"aegean" poems
My dear Icarus,
Have you brought tales of gold for me?
You-- the master of self,
The one who held his own thread and shears.
Don't share of how hard you beat your wings
But how the air beat against your brow.
Don't echo your father's faded cries
But sing the songs of the Aegean sea--
Sing them only for me!
My sweet Icarus,
Is the world as grand as the travelers say?
Are crumbling maps and hand-spun tales nothing to compare?
I've read of Sicily, where your father rests his mourning head.
I've traced its rivers as they curved against my torn papyrus.
Sicily, the land of Aetna.
Oh, to watch the land shake at the beckoning of her call
(Oh, to fly free of these labyrinth walls)!
My darling Icarus,
Tell me-- is life better above the blanket of Grecian blue?
Is it better than what the Fates designed?
Is it better than what I hold today
(please, let it be more than today)?
My beloved Icarus,
Will you give me your wings--
The mingling of feather, wax, and dreams.
Will you give me your wings and
Your will to yearn higher and higher
So that I too can reach the city of gold.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though glass, it is rimmed with gold
around the cup, handle and even the
saucer. Skilfully painted chrysanthemums
of various shades; the vermilion horizon,
Spring's honey, songbird's magenta,
sangria's fine wine, a parakeet's breast
and the Aegean sea.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
And then, there are three sightly tea
caddies with lacquered wooden bodies;
one rosewood with red dancing fans,
one burr-oak with golden mountainous
landscape and one maple wood with
green bamboo. Ainhana gently removes
each of their lids by using the cloth, and
presents the pearls that were wrapped
in sun-kissed foil.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
She first lifts the rosewood caddy towards
me. I close my eyes and focus on the scent.
Without peeling back the foil, I know. It takes
me to the far distant Province of Yunnan,
past the snow-kissed mountains and rice
terraces to a very still lake. I noticed that
it began to bubble before a large splash
rose.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
At that moment, I meet the lake's Guardian,
the Imperial Wingless Dragon of legend.
With its wet emerald-kissed scales drinking
the sunlight. It's great body now entwined
in a wispy clouds as it stares at me with
eyes of liquid moons. Its tail crowned
with a peacock feathered eye-spot whips
around in the air, leaving an iridescent
trail of colours.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a great leap, he soars through
the air, trumpeting his great roar
that rattles the skies. Just as quickly
as he rose, he descends down with
a Pearl Moon in his brown claw. By
the stroke of its sienna-brown whisker,
the small Moon cracks, presenting me
it's contents, a long kept secret.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The pearls are the colour of seaweed
with streaks of yellow and burnt umber.
With earthy notes whirls around my
nose, along with some floral sweetness,
burnt caramel licks, dragon spice and
a wisp of apricot. Ah, so I see! One great
guarded secret that he reveals to me!
His best pearls ferment in the womb
of the Moons! Purified by the Star
Virtues of Elysia's Harmony!
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
'Wonderfully rich Pu-erh Pearls,'
I say, my eyes now open.
'My Lady's nose is as sharp as ever!'
'I just know my tea,' I chuckle, 'it's
very unique in smell and taste. I will
save such fine broth for another day.'
Ainhana nods, places on the tray and
lift the burr-oak caddy. I close my
eyes once again and my mind
wanders yet again.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
I always wanted to be that random style of writer
Writing about things which have no connection
In reality but they are connective only by the ingenuity
Of his genuflection; the circumvention of his
Circuitous routing, his plaintive perturbing petulance
Which insists on stacking things of different orders
Flying birds together of different species
If I could write something of the ticking of clocks
Not as though the ticking were of premeditated duration
Embedded in metal tracks around perimeters
Of prevaricated die-cast hours; but as though the ticking
Were only a random fixture of a theoretical day
In which random clocks ticking played a minor role
During the still life of which a poet happened along
And copied it all down dutifully, not caring if
Ticking clocks were related to pitchers of Forsythia
Or falling off of cliffs into the Aegean;
The only task of the poet to capture it all
And let the reader sort it out later
In the random tracks of his circuitous brain:
Whether the pitcher was full of sea
Or the sea was stealing into the pitcher
One blue, serendipitous drop at a time
And where no clocks were keeping time.
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
i left my youth in aegean
made a trade with apollo
he said "you will be haunted by this summer 'till the day you die"
sirens, wines, sun-kissed cheeks
i laid my sunburnt face to your chest
made a trade with you
i said "this is the only time we will have for the rest of our lives"
horizons, seashells, sands
made a trade with aphrodite
we lied down on beach in the full moon laughing on wine
you said "i will never be as this young and in love as i am in this summer evening"
i left my heart in aegean
Mar 21, 2023
Mar 21, 2023 at 3:28 PM UTC
when my faith is tested
i recoil into the lurid nest
by moonlight, by the sound of a lyre
whose blood whispers dank currents
into the low hillside.
and over the hillside
pour screaming maenads
who pluck from the damp ground
snakes for their altars.
a timid peak out of my grotto reveals
a crawling sailor scattered on the rocks.
Apollo’s choir releases hymns
from underneath dark sediment.
i am secure inside the den
the man writhes on the shore for help
but even if i let him in,
i will consume his rooted soul,
so he dies one way
or another.
foot
steps
does he really wish to
become absorbed by this
dark cloak? where he will kick
and drool and never again
see rain stretch over the Aegean?
as i have not seen past this
constant haze of lead,
an infinite bang on a finite drum i
played long ago into infinity?
and the swirls
of infinity
shedding outward like the
tresses of a fire haired fae.
a sprinting sugar fae,
the wind inside the hair
outside her head,
blowing behind her.
she dashes through the wood
until her feet fossilize
within the rock below.
one day several naturalists will find
the slabs of granite
and make a map of elegant
collarbone etched into hardened stone.
all the while i will guard this cave, alone.
and if my foes send winds as
messengers, i will saunter in
amusement, with an olive
on my tongue
the wind cannot destroy
the seashore,
the moon and sun
command the tides.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 10:00 PM UTC
BULL FIGHTING
(WITH A CLASSICAL TOUCH)
* By Raj Nandy*
(I)
The Minoan Civilization of ancient Greece,
Was well centered in the Aegean island of Crete;
And around 1600 BC this civilization had peaked!
Seeing their frescoes, and paintings on potteries
and vase,
Scholars concluded that ‘bull-jumping’ was
perfected as a gallant art!
Those jumpers grabbed the bull’s horns, -
And receiving momentum from its violent
head-jerk,
Vaulted over its back in a somersault,
To land on both feet to break their fall!
I was spell bound by Minoans courage and agility,
Their acrobatic feats performed with such
dexterity!
Those bulls were not killed and no blood was shed,
Some acrobats might have been injured instead!
What a shame for our bull fighters of date!
(II)
Today bull fighting has become a popular sport,
Where the bull gets slaughtered amidst loud applaud!
I recall those Roman amphitheaters that remained
jam-packed,
When the Gladiators performed their fatal acts!
But even those Gladiators had a chance to survive,
Our cornered bull has no place to hide!
Friends, to see blood is an age old thrill,
But none would like to see their own blood spilled!
(III)
Our Matador today is like a popular Rock Star,
While the bull becomes a martyr in the pit by far!
The bull’s mighty horns are sharp and strong,
Can lift up a man like a rag doll!
But when the Picador lances the bull’s ****
The bull never gets a fair deal and jumps!
Next the Matador waves his ‘muleta’- a red cape,
The bull makes a final charge but cannot escape!
I wonder if the bull sees red!?
The Matador then amidst much pomp and applaud,
Spikes the neck severing the bull’s spinal cord!
He is greeted by flowers and cheers of ‘Ole’! ‘Ole’!
Let us learn from those Ancient Minoans, -
That's all I have got to say!
- by Raj Nandy
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
From long time friends to bitter foes;
From boon companions to friends estranged.
The cute little redhead accomplished that.
but it was nothing she'd prearranged .
So delicate, so beautiful,
with eyes a deep Aegean blue.
Of course I made a play for her.
She wasn't going home with you.
Yes, her kisses were as sweet
as you imagined they must be.
The reality was better still
warming an autumn evenings chill.
I was the first to take the risk,
that’s why I was the one she kissed.
My actions weren’t the least bit shady,
but faint hearts never win fair Ladies.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 9:49 PM UTC
orbs of blue in the drizzle of rain,
a flesh-numbing cold; myriad of pain;
red-hued cheeks and traces of benzocaine.
russet irides shift with the aegean's quick moves
through the black pupil, colors to exclude
and brows are squinting; just in slight disapproval.
clumsy dance of eyes in the dim afternoon light,
café au lait für Zwei, für dich und mich allein,
as we bid our longing gazes a sorrowful good night.
© fey (25/12/21)
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 1:33 PM UTC
did you know your hair was golden in the sun?
you were the boy king, gentle as the summer air
you found me frail and useless, when i was nothing
yet you, in all your glory, made me something.
your name echoed through all the kingdoms of Greece,
you threatened yet were admired by the greatest of warriors
you roused lustful dreams in the most tender and innocent of nymphs
you were the mighty sentinel of the common stranger
yet you were mine to hold in the dark of night.
i still think about the way your leg dangled as your lyre lulled on,
your languid trails of kisses and starlit whispers
still haunt me the same way your unavoidable fate
crept upon you through your noble triumphs.
i have listened to your speeches like homilies of the faithful
i have memorized the creases on your face of fierceness
i have kissed your war wounds and cried for your pain
and i have read the greatest of legends in the lines of your body.
i could have sworn your battle cries
were as melodious as your lyre songs
and so beautiful they were
that i still hear you sing in the tides of the Aegean seas
you were destined for fame and wondrous glory
to be a story to be told for all time
to have people cheer your name and fall on their knees for you
loss was a feeling foreign to you,
yet the only thing you lost yourself to, in your pride, was love
who knew love could be such a terror?
golden haired triumphant prince
running swift and beautiful with the ocean breeze
nobody could ever catch up:
i had always thought you and i would live forever.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
Garden Parkway YMCA
Dallas, Texas
22 November 1963
Darling Sophie,
Could it be only two months since I let your fingers slip from my hand as that train departed Voronezh station? I fear that this trip was a great mistake. . . .
The boat sailed from Sevastopol as scheduled. Just two days and we were through the Bosporus/Dardanelles and into the incredibly blue Aegean and the Mediterranean. On September 27 we passed Gibraltar and started the long haul across the Atlantic. The work was not demanding though the ship was quite ***** and not really very pleasant.
We docked at Houston in the state of Texas on October 9. Defecting was surprisingly easy. There was supposed to be work in Dallas so I walked/hitch-hiked here last month. But I have not been able to find any work.
The people here, though friendly, are coarse and brash. The stores overflow with televisions, record players, mink coats, but there are many very poor people here too...
The great American leader, Kennedy, was shot and killed today, driving in his open-topped car along the streets of this very city.
My money is gone; my strength, exhausted. How blithely I left you and Russia behind! I feel my lips brushing the tiny hairs on the back of your neck, your ******* swelling. . . . Sophie! May you know great happiness and love! I only ask that in the spring when you visit Krymskaya Pond, that you remember how we knelt there, how I whispered in your ear there, when the air is filled with the scent of its cherry trees that you remember what we felt there. . . .
Yours, always, Nickolay
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC
Beside me, in this unforgiving November’s winter, is she…
My queen beside me, amidst this rotting debris gifted to me.
Daphne, the comforter sent from the highest skies of Elysia
And Daphne, my love, you put a stopper… on my withering
Never did the sounding of a name, here, blossom a magnolia
Daphne, yours made my hell, the eternal orchards of Elysia.
We were betrothed to each other in here, in this wasteland
I await; you at our wedding, in your wedding gown, oh…
‘Tis her, the beau sky wrapped around your gentle frame
In your adornments, gifted from the agents of light, oh…
They are sapphire stars plucked from that midnight blue
On the edge of the Aegean sea, we await, in this wasteland
I await; you at our wedding, in your veil and crown, oh…
‘Tis her, the clouds and her raindrops, adorning your face
I await our wedding waltz, in our deserted fields, oh…
Without our kin, persecuted and orphaned by the world
Alone we shall dance, on the edge of Ymos, our dwelling
Alone we shall be in our vows when our eyes rain in joy
I await your grand advent, beaming gleefully, towards me
Bringing me, serenity; being my succour, with your smile
I await your silhouette, irradiating the wide evening blue
Bringing me, release; being my soother, now I live anew
Daphne, your midnight blue eyes, your voice of mead…
My pen fervently gallops for words, as I just gaze in awe
Let the sands of time tick away in joy, ticking, grain by grain
The heavens merry till the penultimate hours of our union
Now, in these salty Aegean waters, I taste honey and wine
I await our pristine union; as your hand knots with mine.
Beside me, in this unforgiving November’s winter, is you…
Daphne…
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 5:35 AM UTC
man
bench
sun
Facts are not
a life.
Details.
old man
park bench
hot sun
Better,
but not enough.
An old man
on a green park bench
baking in the hot sun.
Closer,
but not the truth.
An old man,
still boyish,
sitting on a
green park bench
baking in the hot sun
remembering
that strange young girl
wearing
a paisley scarf,
red and blue silk,
standing like Venus
poised above
blue Aegean water
on the deck
of a white steamer,
her black hair flowing,
four decades past.
Closer still, yet missing...
An old man,
still boyish,
sitting on a
green park bench
baking in the hot sun
remembering
that strange young girl
wearing
a paisley scarf,
red and blue silk,
standing like Venus
poised above
blue Aegean water
on the deck
of a white steamer,
her black hair flowing,
four decades past.
He smiles,
considering
her hot breath,
her long sighs,
her silken thighs:
she lives again.
The poem at the confluence
of memory and imagination
engenders the stories
which render meaning.
Stories about stories;
all we can know of life,
yet enough.
-mce
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
Sunset whispers to itself
~No time outlives time~
The meltemi winds crackle the wild millet,
Graze-feed upon the stalks of Greek plains,
The pelican scoops up the honeyed Aegean,
Waves of sunlit anise and almond in refrain,
Vestigial as the sweet persimmon from Egypt,
The hammered warmth from the flat anvil of Africa,
Sunset whispers to itself
~No time outlives time~
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 7:43 PM UTC
my thoughts, so potent just before--
like fresh-pressed olive drops
that lingered, lipping from the fragrant spout--
now pass, diffuse atop an ocean vast.
i imagine willing it to be a pond,
not for its lesser size alone
but mostly for its calm,
reflective height; yet
these waves are
distort ruthlessness
of liquid dust
by slapping, tower-high
the central ocean rip-whirl tide:
and gone--
as Homer's heroes screaming as they drown,
deaf as oars but for their final gasps
of yearned-for clarity:
of nameless pride's Ithacan king
abrading lustful wrists
restrained to blind a god's son's single eye
by tentacles of twisting, tactful fate.
by threaded loom rethreaded
soon i see my salty self in suit
of sameness, tricking time
by indolence or theft--
from truth, from others' hearths--
the difference winks in bubbles on the cosmic shore...
foam so clean i grin to call it spume,
grin to brace the seabed to my algaed chest
in salinating crush of sand, of blood-sharp shell and rock,
in sungreen warmth of blue and life
in crashing sinus wince
i grit aegean nereids in my sneeze,
splay their formless sexing into pelvic scrapes
of quickened starbursts anciently reborn,
squeezed in pleasure tears and laughing drops--
as all pelagic ***** must
within the pressure of a world,
its breathing darkness spotted with transmuted sun,
expel itself in sensate gusts--
as octopodal spurting flings
in liquid ****** of purpose forth,
(or backwards, sideways, in and out)--
so too i think
and thinking, drown my ink
instead of drowning thinking in my ink
.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC
The western wind is blowing fair
Across the dark AEgean sea,
And at the secret marble stair
My Tyrian galley waits for thee.
Come down! the purple sail is spread,
The watchman sleeps within the town,
O leave thy lily-flowered bed,
O Lady mine come down, come down!
She will not come, I know her well,
Of lover’s vows she hath no care,
And little good a man can tell
Of one so cruel and so fair.
True love is but a woman’s toy,
They never know the lover’s pain,
And I who loved as loves a boy
Must love in vain, must love in vain.
O noble pilot, tell me true,
Is that the sheen of golden hair?
Or is it but the tangled dew
That binds the passion-flowers there?
Good sailor come and tell me now
Is that my Lady’s lily hand?
Or is it but the gleaming prow,
Or is it but the silver sand?
No! no! ’tis not the tangled dew,
’Tis not the silver-fretted sand,
It is my own dear Lady true
With golden hair and lily hand!
O noble pilot, steer for Troy,
Good sailor, ply the labouring oar,
This is the Queen of life and joy
Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!
The waning sky grows faint and blue,
It wants an hour still of day,
Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,
O Lady mine, away! away!
O noble pilot, steer for Troy,
Good sailor, ply the labouring oar,
O loved as only loves a boy!
O loved for ever evermore!
1.7k
Reality was bereft
As your head,
Caresses the pillow
A night deft.
As I hear the crickets
Lagging behind, I
With you on the way
To dreamland with a ticket.
Don the Hatter's Hat
In Alice's Wonderland.
As we sip tea
With Rabbit and the Cheshire Cat.
Be large or be small
Eating chocolates
And muffins
Down the rabbit hole.
A carpet of wings
We fly over
The Caspian, The Aegean
To where the Siren sings.
Three headed dog is yours
A gargoyle, mine.
Little pets we walk
Down Tartarus's corridors .
Europe behind, we face
South West
To the land of Mayans
And folk of a mystical race.
We play war chief,
Play in our blue tepee
Flying on the backs
Of eagles as they screech.
You dance around
My fire
Gyrating in that form
Bringing rain down.
Purple Rider
On a wind maned horse
Black One on a
Golden strider.
Barfights and shootouts
Brawls and scuffles
You gained a puffy eye
While I broke my stout.
Seeking a view
We jumped from
Skyscraper to skyscraper
Old and new.
Jumped from hills
Into rivers
Spoke to the wild
For time to ****
Wary of the time
We take flight
Off the Everest
We just climbed.
Down and down
Into a sea
Coloured silver
Bubbly diamonds all around.
No lack of gas,
You put swimming to the test
Tripped on a rock
A jellyfish attacks!
Boom and Pow
Wham, slam and
A big crunch
Little jellyfish said ow!
Get stuck in traffic
Office hours
We suppose
As the birds swam chaotic.
We're here!
Portal to reality
Now exposed
By now the dream was dear.
Maybe now you can't see
But we will,
The sun rise,
From the bottom of the sea.
So we wait
As the sea turned
Silver to fire
A nice first date.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
what do you hide in
those claws, other than ice
water? it falls like a gong
until it crashes into me, and then
the warmth hugs it, and then
the molecules move so fast they need
milk of the poppy to release any
energy at all. when you told
me your rapids join an underground
river, and that i am the nile
hugging delta silt, i felt like a
sunrise, like a capillary, like a
sphere of light dissolving the boundaries
of our bodies. i want to follow
you like the nymphs of Hekate,
i want to breathe your torch because all
my faith is inside it. i want to gently
pull your son out of my horned womb,
under an old pinus halapensis
on the foothills of mouth olympus.
i want to fiercely hold you
like waves of the aegean
under a full aries moon, sky
clad with our soles half in water, half
in ancient rock fragments, the ivy
a filigree binding our wrists,
our soul merging into infinity and
then surging forever, like the
endless forest fires on the arid
and rocky venusian shores.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 4:54 AM UTC
i.
Thitherward to Corinth,
Thus wherein mine
Grandfather's dad
Was from. To seeith
The bards of old,
Legends of agora
Soul, mingling
With the
Aegean
Sea. O' the natural spring's
Of healing properties, a place
Of new testament biblical fact
And history. How I wouldst hath
Adored to seeith the apostle Paul,
First known as Saul of tarsus; eye's
Once sealed, then opened; By the son
Of God. Fain were the Grecians, in
Yesteryear's thought. The turquoise foam
Betwixt their homes, the beauty was told
And taught. Hither the Mediterranean center
I want to be, scribbling-scrawling, prophetically.
Breathing in the aura, mine ancestors once did.
Spirit-floating the isle's, of pious hymn's for mankind's sin.
Rendering the prognostication's, told in God's own word's,
Rouse a sleeping nation, that once resounded the laureates shores.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Prophetic poetry
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC
don't weep above this hatred
this plague shall soon be through
while we climb the ladder into the heavens
breathe the sweet and childish laughter
whistling this new profound and beautiful truth
may the capsules of stardom be removed
lest the gold of you be unglued
then we'll play our shows on mountaintops
and draw them in the millions
beyond all the written pleasures that exist for just a few
when this crystal city's completed
sparkling sapphires in royal blue
emerald's with the faces of the Aegean
barely touch on the euphoria, on the eyes I've looked into
there is electricity in this symphony of humanness
pale or black and blue
then these melted flavors of our curses
may dissolve between us too
Until your mouth is dry of spit
and our lips are numb from use
let's dance inside the venom
dear lucille pulls us through
miss heroine and her guiding rays
beat the storm away
A journey that had never been
aurulent skin she didn't see herself in
tied to a chair, while she choked and I pulled her hair
I found a real good girl there
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
This morning, after he left,
I had a revelation -
Maybe some things are only meant
to happen
once.
Like, that time I was on ESPN at the basketball game.
Or, that time I met my favorite musician and he complimented my shirt.
Also, that time we all swam in the Aegean Sea as as the sun set, and we felt invincible.
I guess even the time that really dreamy boy slept in my bed and we made "love" all night.
So, maybe some things are only meant
to happen
once.
And, maybe realizing it will never happen again is what makes it feel perfect.
But, I wish some things could happen twice.
Or, I wish that I could freeze a fleeting moment,
and appreciate its entirety,
before it is gone.
Before I know its only going to happen
once.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 9:26 AM UTC
you reeled me in from
the aegean's slow murmur,
my gills covered in algae, my jaw
chomping rhythmically under
the hollow tree of my mouth.
didn't anyone ever teach you that
fishing for nymphs is more painful
than comb jellies, slower than marlins and
as safe as the glowing earring of
an anglerfish mother?
on the deck of your vessel
you cradled my skeleton gently,
fed me crispy hard coral and
begged me not to eat you in
the night, when mars made his way
toward the fiery backdrop of our
natal charts. how intrigued i was to
find that under your beard hid a
chain mail of scales, the map of
your palms was drafted in plasma,
and your iris is not pigment, but
a distant reflection of geysers
snapping like scorpions out of
the ocean floor.
you spent the nights dancing to the
howl of sirens like no man i'd
ever seen, and somewhere between
our fingers, where you passed me
the whiskey, i threw my arms up
and remembered how to move.
you spent the days following the
wind's hips, you didn't care if she
changed her mind, you said.
you are like the belly of a sea
star. slowly in the twilight
i uncoiled my fear of wandering, i
threw the pit into the open ocean and
the rope followed, slithering down.
now all we have is constellations.
all we have is moon fragments and
bird islands and my hair flying
like a compass, like a shining battle flag.
i can't smell land for miles
and i am not afraid.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
Deep in the ocean,
where the sun
doesn’t reach
and the galleys
of Salamis sleep,
the fish-moons
pass
on tip-toe.
In yellow
the time is shining,
forged
to the oars
of once passed
foam
in flags
dreamers of eternity.
But it happens to me
(at unsaid hour)
in the moon garden
of the sea
to meet the chained ones.
*Salamis - an island in Aegean Sea by which in October, 480 BC the Greek Navy defeats the Persian one and turns the course of action of the Second Greco-Persian War in favor of Greece.
The original:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chBzZJIPC-Q
Jun 8, 2011
Jun 8, 2011 at 2:08 AM UTC
Do not find love
For it finds you
And find you it did
Like the first beams of dawn
Kissing the dew
On the slumbering meadow
And what was once
A verdant vale of calm
Is now a riotous explosion
Of cerulean and crimson
Caressed by the velveteen kisses
Of the eastern breeze
The languid shore
Now a maelstrom
Of spraying foam
A gale of berserk fury
Poseidon thundering
Confronting
The forbidding cliffs
Of time
O maiden
Sighing into
The lonely watches of the night
For whom are those tears shed?
Tarry not
For Helios comes
To take you in his embrace
And within the tongues of immolation
Is purifying salvation
That even
The Twelve Labors of Heracles
Are impotent to redeem
And you are no frail Icarus
Jesting and boastful
Impertinent in his youthful optimism
Who eludes and placates
The assault of the elements
Now take the plunge
O Athena
Laughing into the depths
Of the mercurial Aegean
For she who dares the fates and furies
Commands Olympus.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Sailing on blue skies
of music
composed all of 300
years
ago -
then,
swooping down
from the orchestrated
heavens
into the depths of
Aegean
green waters.
Wombing
as always
into
all that joy
is and was.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 5:38 AM UTC
The desert is a hummingbird
With wings of hovering heat.
Weightless idler,
Forever in love with the acanthus leaf
And the nectar of the far Aegean.
May 1, 2019
May 1, 2019 at 6:14 PM UTC