"acropolis" poems
**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy. As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures. Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being. Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the spunk. If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself. Fuck your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses. Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge. Cock sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man. Nevertheless let this not ********* you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion. Touch yourself. To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches. Neither be cheeky about ****** ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist. Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness. Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity. But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings. Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness. Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself. You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end. And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should. Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** intercourse. With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory. Stand pert. Die in the attempt to be boozed up.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
Hear ye my statute, men of Attica--
Ye who of bloodshed judge this primal cause;
Yea, and in future age shall Aegeus's host
Revere this court of jurors. This the hill
Of Ares, seat of Amazons, their tent,
What time 'gainst Theseus, breathing hate, they came,
Waging fierce battle, and their towers upreared,
A counter-fortress to Acropolis;--
To Ares they did sacrifice, and hence
This rock is titled Areopagus.
Here then shall sacred Awe, to Fear allied,
By day and night my lieges hold from wrong,
Save if themselves do innovate my laws,
If thou with mud, or influx base, bedim
The sparkling water, nought thou'lt find to drink.
Nor Anarchy, nor Tyrant's lawless rule
Commend I to my people's reverence;--
Nor let them banish from their city Fear;
For who 'mong men, uncurbed by fear, is just?
Thus holding Awe in seemly reverence,
A bulwark for your State shall ye possess,
A safeguard to protect your city walls,
Such as no mortals otherwhere can boast,
Neither in Scythia, nor in Pelops's realm.
Behold! This Court august, untouched by bribes,
Sharp to avenge, wakeful for those who sleep,
Establish I, a bulwark to this land.
This charge, extending to all future time,
I give my lieges. Meet it as ye rise,
Assume the pebbles, and decide the cause,
Your oath revering. All hath now been said.
3.6k
and some came up with this philosophy stemming from internet
usage pleading for anonymity,
but then someone decided - **** it, i want to have
a digital presence like i have a presence on the street -
and the phonebook needs updating in the globalised world -
this someone also thought about turtles among achilles hares;
this aside, something had to be kept from the 20th century living,
after all certain things retain this antique quality to them,
the sort of nostalgia i have in competition with the german romanticism
that focused its nostalgia on ancient greece... as far as my nostalgia goes,
it spans the years 1960s - 2007 / 8, and it’s alive, it’s organic,
you won’t have to go an see and touch the acropolis or enter
the sneezing room of a library with ancients texts.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC
Jumpercable dreams
Defibrillator epiphanies
Wet streets of this city.
Rain way rivers down
Alley and walk.
Fumble for the seventy-five cents,
Slam!
Crack!
Vroosh!
The heights are drowning!
Shared awning storefront,
It's not stopping and it won't ever stop.
The Lee Rd. sidewalk,
Now the new Rio Grande,
Flows to the big parking structure,
Now an Atlantian City,
Relic to a cryptic past,
Arcane acropolis.
Dry overhang is my raft,
Only it,
Too,
Is sinking.
The spider hanging from the wall,
Does not even notice.
Perfectly at peace,
Master Spider has his web,
His dinner,
His enlightenment,
All of which are part of the
Arachnid awning and web zen garden.
Jul 23, 2010
Jul 23, 2010 at 10:52 PM UTC
i
sacchariferous exhale's, I shalt insufflate into her bronchi
An Ode of enchantment, a beacon of escarpment, Filipino oblige;
We shalt junket all the way to France, the way politician's do
Concord, oh amour', at the end of the day Cogitation's, sky blue.
ii
The artist's shalt adumbrate ourn outter appearance's, as ghost's
They shalt brush us onto an primeval canvas, Enlargement ****
Phosphorescent simper she giveth, as I grace her foreign perfume
Thither the acropolis, to mine land of Greece, Corinth, in all tune.
iii
The people their do greeteth her, they layeth out the red carpet
White wall's of these spítia, nacre full of plenty, open market's;
The children here art collaborated in epoch, decorative style's,
As mine queen shalt seeith, they weareth golden leaves, wild......
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/ pag-ibig magpakailanman.....
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
think about how
we see ruins
as beautiful
like the
Acropolis or
the Colosseum
and Pompeii,
though they’ve spent
years and years
breaking,
crumbling,
disintegrating,
until all that’s left
are fragments of what it used to be
but we still see it today
with awe
and admire all of its glory
and i think maybe
it’s the same with people
it’s easy to fall in love with the remains
of something you did not see
fall apart first.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
Aristotle’s arrhythmic articulations
Appeared too apologetic for Aphrodite's amusements
Aroused by antisocial media’s alacritous abundance
Amidst arteriosclerosis and amphibiously obeisant Ophiuchus
Asclepius' ascendance was almost an abortion
Arrested by Apollo’s amorous attempts at aphrodisia
Ambidextrous Artemis’ androgynous appointments
Awakened ancient antipathies accentuating allopathic artifacts
Altercations arose among ambitious acolytes and Athena’s anorexic acidoses
Awkward Adonis actively agonized by alarming aneurysms
Allowed Antigone’s ambivalent armistice an aperture of acceptance
Appointing an ambiguously appealing additive to the Argonauts
An anaerobic Acropolis arose amidst ********** asphyxiations
As Amazonian armpit hair advocates approved artificial insemination
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 8:33 PM UTC
here and again, where ruins used to be
and you'd step with abandon in your white dress in front of me
only a mad hatter and an alcoholic fool for you, my Alice romanesque
with wonderland on every inch of you
apocalypse acropolis and columns lit from behind but you
lightfooted, Alice, were always so much prettier than tourist traps
and the drinks were stronger across the pond
so here and again, two years dry and two years older
(both of us but mostly you)
and the sand in your hair, long and light and gravity wet and romanesque
like you (and only you)
alice, they call this an impasse.
but you've been drinking too, tonight
and (finally) the stars are blurry for us both
and your mouth is so red
and romanesque
and so close
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
the ethereal beauty of contrast;
the looming thunder clouds
against the rustic columns of the Acropolis
i've been wandering for a while now
weaving in between the olive trees
walking amidst the maze of houses that surround the mass of people
i search for my lover,
whom i do not know,
every corner i turn i look for him.
and i'll keep turning every corner,
hoping he'll gift me a wreath,
and walk up with me to overlook our beautiful city together,
for better or for worse,
for all eternity.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 4:37 AM UTC
Accumulating Andromeda to pass the last man standing,
the acropolis is waiting and Adelphi knows **** all.
I have read the signs in tea leaves leaving me the poorer for it
and had to sit through countless lectures which was the price I had to pay.
Blood drains freely flowing from me as the state ***** greedily at the remnants of a country and what this boy used to be, but
it's nonsense to despair because there no one there and if there was they wouldn't fuckin' care they're in their own lair of pain.
All the same
I'm still assimilating information and it's grating on my nerves.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
I leave you to your past objections ridiculing me into
a suicidal loser with no family behind him seeing all
That he is, I have no problem with this,
Several events In my life no matter if it was kiss or
A fist,
I got no patience for this,
Denials making me ******
If I could travel anywhere in the world it would be Acropolis,
And I don't have a lot of money only a couple of cents,
And all the people in my life compared to me has no more sense,
Pray for me of course,
As Will I for you,
not enough wealth in this world to subdue.
just believe in me as I will for you.
/
As I grow I see a change in everybody asserting their
Status or the toughness in a bad place of the area they
Live in bringing ignorance to those and myself with
Out of touch feelings and mindless composition of
Being the abnormal ones in this situation therefore
Bringing the conclusion of a bad man in distress of
Dealing with obstacles and finding shortcuts to easier
routes out of bad situations that they go through on a daily
basis for being Black and in America,
Theres blood soaked up in the carpet.
/
Like a thief,
In the night,
You come to me like I have all the answers,
Maybe I'm going about this all wrong,
The wings grew from you , but my hair was shedding,
I loved the sight,
Of beauty taking flight,
Your blood runs with an empty freezer,
I got my opinions about the wicked moon, God owns the sky,
It's not like we could fly , to a heaven filled with pizza boxes
And videogames,
Wait ! Maybe that would come in handy,
I free the beast knowing I need peace in my heart,
Don't want blasphemy,
I was on the edge of the Apocalypse with this love,
And this trust ,
I hope when I turn back , I will turn to dust.
Today's My Birthday :) I'm 20 Now !!!
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 10:34 AM UTC
My hand is still locked in yours
My lips still hold fast to what I long adored
I rise each day and feel only cold and longing
Wishing our acropolis hadn’t washed away with the rain
Hoping your hand will find its way to my chest once again
You loved the greeks and I was your god
I was cast in bronze, you cast in marble
We both stand in the shadow of a city far and cold
But you rise two hours late and things are so different
And I miss our warm silent town and waking at the same time
And I ache to know that your form is not mine
That there wasn’t enough time in the world for us
That I cannot drink away your body with mine
And I miss knowing that the same stars shone over you and I
Whether or not we lay underneath them together
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
*Apollonian vs Dionysian virtues
imperfect forms storm the acropolis
in temple halls the dreamers wept
for the old gods to bend
their icy paws once again
saws cut through the logos
in lieu of cedarwood we got cement
now only short stints of sunlight
descend from the heavens
and the gods pretend not to notice them
but i'd like to take you on a trip
through my thoughts
and around my mind
between my skin and my spine
and define words and feelings
archetypes, images and concepts
that have barely begun to surface
to the light i rise again
beyond sighs and fears we fight
for our right to awaken them*
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 10:46 AM UTC
He was a man with pools for eyes
the rage that darkly tinted them was the chlorine,
never distilled.
Convinced your heart was the same shape
as his,
that the sky is never black, but blue.
Blue like they all say.
Shooting stars looked like lit matches thrown into water
in those gelid eyes.
No wishes to be made here; keep on moving, folks.
The wash of the world in the wave of each fresh sunrise:
to him,
just another day to lose.
And the days did - they folded
and fell inside the others.
They held no divergence.
His acropolis never torn from the earth.
Not hurricanes or tsunamis, not earthquakes
could storm a plight larger than his anger.
Welcome the The Almighty Kingdom.
He the absolute fascist,
the dictatorial leader.
His word like handcuffs
shackling you to every. single. one.
A cape of misery that turns all wondering and curious eyes to grey.
Heart pressed within a room of shrinking walls.
Swallowing hurts, too, sometimes. Most times.
He reigns more stringently today than he did
the day before
and the day before
and the day before.
I’m afraid, scared, terrorized
by what the future here could hold.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
Marble made of seagulls’ wings, set in flight,
Their beaks foam and crest and rise for air,
In headwinds and feathered drag, upward lift,
Carve out fluted columns by tunneling vortex,
Beams of bluebirds made from cross-sky stitch,
Parthenon of flying tides and nested Acropolis,
Endless fossilized sigh of Saronic Gulf sea-winds.
Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 8:15 PM UTC
She is the Angler's flooded candela.
Rotting in polished abalone opposing the currents.
Sheltered by the wretched Leviathan of vilified lore.
Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.
Rhapsodies of calamity shatter the pearl's mantle.
Hippocampi forewarn of the seafoam's ambush.
Preparing for the inevitable euphotic zone's descent,
She is the Angler's flooded candela.
Tumultuous floods cascade over the ruined acropolis.
The aqueducts conceal larimar encrusted scriptures.
All cognition is forcibly devastated by vengeful rapids
Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.
Malformed Scylla hasty to pilfer decaying remains.
Charybdis reckless to crush with its numerous jaws.
Souls pillaged for their misfortune in splendor.
She is the Angler's flooded candela.
Shrouded solely in the fathomless, stygian depths.
Oxygen minimum commences its terminal quest.
She is the Angler's flooded candela.
Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC
Amongst the leaves I am a conductor
I have guided their hue and told them their future
they have agreed
I am a wanderer, I am Bede and lost amidst the cockles
I have bled and tasted the Salton Seas
I will give my entire wealth of the universe which is replenished
I will show the world the gift of my unknown
It is soft chocolate that has melted in the heat
It is a love that is unrequited and dies inevitably
I am a philosopher and upon my hill I view some lady in the garden
She is beautiful but of the state and in that way I cannot be
I am a trader of knowledge and wealth is the secret I guard enviously
She will never have this treatise
I will grow old and wither on the steps of the acropolis
I will become food for the olivine complexion of her skin
I will be the very foundations of her visions
I will touch the corneal fragments of her children
I am a faker and a figment of imagination
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
Poem-report: Greece
Writing poetry in the Hellenic region
Equals to discussing democracy
In Athens, its cradle then despotic tomb
The poem can’t survive in this rather cracy.
Greece however always belongs to pugnacious Achilles
Keeping the mythical beauty of its temples and islands:
The sea is as clear as the thin aquamarine
Which used to ornate Pallas’ bust, sibyl.
And what of Apollo, supreme oracle of Delphi
He is done delivering visions, no one calls out his name
The poet summons him, but he fails to arrive
What can he make of sanctity or lent?
The deity’s site looks as wild as it was then
Between an ochre mountain and a rising sun
The stray cats and dogs, worshipers of the past
Are the only believers who now crowd the p(a)lace.
Greece is pauper alas, and exploits its legends
To obtain some drachm from European folks:
Statues and vases, paintings and almonds
Everything is copied and sold–what a Herculean task!
What sad realization takes hold of the voyager
To follow the tracks of heroes, eager
Athens is filthy, and to heal her gray boyishness
The acropolis is yours for about thirty euros!
Men of our time have desacralized
What had been dreamt about when barely imagined
Glory only remains in what you can read of it
I almost couldn’t find some muses and their lyre.
Written in French in Athens, March 31, 2017
Translated in Lyon, April 19, 2017.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:11 AM UTC