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Zywa Jan 26
A sphinx in the desert grabs my feet

.....What is small, soft and weak
.....but stronger than the hardest marble?

.....Do not count on what you have learned
.....do not count on what you think now
.....do not count on what you will know later

.....but surrender to the answer
.....or burn alive in the sun!

The standing heat and my resistance
against this exam dehydrate me

I lick the salt from my lips
fold my hands over my head
until they sting and get exhausted

my sweat evaporates
my skin is bursting
sand fills the slits

I dream of drops
that close me
one by one, slowly

making a way deep
into my fibres, and the sphinx nods
She releases me

.....Here's a roof
.....here's a well
.....take a rest and move on
Collection “I am”
Diána Bósa Dec 2017
Aye
I've seen the stones;
the sphinx's heart,
the tears of the sand,
the touch of the wind,
the taste of the silence,
the plenty of the vastness
- all, though, existed
without rhyme or reason
for as the shimmering firmament itself,
you towered over me.
A Henslo Sep 2017
Bewitching by her eyes and chest
The riddled lady came abreast
Yet the answer I did supply her
Fatally frosted my deep desire
These unfleshly lines are all that rest

It is not sorrow towards I strive
Pain and passion strike as one
We may win both or may win none
Bold the men that still contrive
To decrypt this ruthless riddle of life
After the painting "Oedipus and the Sphinx" by Gustave Moreau (1826-1898); www.facebook.com/a.henslo.poetry
Lili Aug 2017
A sphinx riddles me this:
Who sheds tears in the morning
Crying, searching, instincts overtaking
Before the noon hangs high, the clouds breaking
Like the pimples upon their cheek
Until all the rosy and blush is flushed
Away with a pale, cold breath.
Brent Kincaid May 2016
I was having a cigarette
On top of a ziggurat
When I asked the Sphinx
To say what he thinks.
He said I’d know what he did
If I were in the pyramid.
But instead I had got
Myself on a ziggurat
So, he couldn’t say what
He truly thought he thought.

Then the Sphinx said to me
There will be lots of mystery
And I am certainly not joking
But you must give up smoking.
Because an important answer
Is that ziggurats cause cancer.

I don’t believe that is so.
I feel I must let you know
That there isn’t a chance
I mean, look how you dance
With your body all flat
In those tall pointy hats
Your elbows look broken
So, I know you are joking
And making an ancient pun,
You are just having fun
With a modern American.
I will do whatever I can
To try to catch the basic gist
Of whatever I have missed.

Then uttered the Sphinx
You logic is missing some links.
I’m older than the pyramids
And you are all just kids.
Now you know what the Sphinx thinks.
Francie Lynch Apr 2016
The Sphinx's riddle
Ended with a stick man holding a stick.
The cane.
Those Egyptians were on top of the chain.

What will Lady Liberty's Riddle be
For today's Empire.
After the machines, tubes and electronics
Have made us blade runners.

With a cane.
Mystifying Chaos Nov 2015
He wasn't a loner.
He was just a wanderer in search for a place where he could find peace.
His imagination was too vivid and wild. His mind was like a sphinx, impossible to decode.
His thoughts were a tangled mess of knots.
He was a mystery.
He was never able to seek peace but he found something intriguing. He met her.
Just like him - Wandering like a gypsy, with chaos occupying her mind.
She was like the missing piece from his jigsaw puzzle of a life.
Together they dreamt about all the magical infinities they longed for all their lives.
Cheyenne Oct 2015
Sprinting through the meadow--
Sun warmly brushing skin.
Tickled by the wild grass
As afternoon games begin:
Exploring creeks and forests
And all that lives within.
Scrapes and bruises commemorating
The quest for long lost kin.

Tiptoe through the garden;
Whisper through the tress.
In illuminated darkness,
Be hushed by rustling leaves.
Flowering rows exposed
So as to be kissed by passing bees;
Dancing down the aisles,
Damp earth cooling your bare feet

Sitting on the window sill,
Watching the passing day.
Attention turned towards the hearth
Once night takes the view away.
Surrounded by the things you know,
Comfortable in the array.
Simple now, was simple then
And simple may they stay.
I am lovely, O mortals! Like a dream carved in stone,
And my breast where poets are bruised to the bone
Formed to inspire each in their quintessence
A love as eternal and silent as essence.

I unite Ledaean pallor with a frozen heart,
I scorn movement for it displaces my art,
A riddling sphinx, on a throne in the sky;
Never do I laugh and never do I cry.

Poets, at the feet of my imperial pose,
Which I seem to adopt from statues grandiose,
Will consume their lives in studious indulgence;

For I have, to enthrall those docile paramours
Pure mirrors to enhance all beauties evermore:
My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal effulgence!
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