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Chris Saitta May 12
Low are the crickets of Delphi
With their chirping rays of sunset,
Like Phaethon to photon destructs
Into the fiery ruts of chariot wheels,
Or two eagles flying opposed on stringed vicissitudes,
A bird-yarning of sky from the omphalos stone,
The fulcrum of sung misery, a fishing net thrown,
As the half-bird and half-ion in siren’s undertones
Lure in subatomic orbs of ghostly parabolic swerve,
Into this blued Corinthian evening, self-vibrato,
Rocking like an empty boat from the dock rope,
Or an empty heart, unmoved by its own beating.
The Greek myth of Phaethon, son of the sun-God Helios, relays how he ignored his father’s protests and drove his father’s chariot across the world burning it in fire when it came too close.  Zeus struck him down with lightning.

The Omphalos stone was considered the “navel of the world,” the center of all things and situated in the Ancient Greek province of Delphi.  Myth relates that Zeus commanded two eagles to fly in opposing directions and they met over Delphi, which was ordained the center of the world.  A copy of the Hellenic stone exists in a museum in current Delphi and is covered with a carved wrought net, which some interpret as the woven narrative of life and the tales of time.
I fancy a spot of travel,
Gotta get around this green globe.
I've seen so many wonderful beautiful things,
The ruins of Rome, the remnants of Greece.
Though these are real swell,
Nothing compares just as well,
As the places I go when it's only you and me.
Always walking back to her
Sudzedrebel Feb 13
I walk alone
Purposefully,
I rest afar
From home.

These aching bones,
Debride me of such woes
And deliver restitution
Of with what I was born.

Painless, happiness,
Life without sorrow
Free from fortune.

To live as I was young
But with the benefits of growing old.

Bless me with that gift of insight
And provide me with good experience,
That I might grow & blossom.

Into the butterfly & not the buzzard,
Into the dove & not the eagle.

From the deserts & the mountains,
From mediterranean to peninsula.

Let me walk away
From the affairs of the needy,
Who have their fill
And are even fat because of it.

Let me walk away
From the affairs of the greedy,
Who can't stomach more
But make room by vomiting.

Let me walk away
From the affairs of the seedy,
Who have good families
But can't keep to themselves.

Let me walk away
From the affairs of the piety,
Who possess nice quarter
But must room in others'.

Let me walk away
From the affairs of the ******,
Who know what is wrong
But still freely engage in it.

I walk alone
Afar from home,
I rest purposefully.

Painless, happiness,
Life without sorrow
Free from fortune.

For the sake of wisdom, virtuously.
For the sake of virtue, wisdomously.

Modest & humble.
Mina Feb 11
The sun is drowning
And the day finally cease
And as the light falls
The night takes from me another piece
But it's ok
What's better than getting close
To the end I always chose
and it's not... getting to Greece
It's ok
the day goes
And i don't care if i overdose
At least i enjoyed it
At least I'm at peace
lol I'm so funny.. sigh...
You're different today,
I hope that doesn't mean,
You're diverging.
Because my nation,
Isn't functional without your aid,
I'm not ready for independence yet.

"Athens and Sparta, two Greek city states, developed divergent values despite being of one nation."
Somethings off I'm worried.
Chris Saitta Jan 10
All, thanks for the many years of continuous support from Hello Poetry, comments (both praise and constructive criticism), and continuing to share our mutual love of poetry.

I am pleased to announce the release of my new book, Poems of Ancient Rome and Greece (of course, what else), in both paperback and Kindle formats with many of the poems on Hello Poetry revised and several new poems as well.  These copies are available on Amazon so please visit my author page for the paperback and Kindle versions:

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Christopher-Saitta/author/B0DRTSZSZH?ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

Anyway, much thanks, and here is one of the new poems.

To the Sky

Once more, comb your skiey streaks of hair,
Backbrush to sombrous chamber,
While the vanity mirror flares its celestial impulse.

The corner of the room is a privation like monastic air,
Its angularity, the ascetic to your fleshened curves,  
More fitting for a candle fasting itself bare,
Relinquishing shine to that spare resurrection in the panes.

So too your summers have flamed upon the windows,  
And autumn has fizzled in spurts of leaves,
So too the failed days are sublimely worshipping  
To a soul that is the glass between.

Love is this placelessness of sunlight,
Earth, the memento of where we touched once:
  Her haystack-gold of hair, his shy, straw whisper,  
  And the footpath that still dwindles there to sunlight's pebbles.
  So warm is the insubstantial, substance of love.

From these paths, the world wanders old,
Upon its crooked staff of trees, its absent-mind dozed into hollows:
  No more sipping at Christ's wound,
  Like a glass soul filled with wine,
  Or tasting his body's amaranth
  In bee-breads fabled to divide.

Where lovers meet, death comes to adore.
Every kiss should prove monument to the world that wastes in air,
Every love should spurn its centuries to that steeped exile of elsewhere,
And break time like shells upon the shore.


II


Shut the blinds to the duller desuetudes of sun,
Because evening itself is a falling in love,
Because moods are the seasons homespun,
And death's great measure, if it comes,
Will be padded upon hand-woven rugs.

So begins the conceit,
Spring its slippered caprice,
Subdued to the stairs, the down-turnings and creaks,
Until table-spread as the meadowed indulgence of the dining room,
Where mornings have had their honeys,
And the berries and creams were guilty pleasures past noon.  

From the china closet and its glass goblet fruit,
Pluck the pome of a teacup
And pour the brook of brews:  
  Within the china pattern of leaves,
  The forest-dark shades of tea
  Are wheeling with subtle complexion
  Of black-currant and grey and darjeeling,
  As if the world could sway so wholly under the thumb,
  As if the woods were a coercion of vapors sapient
  Over their fire-flared stratums.

In mute, cupboarded moments,
To learn the only sound of the soul,
Is rain along the glassings of bay windows,
Is April too lightfelt to hold, only to lose.

Like a nightjar, startle through the storm whorls and raindrop leaves,
Fluster from the ragged brink of Spring,
To presage the distance in shady inklings.
And so then sail to Summering,
Dry until vaporous wings leave cooled tatters like clouded light:
  To dry the sodden absence of a lover,
  Feel your frayed fingers through his sky-blue sleeves.
  Loop the tassel of hair through the collar,
  As before the looms with an armful of yarns to weave.
  Once more the windfall of hair,
  Like smothered lightnings to the static mass of air,
  In strike-soundings, a confession to the cloth,    
  For man to adorn what woman must bare.

Click the lampshade light, the yellowed Autumn of album leaves,
Thinking back is your lying down to sleep.
Fall is the seduction of the sky,
An innuendo of slight denudings,
To lure the human sun from its fleshened prime,
Into leering lusters and willowy fingers to writhe.

Make your skyward sleep,
Past the kitchen that keeps its silence of floors,
A bare reminder of what the snows are for:
Sleep is the only snowfall of the mind, heavy-worlded and pieced,  
Outlying the hushing deep of pines.    

To the sky, great remnant of Greece,
Which has of human lips their redness,
But of love, still its thought to speak,
Mouthing hollow as the wide-open world.
"Desuetude" means falling into disuse.

"Pome" here conveys the fruit and a small apple-shaped object.
Pierce Samuel Sep 2024
I do not know you now
My memories are not my own
Manipulation you created
Sinks through my bones

The man who laughed at the smile
Called him akin to Helen of Troy
Who did not know his own child
He does not understand the boy

Not a helpless girl who was stolen
She can not speak for her own
But a free boy who is known
He is not used to being alone

The confidence is overwhelming
The ability to think freely
But all father knows is yelling
He is a new man completely
HELP idk if this is coherent AT ALL, but you know, I hope you enjoy my little poem about uhhh being a trans guy in an abusive household with some ancient Greece references <33
EssEss Jul 2024
Ever envisaged an island situated in the huge crater of a volcano?
That's Santorini - aptly fitting the description of a touristy soprano,
Fondly described by many as the supermodel of the Greek islands,
It's scenic location is as if crafted by Greek gods, in the uplands

As an archipelago of five volcanic islands, it is located in the Aegean sea,
The island is a head-turner for scenic beauty that makes one scream in glee,
Multicolored cliffs and whitewashed edifices add to the panoramic grace,
Candy-colored houses and paved paths lend to a milieu that's hard to replace

Adorned with black, red and white beaches, Santorini is a waterfilled crescent,
The much pleasing hue of the clear turquoise sea is a tribute to nature's accent,
Volcanic pebbles, spectacular rock formations lace into impressive lunar landscapes,
The breathtaking caldera and the island's geomorphology are sheer dreamscapes

The blue domes of Santorini that bedeck the Aegean Sea are iconic,
As picturesque architectural marvels, they are superlatively masonic,
Perched atop whitewashed churches, they are picture postcard perfect,
The vibrant blue hue contrasting the stark white buildings, seems so correct

Tourists throng the narrow streets and pathways to soak in the photogenic view,
The agonizing wait to gain access to vantage spots is forgotten while in the queue,
The spectacular sight is truly mesmerizing to leave us in a state of awesome wonder,
That it is an incredibly popular Instagrammer's delight, leaves little cause for wonder

Viewing the sunset from Oia is an unforgettable experience that tourists savor,
The energy of the sweeping panoramic landscape is so palpable that one must aver,
The fiery sun sinking into the sea within the caldera remains etched in memory,
Its' the exclamatory chatter of the crowd's praise that shakes one out of a reverie

A visit to the archaeological site of Akrotiri merits high recommendation,
As Greece's version of Italy's Pompeii, it is of noteworthy consideration,
The ruined city sadly buried by a volcanic eruption, holds a lot of history,
As home to the ancient Minoans, now an embellishment of Greek touristry

The ruins depict how people lived in two- and three-storey houses in 1500 BC,
Replete with balconies, underfloor heating, indoor toilets that one can still see,
Remnants of the city's painted frescoes and sculptures are a visual treat,
That such conceptual skills existed in the then Bronze age, is no mean feat

The quality of furniture and ceramic wares bears testimony to Akrotiri's prosperity,
That the people were able to make their own wine, is testament to their dexterity,
Visitors will be impressed by the acumen and farsightedness of the Minoan township,
That was so cruelly terminated by volcanic ash engulfing the town, ending in hardship

Oia's promenade stretches along the whole town with the caldera's breathtaking views,
Rows and rows of shops on either side flaunt souvenirs, boutiques with lots to choose,
Jostling crowds interspersed with multilingual chatter render a touch of street glamour,
As people flood the shopping streets post-sunset view, be prepared to overlook the clamor

The island's capital Fira, is perched on the Caldera's top edge, above sea level,
Stunning views of the Aegean Sea leave visitors awed and a just reason to revel,
Recommended daytime strolls in the scenic alleys fill one with joy and harmony,
An array of restaurants, cafes, bars and clubs adds spice to the nightlife cacophony

Greek islands are in a league of their own when it comes to planning exciting getaways,
Without bias, one can claim that Santorini tops the list with several visit takeaways,
Greece is also famous for it's gourmet food, friendly people and charming hospitality,
By the end of the visit, you realize the multifarious reasons for the island's popularity
Traveler Jul 2024
I travelled the Mediterranean coast
when I was young
Such a beautiful landscape
Carefully carved from stone
Castles and cathedrals
Extravagantly designed
The marriage of man and divinity
In a Jubilee ancient time

Unfortunately
The ghost of my ethnicity
No long prevails
If there’s no forest or rivers
I call that hell
I’ll take the winter
I’ll wait for the season to change
Find me not in any city
Nor any kind of desert terrain

Out here is where I’ll stay!
Traveler 🧳 Tim
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