Nine muses attend the burning
of creation. Sing they.
Songs of sadness. Flames
fill the night.
Smoke carries the knowledge of Ptolemy across the sky.
from Caesar’s burning fleet*
ignites the home of Euclid and Heron.
Words that knew the world reduced to embers.
*one of several explanations for the cause
of the fire.
I make my grave in her dark treason of hair,
Fragrant master of soldiers and memories,
Bei capelli, conspiracy of internecine curls.
Her upbraidings strangle all my sweet nothings
To breathless wish of the emperor-purple of lips.
Flow then like black gloss of birds
And the brood hatchlings of shadow, exiled eastward,
Fled like a premonition of warmth somewhere far off,
While the wine-colored blood spills his heart into a throng of mouths.
Love, you are the hardest grave,
Were you ever just a kiss
Or always from daggers made?
Porcia or Portia was second wife to Marcus Junius Brutus. She has been speculated to be one of the few who knew of the plot against Caesar.
"Bei capelli" is translated as "beautiful hair."
Beware the ides of March, they said,
But I had fallen heels over head
It was but the seventh day of January
and March looked a spot, far away
Aware of my own reality, I was-
But caught in her fantasy, too, I was-
So I spent February melancholy
With pens and journals, bottles and drugs
Alas the day came, lifted was the mist
of reverence and awe, and again I could see
The stab wounds slowly clotted and closed
Left scars of love etched in heart and skin
'Et tu Brute?'
Inspired by William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.
Cleopatra, like Caesar my heart concedes
And even though it is only one sided
The hardest quest would be to get you out of my head
Always dedicated to all your needs
Infamy I have bestowed upon myself
The fire burning the hearth of my soul, never dimming
I would give my self to you for your trimming
A romance that you would leave on a shelf
Cleopatra you are the most pure, the most precious
For your happiness I would play the vicious
To be your obsession I would be cottonweed
Wondering if I have truly spoke with you
Could it be that I mirrored myself unto you
Veritably it is not love but only greed
Let's **** Caesar and call it a day.
Brutus is laughing and Mark Antony is crying.
Calpurnia cries and Portia rejoices.
The people sing and some weep.
Wow, what a great day it is to be a Roman.
one of the most sarcastic poems I ever wrote. Still makes me laugh.
I would ask you to clean your staff
The plebs don't want to see you
With dirt on your draperies
Give them a show and a favorite name
Give them a home and a place to claim
...And kirchéglise(Notre) dame
o u r l a d y m y l a d y
encyl-able, Pope or Pope or popedeux
and vindicate the waysteland
My caska is openclosed!
(pews is pause is putride and prodigious)
Et tout-en commun?Gizerly pharaoh HA
Source-error of Oz
and dust, and dustinction
god pull downwhich?
Vini, vu/gesehen, conquered/konkeri?
and trunks gefallen.
S e m p i ternam.
I am not Julius
Don't stab me with fallacy
And then walk away
How thin must Cassius be
For Caesar to not trust?
He had good reason not to for
A dagger he did ******.
But intentions unbeknownst to he
Just eyes a gossamer frame.
With an ambitious hunger
To keep crown from being proclaimed.
For in the Tiber Caesar did flounder
As if he were the archaic Anchises.
A yelp for help for Gaius Cassius
To save him from this crisis.
And he as Aeneas,their great ancestor
Lifted that mortal Julius upon his shoulder.
Waded through the angry flood
And dropped him down like a boulder.
How could you not trust
A man that saved your life?
Doing something so careless
Maybe deserves the ambitious knife.
Et tu, plebeian?
Words of black
hang off your lips.
Singing songs into ears
Of your friends.
Slides off your
Pink, lushes lips.
Like a kid on a playground.
The kid is happy and content
Running around playing.
But at the same time
The playground is dirtied.
In doing so you dirtied me.
I loved you and respected you.
Fires lit are now washed away
Far gone past the salvation point.
What's left? What's left after youve gone through
Like a tornado your words twist and turn
My every tear upon my face.
Like a knife your words
Let the blood escape my back,
Not just the back.
The legs, the stomach the chest, my head.
My arms are sore
Of the stress you
Made me endure.
All it took was three little words.