Few people recognize genius when they see it…
…even less understand it.

Eileithyia does though for she gave birth to it.

For the Dragon hissed as the Dragon died,
Apollo’s kiss as the night subsides,
Python’s bliss as naiad’s cried,
And the wailing woe’s on a weathering tide,

Water-wall from Kētos scream, tsunami crash, swallow everything,

Rolling clouds and the pouring rain and the serpent dying writhing in pain,

And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died,
Apollo kissed away the night time sky,
And the Python’s bliss as his naiad’s cry,

The Sun awoke at the wheel-house berth, armor gold, chest-plate of Earth,

And valiance choked, squeezed by Ladon’s girth,

As the serpent swelled with the stormy seas,

To collapse great hero upon his knees,

Apollo, Cadmus and Hercules.

Reborn by fire, Father-Lion’s roar, returned each night to even-up the score,

And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died,
Apollo’s kiss ward off night time skies,
Oh the wailing woe of ominous tides,

The scythe or club, boulder at night, rocks from heaven and the perilous fight,

Black-oil venom, heart of a beast, starry night’s runner split from the east,

Noxious breathe, flame-seared teeth, smell of death from a ****** feast,

Speared at the neck, pinning head to earth, then celebrated as a day of birth,

The serpent on his shoulder, or dangling from the tree,

Arising from the waters, from the depths beneath,

Cast out under a mountain, yes underneath, then wear his skin and sow his teeth!

And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died,
Apollo’s kiss as the fight subsides,

And Python’s bliss as his muses wailed, between the horns where Argo sailed,

Call it a man or Charybdis, Scylla, rock, a multi-headed beast,

Or just two horns with a middle disk and Apollo’s fire, Sun’s dawning kiss,

And the Dragon hissed as the Dragon dies,
And Apollo’s kiss create the day time skies,
And the Python’s bliss at his naiad’s cries,
And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died!

Some say the Hero came first,
others say the Poet.

I perused again the olden verse,
sure enough; the poet.

A hero and a poet are
always, 'side-by-side.'

How else might we know it,
-without the forlorn scribe?

Shouting for longevity,
Slamming at the counterers…
- upon your dignified respite!
Would-be detractors without brevity,
Before the wine-dark Sea at night…
A pleading to philosophy of commonly renowned,
Beating sand and posturing, uncouth before a crown;

“Priam please!”

Sun and Moon,
two sons shall plead,
nay, -beg in tandem with the man;

“He serves the seas, trust him please, our father; this priest of Trojan-land!”

Laocoon

“Fear the Greeks, of mind I speak, approval by a van-i-ty; it surely is a death you seek!

An asp this horse, gift no more and tragedy in due remorse,

I beg of you my call to heed, wooden-burnt this crispy steed,

…alight in flame, glorified name; Poseidon shall endorse!”

Priests of Apollo

“Ridiculous! Worship we must, now bring it to the City thus!”

Laocoon

“The actions of accursed Kore,

Need I remind you all Paris caused this war?

For he mocked this god, the abyss it knows, with terror comes a deadly tide,

**** that fool and his fiddling pride!

Burn this beast we must with haste for Greeks they have a certain taste,

Their acts meant always to confound, wily, since they were unbound.

What harm may do, to rest at shore? Consult the stars of yester-yore.

Assign no chore, one heaven’s night, plus a day, to sit upon our princely shore?”


Setting
(read/spoken at the fastest pace the reader can go)

A horrid hiss above the wave as two doth slither from out the cave…

  The creatures from the darkest days, ancient spectacle for the knaves, bear witness to the punishment, commanded by a great trident, hearing screams of bannermen, for King and council a shocking twist, serpents ****** from out the mists, encircling priest and his kin, the howling they had done no sin, never be forgot-ten, as Typhon cried out merrily, serpents and the tragic sea; swallowed up all the three.

Priam

“Farewell dear Laocoon and two sons with thee!”

Where did they hide a punch clock in the timeless solace?

Or did they hide it all?

Perhaps it’s difficult to see some mornings?

We walked together to the school bus-stop, Billie Jean and I,

…she seemed to have a thing for me although I don’t know why?

I had a birth deformity; my feet were horned like snakes,

…a scaly-green monstrosity that locked away my heart and mind,

…so that; like the time clock, no one would ever see me.

Even the trip to doctors in Thebes, it only made it worse,

...all the children in my town found out, and said that I was cursed,

An ancient Greek named Urias claimed;

That tranquil purple’s peaceful dawn had hid a pitcher of lies,

And Zeus’ anger at the act brought down lightning from the skies,

…and struck down the people just like me against a ballad of rainbow fusion sunrise.

For the dreamy cosmos exercises as the pantomime he realizes,

…the many fancies of his disguises that the panoptic mind has in its surmises,

And in their parrying fall the distended fragments of the egg,

…formed some like me who were formed quite queer, said to come from Apulian’s nightly fall of fear.

Glass-bottled visions of events not clear all framed in a circle of Plato’s Great Year.

My feet the scaly-green monstrosity which sealed my heart and mind,

Billie said it was a gift from that Great Old Father Time,

A spring of rocks, a great mountain, a whirlpool and a navel,

I guess one day I’ll become them all, if and when I’m able!

Through the fields of stars and through the black forest,
And always West, trailing behind them a glowing disk,
With their frizzy coats and gnarling smiles; the heroes try to **** them with meteors.

Scattered shards of stone-fire bits, and the ashen paw prints evading it,

…and the horse shines upon Lykaon’s grave.

Howling are the wolves of Phanes, their number growling with the rains.
And matching windy howling screams, with hoots and hollers inbetween…
The great horns point at the wolven den, from which Fenrir’s gaze sees all man’s sin.

And the flames of Cerberus lick the hori-zon;

…as he descends into Hell’s cave,

And the Drakon hungry for lycanthropes, he hunts the plains of Hades;
But the cunning beasts avoid him while calling out to the moon, over their master’s grave.

Calling out over Lykaon’s grave,

Cyclopean-cotton collects, a smoking pillar covering guide. Obscuring the light and now they are vexed, as the Lykos struck down, they have died.

And their flesh is what the Drakon does crave, as they are devoured on the stones of Lykaon’s grave,

…at that place known as Lykaon’s grave,

Struck down with asters
and gobbled-up,
over Lykaon’s grave.
Wyrd-wolven stars at night

…over Lykaon’s grave,

A werewolf at,
The entrance,
To the cave,
And that King,

…who stands before Lykaon’s grave.

Olives, figs, dates and mastic, wyrd or oracles, fates and magic, wars and loves and all that’s tragic.


A Father’s lust, an Uncle’s hate, a puzzling labyrinth, through the gate,

A Cretan born, another covered, a starry symbol, placed in the cupboard,

Special place, where heroes meet him, mindless creature, murderous ******,

South in winter, man below with a bull above, placed in the heavens by two father's love,

A strangeness here, the seat of trade, in forbidden tryst, a beast was made,

Man of blood, tortured soul, stalks the maze, that stalks the pole,

"Stranger still, this wild pattern, revolving Seventh, Circle of Saturn?"

Unholy corridors made of granites, trace out the movements of the planets!

Life of horror, a soul of pain, terrorizing, with no refrain,

Smells their fear, scents of sin, raging actions, threshing men;

“They call me Moloch! They call me Baal! Tear your body, festoon my hall!”

In trepidation, to gatekeeper sent, a ****** start, for your punishment;

“I collect the hearts, I eat the eyes, I eat the liver, before he dies!”

Olives, figs, dates and mastic, wyrd or oracles, fates and magic, life and death and all that’s tragic.

The hanky he was sobbing into was crusty,
*****, unwashed, unclean; yet strangely comforting to a little boy,
as he cried he made his way to a culvert behind the school,
some place the other kids couldn’t see him crying,
it was more comfortable being near rocks
-next to that watershed for some reason?

He looked down at his antagonist,
the scaly-green feet,
they made him cry harder,
he lamented…

“Why have I been tormented so?”

“Who gave me these feet? Who made me this way, lizardly, scaly, an animal no?”

“What class am I, what species? Are those toenails, claws or a disease?”

“The way I’m treated makes me sad. Where is my mommy, where is my dad?

“Did I come from an egg? Didn’t we all? Why do they pick on me, make me feel so small?”

“My feet are reptilian even I can see that!”

“Am I part lizard? Are there horns on my back?”

“I can’t hide in sneakers ‘cause the claws tear them apart.”

“Not great at math, language or art.”

“They always pickin’ on me, today it’s in the schoolyard.”

“That is why I sit here on the rocks crying with my ugly feet and sullen heart,”

“Cannot run fast so no baseball, basketball or soccer…”

“The other kids tried to stuff me in my own locker…”

“One mean little girl even threw a dead mouse at me!”

“But I’m only part lizard as far as I can see?”

“My English teacher says that my words are like a bird song”

“If I talk like a birdie along with monster’s feet, no wonder I don’t belong!”

“Even still, to be so mean to me, I know that it is wrong…”

“ONE DAY I WILL SHOW THEM ALL, THESE FEET THEY HAVE A PURPOSE!”

“MY WORDS OF SONG AND FEET OF MAGIC COMBINE A COSMIC CIRCUS!”

“I am no freak of nature, no forest Pan or Satyr…”

“It is not the way I look, my clothes or feet that matter…”

“It is what is in my heart and mind, the things I do that truly count…”

“For those things that make us different, for they are tantamount…”

“Seven heads, seven stages, seven fables, seven sages”

“Seven stars and seven wonders and seven heavens that we’re under…”

“And all those things they say are great and marvelous about us…”

“Will one day be written in the book by Great Old Uncle Taautus!”

“Mystic readers of the stars,
In Land of Sleeping’s language versed,
Consult the tales, those stories –old.
And tell us, is the maiden sold?”

“Climb the tower, the fire pieces,
Traverse the heavens, assign the path,
Until the maze of tomes thus ceases…
And mystery lost to art of math.”