn’t have to write a book report

the birds will tell you
the birds perched along the black cable wires know

they will tell you and they will sing
when the edge of the sky breaks golden

and everything is

Rich Hues Jan 13
In Manolo Blahniks,
While her chair wears her jacket
And her fingernails play Orpheus
   On a cigarette packet,                                      
A cold goddess in stone                
And in a flounce of french lace,
     Gravelled footsteps don't lift
Her resting-*****-face,                                        
So I announce my arrival                      
With an unconfident cough,
                Her eyes still on the sunset,  
             She tells me to...
derailed-trains  Oct 2018
derailed-trains Oct 2018
i lament the humidity
of the air and the harsh
midday sun
i can feel my sweat
sticking on my skin
even if i just finished
another bath
what do the remaining
hours of this day hold?
nothing seems to make
me anticipate new mornings
i fall asleep easier now
maybe because i'm
always tired
is this day 10 or 100
or 1000
of being confined
in an endless cycle of
troughs and crests
i can no longer remember
the last time i was able
to sustain a sense of
i think it was when we were
leaving the port of Cebu
i had my very first cigarette
we were saying goodbye to
the fading city lights
the cold water crashing on
the sides of the ship is
enticing me to
jump off
15 Oct 2018
stopdoopy  Aug 2018
stopdoopy Aug 2018
I wish to gaze upon thee, look at the expanse of virtue.

You truly are a rival for Aphrodite.

An ethereal being.

I am but a priestess, at your alter, worshipping.

If I could meet those eyes, ghost fingers over satin skin, card through sleek locks, then surely I'd be blessed.

For you I'd do as Orpheus for Eurydice, without looking back.

To love a goddess such as yourself is eternal.
I really wanted to write about Hatshepsut and her lover instead but either I found the wrong woman pharaoh or I dreamt the whole thing I've read about her lover before so... couldn't do that. What I remember reading was that her successor started destroying things she's built and having her name erased off of things which is essential for the afterlife, so her lover broke into her tomb to write her name, thus ruining his own chance at an afterlife because desecrating a resting place was a huge no-no. So yeah Idk where I read that or if I did but that's the idea.

So I had to settle on a couple who's names I could remember/actually look up their story and here it is.

Just a heads up because it pertains to a poem coming up, I wrote this months ago.
PoserPersona May 27
Better to be Pyramus and Thisbe
than god Apollo and Daphne?
As love oft triumphed by envy.
Oh to be Abelard and Heloise
or Juliet you and Romeo me!
Cleopatra, Marc Antony,
Orpheus, and Eurydice!
Martyrs to Cupid, were you wary
of the price to pay? Did you find peace
from Plato’s coined mental disease
in Pluto’s long halls of Hades
or the self induced daily shade of trees?
What of love dooming kin to Achilles?
When Dido and Aeneas meet
is her suicide guaranteed?
Pray tell us, can true love ever be free!
Evan Stephens May 14
She reminds me
of old, painful

Her close-grained
rasp and enchanted,
pierced warble -
a close kiss
& a hammer.

"Some days
all you need
is one good
thought, strong
in your mind."

Her voice
is Orpheus,
looking back,
is Ophelia,
on the willow

It shakes
dullness from
the soul, the
way you clean
a coin
with salt.
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