"athos" poems
A GLEAM -- a gleam -- from Ida's height,
By the Fire-god sent, it came;
From watch to watch it leapt, that light,
As a rider rode the flame!
It shot through the startled sky,
And the torch of that blazing glory
Old Lemnos caught on high,
On its holy promontory,
And sent it on, the jocund sign,
To Athos, Mount of Jove divine.
Wildly the while, it rose from the isle,
So that the might of the journeying Light
Skimmed over the back of the gleaming brine!
Farther and faster speeds it on,
Till the watch that keeps Macistus steep
See it burst like a blazing Sun!
Doth Macistus sleep
On his tower-clad steep?
No! rapid and red doth the wild fire sweep;
It flashes afar on the wayward stream
Of the wild Euripus, the rushing beam!
It rouses the light on Messapion's height,
And they feed its breath with the withered heath.
But it may not stay!
And away -- away --
It bounds in its freshening might.
Silent and soon,
Like a broadened moon,
It passes in sheen, Asopus green,
And bursts on Cithaeron gray!
The warder wakes to the Signal-rays,
And it swoops from the hill with a broader blaze.
On, on the fiery Glory rode;
Thy lonely lake, Gorgopis, glowed!
To Megara's Mount it came;
They feed it again
And it streams amain--
A giant beard of Flame!
The headland cliffs that darkly down
O'er the Saronic waters frown,
Are passed with the Swift One's lurid stride,
And the huge rock glares on the glaring tide.
With mightier march and fiercer power
It gained Arachne's neighboring tower;
Thence on our Argive roof its rest it won,
Of Ida's fire the long-descended Son!
Bright Harbinger of glory and of joy!
So first and last with equal honor crowned,
In solemn feasts the race-torch circles round. --
And these my heralds! -- this my SIGN OF PEACE;
Lo! while we breathe, the victor lords of Greece
Stalk, in stern tumult, through the halls of Troy!
3.7k
To quote Athos from "The Three Musketeers"
"You are not a woman
You are a demon escaped from Hell"
When I first met you as a colleague
I made the mistake
Of getting friendly with you
When I should have ensured
That our relationship was going to be strictly professional
Of course, you had your own ways
Of charming those whom you came in contact with
That is something for which I have to give you credit
Albeit grudgingly
And you were an expert
At playing the victim card
Nevertheless, after I changed jobs
I thought I had seen the last of you
However, you came back into my life
As unexpectedly as the recent rains in Chennai
Initially, it seemed kind of sweet
However, I should have realised sooner
That you had certain ulterior motives
Unfortunately, I got fooled by your sweet talk
And started helping you financially
Because you looked up to me as a brother
I never doubted you in the slightest
Which was probably the biggest mistake of my life
You took advantage of me
In the worst way possible
And kept draining my bank account
Your lies kept getting taller and taller
And I kept believing them
Because, you had me well and truly under your thumb
However, even the most credulous person in the world
Can develop suspicions at some stage
Thus, after years of being in a psychological coma
I finally managed to wake up to the harsh reality
And told my family everything
Of course, with the help of a dear family friend
After we finally confronted you
You signed a written agreement
Promising to return all my money
Within a certain deadline
That deadline has long since passed
And you have not paid even ten percent of your dues
What is worse
Is the fact that you are absconding
And giving absolutely nonsensical reasons
Which even an utter fool would find it difficult to believe
You ruined my life
Destroyed my happiness
And shattered my self-confidence
Is this the way you treat a person
Whom you have addressed as "brother"
Not once, not twice, but several times?
I am giving you one last chance
Not for your sake
But for the sake of humanity
You had better take it
Because, if not
Then you will soon find yourself in prison
Again, to quote Athos
"You are not a woman
You are a demon escaped from Hell"
May 8, 2023
May 8, 2023 at 10:45 AM UTC
from Ida's height,
By the Fire-god sent, it came;
From watch to watch it leapt, that light,
As a rider rode the flame!
It shot through the startled sky,
And the torch of that blazing glory
Old Lemnos caught on high,
On its holy promontory,
And sent it on, the jocund sign,
To Athos, Mount of Jove divine.
Wildly the while, it rose from the isle,
So that the might of the journeying Light
Skimmed over the back of the gleaming brine!
Farther and faster speeds it on,
Till the watch that keeps Macistus steep
See it burst like a blazing Sun!
Doth Macistus sleep
On his tower-clad steep?
No! rapid and red doth the wild fire sweep;
It flashes afar on the wayward stream
Of the wild Euripus, the rushing beam!
It rouses the light on Messapion's height,
And they feed its breath with the withered heath.
But it may not stay!
And away -- away --
It bounds in its freshening might.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
Do you remember
That afternoon--that Sunday afternoon!--
When, as the kirks were ringing in,
And the grey city teemed
With Sabbath feelings and aspects,
Lewis--our Lewis then,
Now the whole world's--and you,
Young, yet in shape most like an elder, came,
Laden with Balzacs
(Big, yellow books, quite impudently French),
The first of many times
To that transformed back-kitchen where I lay
So long, so many centuries--
Or years is it!--ago?
Dear Charles, since then
We have been friends, Lewis and you and I,
(How good it sounds, 'Lewis and you and I!'):
Such friends, I like to think,
That in us three, Lewis and me and you,
Is something of that gallant dream
Which old Dumas--the generous, the humane,
The seven-and-seventy times to be forgiven!--
Dreamed for a blessing to the race,
The immortal Musketeers.
Our Athos rests--the wise, the kind,
The liberal and august, his fault atoned,
Rests in the crowded yard
There at the west of Princes Street. We three--
You, I, and Lewis!--still afoot,
Are still together, and our lives,
In chime so long, may keep
(God bless the thought!)
Unjangled till the end.
2k
**** all the children get a chance at the sandpit... only the dog collared ones attempting wrestling matches of biceps tonguing rhetoric touring waggle get the pulpit... kinda **** if you ask me: said sir sacrifice-a-lot when sir lancelot married; but all the **** happened after the ukrainian ***** it was the russian bourgeoise one... you forget you dim-witted bolshevik... the russian one... the russian one! not the ukrainian one! ah crap... too late, the crimson lunar eclipse from edinburgh to st. petersburg gave me mythological charisma; endeavour of the readers who can’t remember my tourism earning the year 2007 as distinct: i can earn an awareness of lying about the jealousy i have for the century of being a musketeer defending louis vix; ja athos! ein athos! i’m athos.... wrinkly & masturbated ******** toss! hey ** hey ** we dig dig dig dig dig, it's what we like to do... coal mine.... coal mine... coal mine... with a millionth diamond... we dig dig dig dig dig... hej ** do lasu by sie szło... high ** high ** unto abreit macht frei we go.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
don't write to remember,
or be, remembered,
write in order to
meet the Minotaur;
write to carve a labyrinth
and forget the narcissus;
don't revolve around the self-loving;
fear each day you spend with
such people in illusion of contentment;
but after all i'm Athos, and my maxim
is: the best advice is to not give advice.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
humans
expressing
love
laughter
opinions
pathos
onriness
excitement
tragedy
rhyme
YOURSELVES!
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 5:32 AM UTC
agreed, nietzsche hit the nail into a bullseye, the poles are the germanic equivalent of the french.
i'm like athos: the best advice is
to never give advice...
dumas was spot on
on that one,
most people give
advice so other
people can commit
the same mistakes
and seek counselling
to once again read a map
they're supposed to invent,
to stop them following in
someone's footsteps
to an unimaginative east
to only find a setting sun
will always end with a harrowing:
drug addicts do it better,
they don't have a conscience
about it, and the only advice
they give is: more more more!
******** advice is astrology -
wear a zebra or an aeries bow-tie
and you'll be fine... just fine...
picture perfect meringue marionette.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 4:55 AM UTC
Dear past self,
We didn't die.
We didn't give up.
We didn't see our last day yet.
We didn't **** our optimism.
And that's good news.
But we are immensely different.
You changed, and so did i.
You liked the sun, i like the stars.
You yearned for someone, i found that person in me.
You had a name, i named myself.
You will build yourself,
From scraps of fear and uncertainty,
To be the person you didn't know you could be.
You will build yourself,
Because your old mold didn't fit you anymore,
And you needed space to grow.
You will build yourself,
To grow wings and live again
Like you wished for last night.
You will build yourself,
Give yourself a different name,
And travel the world stronger than ever.
Dear past self,
I'm probably a stranger to you.
So many things happened.
So many things changed.
I can't say for sure we're still the same person.
You are a girl, and i am a boy.
You are Emilie, and i am Athos.
You are insecure, and i am confident.
You are hopeless, and i finally feel alive.
Life will **** you,
And you'll resurrect from the ashes
Like a strong phoenix.
Life will **** you,
And you'll put your shattered pieces back together
Like a gorgeous mosaic.
Life will **** you,
And you'll build yourself up
Like a Greek statue.
Life will **** you,
So you can be born again
And have a second chance at life.
Your spark will come back.
No one stole it.
Your wings will grow.
They always meant to.
Your time for change will come.
And it's going to be the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you.
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 1:49 PM UTC
Sur un quartier de roche, un fantôme de marbre,
Le menton dans la main et le coude au genou,
Les pieds pris dans le sol, ainsi que des pieds d'arbre,
Pleure éternellement sans relever le cou.
Quel chagrin pèse donc sur ta tête abattue ?
À quel puits de douleurs tes yeux puisent-ils l'eau ?
Et que souffres-tu donc dans ton cœur de statue,
Pour que ton sein sculpté soulève ton manteau ?
Tes larmes, en tombant du coin de ta paupière,
Goutte à goutte, sans cesse et sur le même endroit,
Ont fait dans l'épaisseur de ta cuisse de pierre
Un creux où le bouvreuil trempe son aile et boit.
Ô symbole muet de l'humaine misère,
Niobé sans enfants, mère des sept douleurs,
Assise sur l'Athos ou bien sur le Calvaire,
Quel fleuve d'Amérique est plus grand que tes pleurs ?
403