#iliad
May the gods drink deep your blood
and may the crimson please their gaze
and may the iron scent whet their lust
that the taste may sate it
for you are my greatest offering.
Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 2:54 PM UTC
fierce and benevolent
these eyes of gold
warm and shattering against the light
of sunkissed skin on marble floors
he's sweet as figs
and sharp as a sword
and his heels pink and unmarred
by the heat of the sun
when our bodies touch for the first time
two souls intertwine
sewn together by threads of fate
i feel nothing other than him
and his gentle gaze and soft hair
but dawn comes around
during the pouring of blood from our cupped hands
onto tainted sheets
of dishonour and rage
and when i breathe my last breath
he roars, like a lion
loud enough for the gods to hear
and does not stop until his face hits the earth
with a smile.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 9:52 AM UTC
Rain drops shell station road
Hurst turns point thirty three
Degrees north-west-west. See,
The quiet stones ahead
Lower the lead scarred flesh,
The soul of this marred son,
Into the dirt it laboured.
How many times should
Gorgythion's root-stem
Lose its petal-wreathed head?
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 7:57 AM UTC
i understand the Greeks
When they wrote of boys
turning to men as
“in the flush of their strength”.
as if the tides of youth,
had burst it’s banks
flooding childhood, like the Mycenae
against Troy.
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 7:49 AM UTC
Iliad book two
never ending list of ships
impressive, Homer
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 5:46 PM UTC
As the walls of Troy
came crumbling down
I wonder where it was
that you ran
I keep a small faith
that something stole you
instead
wrenched you onto its ship
bedded you
I have words
which taste like venom
or a sinner’s eulogy
the way
that I can put them together
bringing rhapsodists to their knees
and you
have a self-conviction:
your words
are better than mine
my words
are merely the stink
which rises
from the suburban ******* tip
you forget that we speak
the same language
the same words
over and
over again
I wake up in May
there is dew on the sill of the window
culminated
from my ****** foulness
you climbed through it
said goodbye
with a dry mouth
and a steady voice
*every evening
is an odyssey for you*
I was the antagonist
I wanted to flood your ship
I wanted to drown your men
you are the wise man
the one
with the ideas
the one
who in the end
is meant to save us all
a different you – I know it’s you
you feel the same
same
strength in your knees
and same
self-conviction
returned to me
and to this archaic city
at the start of May
your words are different
and now
you have a kiss
like the world is ending
and I am your final prayer
we are always searching
for a way to disappear
indefinitely
inside each other
between the walls
of a timber stead
we have cycled
back to the beginning
begin again.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
Achilles does not sleep.
Instead, he seeks the lover’s embrace and curved lips alongside which he went to war;
Those same that he did not find,
Once the dark mist had come swirling down over his eyes
And his soul went winging down to the House of Death,
with a soldier’s sigh of relief.
He had whispered in Charon’s ear, “Take me to him.”
Charon had rowed on, but held his silence.
By way of greeting, a thousand faces turned away,
And no trace of his beloved’s sweet smile as he disembarked, no warm hand to take his own.
“Patroklus,” he cries,
And goes unheard.
Thus; Achilles does not sleep.
He is Achilles; he does not wait.
He is Achilles; instead, he aches.
He is Achilles; instead, he searches.
Over the horizon, he chases Patroklus’ laugh and the turn of his wrist.
He lingers in all the shadowed corners of eternity,
Leafs through the pages of unforgiving, unyielding posterity,
Whispers “Patroklus, best of the Myrmidons” and sends his name through the winds.
The headstrong runner does not drag his feet as he scours the world,
As he chases ghosts across the face of the earth.
Restless, he is never still,
Knows that each step must carry him closer,
Knows that each ragged cry may be the one
That is finally answered,
Each rendition the wound to be finally salved.
He haunts, and is haunted.
‘I did not feel it,’ he thinks. 'It should have been as though Hektor’s pierced my side, in turn. Did they not say we were one?’
As if what he felt, when they told him, had not been enough.
(Scamander would disagree).
One day, smiling among the cypress, he will cease.
One day, the thousand faces turned away will melt to the one alone that within itself holds his heart.
One day, his greeting will be that sweet smile that he found only in the dawn.
One day, a warm hand will take his own, and the word with which his beloved left him will be the same as that which retrieves him:
'Ἀχιλλέυς.’
Until the day when his heart pours out golden,
Achilles will not sleep.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
When describing Iliad I was told
That a poem 26 books long
Could no longer be referred to
As a poem
It was a story a
novel I was told
That a poem is not a poem
That a poem is dependent on length
But this is not true
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 6:09 AM UTC
“Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed.
You will never be lovelier than you are now.
We will never be here again.”
― Homer, The Iliad
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
insert iliads on how i'm b_o;ken and forgot how to b rea{t:h/e
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
How much more can these Trojan sands consume?
They have my honor, my armor ad the spear that I threw
My stricken comrades fight with bravery yet stand in their sorrow
Fearing the ashen spears will hit their mark tomorrow
The kindness of the Achaean camp is dead
And for such a crime I'll make these sands run red
My dearest comrade; my brother in arms
The sun god left me with mere memories of your charms
He ripped your own sweet life away
Like fog being dissipated by a bright shining ray
You were stripped and Hector had my blazing helm
The darkness that descended felt like it came from another realm
I spread ash on my face and defiled my hair with my hands
My clothes and hair were coated with the hated Trojan sands
Antilochus kneeled near weeping his proud heart out
Clutching my wrists for fear I would, with the iron blade, rip my throat out
My mother heard my try from the bottom of the sea
So, she came to camp to try to comfort me
She cradled my head in her hands, tears streaming down her face
I felt the skin I knew I’d never more embrace
My mother says I’m doomed to death by the brother of the one who stole your breath
Then let me die at once since it was not by fate to save my dearest comrade from his death
I could feel the anger bubbling inside me
I suppressed the urge to scream like a war torn banshee
No one could stop me from fighting; no one could persuade me now
To Hector’s greatness I soon began to disavow
I will go back to war with Hephaestus’ armor buckle to my back
I could all but hear the screams of the men I would soon attack
I will fight without the blazing armor
I will **** all those who oppose me down to the last lowly farmer
These sands give me no mercy
However there is no controversy
I will avenge your death; I must
You were the only one I could ever trust
Breathing room in war is all too brief
So I’ll make Hector’s blood stain every clover leaf
I lay my hands on your icy-cold chest
Everyone else will go unaddressed
I will not burn your honey-soft skin
Not till Hector has atoned for his sin
I try to clear your blood-clotted wounds
The thought of loosing you I could not attune
I killed Hector with my sword in his throat
But there is still more to you I could devote
A dozen Trojan sons , a snow white ox, and a lock of golden hair
This is cruel, cruel warfare
Your silver, glittering ghost spoke
I reached out to seize you but you disappeared in a whisp of smoke
I weep to these sands my ravaging tears
They are the epitome of my greatest fears
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
我們都是星塵聚散的產物。
「看，那些隨機的遇合、星軌的趨近與遠離，和碰撞而生的火花，不是很美嗎？」你說。
「而我們正來自那兒。」
我沒有回答。
該怎麼解釋，在你所指出的光亮中，我看見的，永遠是這樣一堵斑駁的牆?當你醉飲生命的果實，並為之欣喜時，我該如何解釋，我眼前出現的，是事過境遷後的虛無？
或許我是時間的罪人，將人世聚散看得清楚。但，說到底，我－我們－也都只是凡人，是星塵的灰燼，賴以生存的是群星碰撞後的一點溫熱。
即便它們轉瞬即逝。
我們在時間布下的迷障中，摸索前行，並貪戀過程中所有細瑣的美好。
我們沒有永遠，手中僅有的，是片刻的歡愉。
而這微小的資產，總是輕輕地、風一般散去。
但，相較於迷障盡頭等待著我們的荒蕪，被遺忘是更為可怖的選項。
凡人沒有永遠，只能盡全力去碰撞。並期待這動能所激發的微弱火光，能夠被譜成一首歌、一篇長詩，被後世傳唱。
我們沒有永遠，我們只能如此盼望。
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
Prideful father of two men
Even to his eldest day
Remained stiff and unbroken
While Hector was taken away
His inner strength rivaled steel
Enough to make his enemies kneel
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC