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james 5d
icarus, i believe
is heavily overwritten
especially by me

but golden eyes
and golden wings
never melt
from the mind
of a poet;

it's our apollos
that drive our pens
to begin with
C H A T A N T Sep 20
Look this way Apollo, Dear
Play your lyre for me and I'll play my ukulele while all the grasses sing along.
I'll sing my sweet song for you, honey, sweet like you.
haven't posted in a while
Elicia Hurst Sep 1
Sacrosanct sacrifices  
collide in a mirrored image.
There’s a dual grace in the anguish
as the High Priestess tears
a beating heart out —

It lures a half-crazed
Apollonian hymn from you,
harmonized to the devil’s interval,
for my repertoire of Dionysian dance,
attuned to ballet’s feral ceremonies.  
On the lunar stage of ecstasy,
we sedate and ******.

But how far do you dare to rival the muses?
“As far as it takes, and then some more.”
You say to me, in consummate hunger.
Or are we just fools drunk on nectar
in a tug of never-ending war?
April 2018
fray narte Jul 7
you —
kissing the scars on my skin;
such a delicate, carefully crafted
form of poetry, honey,
i will lay it down apollo's altar.

your lips.
my wrists.

and again.

and for a moment there,
they don't look like
a bedlam of veins cut open.
for a moment there,
they look nowhere near
the metaphors
used in place of my self-destruction.
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!
Chris Saitta May 26
Blow, Lyceum grasses, blow,
From coiled lips of your wolf-god Apollo
Whose dawn-padded paws to starprints roam
This temple-tribute to thought-illumined roads.  

Blow, Lyceum grasses, blow
Of wave upon wave of your brushings-by,
From staff to sandal-fall to cloak hemline,
For rhapsodes, your song-odyssey to sew.

The Greeks built the sun,
Upon scaffolding~acrobaticon~  
With pear-skinned lightness to glow,
Or like leavened bread from the woodburning stove.

Blow, Lyceum grasses, blow,
The sun lies old on its famine-cracked pillow,
In spittle of gold and yellowed phosphorous,
With the gods past-blown to ruin.
The Lyceum, known for Aristotle’s peripatetic school (or walking school of thought), served as a temple dedicated to Apollo, who has been known as the God of Light, Poetry, and Wolves, among many other things.  “Rhapsodes” were verse singers, or stitched-song singers, in the Lyceum and Ancient Greece.  Scholars believe Homer’s works were sung this way.
Hailey Apr 23
An oracle
In which only Apollo
God of the sun
Of poetry
Of medicine
Of archery
Of honesty
Of the muses
And of the oracles
Only he yielded the keys
Forged of golden Ichor and tears
Casted into the plated nook of Hades armor
And cooled in the deepest reaches of the seas and the highest high of the heavens
That gave way to the oracles heart
And perhaps she loved him
He who was as warm as the sunlight which kissed lovingly on her skin
He who could breathe not one lie, but rather spoke the truth with a voice soft
He who sang merrily through halls and merry met ears who pondered in to listen

Yes, perhaps she loved him.
Perhaps that is why she took him by his hand
And murmured words sacred
As she passed the key to him
Unneeding to utter what she wanted
He already knew

Perhaps that is why she stayed behind
Watching as others loved him as she did
But never the same
Perhaos because she knew she couldn't have him
So the best she could do
Was give him her heart
And hope he would cherish it
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