"consecrated" poems
Hymn to Aphrodite
by Sappho
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Immortal Aphrodite, throned in splendor!
Wile-weaving daughter of Zeus, enchantress, and beguiler!
I implore you, dread mistress, discipline me no longer
with love's anguish!
But come to me once again in kindness,
heeding my prayers as you have done before;
O, come Divine One, descend once again from
heaven's golden dominions!
Your chariot yoked to love's consecrated doves,
their multitudinous pinions aflutter,
you once came gliding from the utmost heights, to
the dark-bosomed earth.
Swiftly they came and vanished, leaving you,
O my Goddess, smiling, your face eternally beautiful,
asking me what unfathomable longing compelled me
to cry out.
Asking me what I sought in my hopeless, bewildered desire.
Asking, "Who has harmed you, why are you so alarmed,
my poor Sappho? Whom should
Persuasion summon here?"
"Though today she flees love, soon she will pursue you;
spurning love's gifts, soon she shall return them;
tomorrow she will woo you,
however unwillingly!"
Come to me now, most Holy Aphrodite!
Release me from my heavy heartache and anguish;
grant me all I request, be once again
my ally and protector!
"Hymn to Aphrodite" is the only poem by Sappho of ****** to survive in its entirety. The poem survived intact because it was quoted in full by Dionysus, a Roman orator, in his "On Literary Composition," published around 30 B.C. A number of Sappho's poems mention or are addressed to Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. It is believed that Sappho may have belonged to a cult that worshiped Aphrodite with songs and poetry. If so, "Hymn to Aphrodite" may have been composed for performance within the cult. We do know that Sappho was held in very high regard. For instance, when Sappho visited Syracuse the residents were so honored they erected a statue to commemorate the occasion! During Sappho's lifetime, coins of ****** were minted with her image. Furthermore, Sappho was called "the Tenth Muse" and the other nine were goddesses. Keywords/Tags: Sapphic, Sappho, ****** translation, ancient Greek, hymn, Aphrodite, Zeus, daughter, immortal, goddess, holy, lady, heaven, enchantress, enchantment, love potion, charm, spell, persuasion, beguiler, beguilement, mistress, discipline, ********** prayer, prayers, chariot, heaven, descent, ally, protector, lust, desire, passion, longing, *** crush, girlfriend, women, grief
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 2:51 AM UTC
There is a change—and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart’s door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did; not taking heed
Of its own bounty, or my need.
What happy moments did I count!
Blest was I then all bliss above!
Now, for that consecrated fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I? shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.
A well of love—it may be deep—
I trust it is,—and never dry:
What matter? if the waters sleep
In silence and obscurity.
—Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.
5.5k
Hymn to Aphrodite
by Sappho (her only complete poem)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Immortal Aphrodite, throned in splendor!
Wile-weaving daughter of Zeus, enchantress, and beguiler!
I implore you, dread mistress, discipline me no longer
with love's anguish!
But come to me once again in kindness,
heeding my prayers as you have done before;
O, come Divine One, descend once again from heaven's
golden dominions!
Your chariot yoked to love's consecrated doves,
their multitudinous pinions aflutter,
you once came gliding from the utmost heights, to
this dark earth.
Swiftly they came and vanished, leaving you,
O my Goddess, smiling, your face eternally beautiful,
asking me what unfathomable longing compelled me
to cry out.
Asking me what I sought in my hopeless, bewildered desire.
Asking, "Who has harmed you, why are you so alarmed,
my poor Sappho? Whom should Persuasion
summon here?"
"Though today she flees love, soon she will pursue you;
spurning love's gifts, she soon shall return them;
tomorrow she will woo you,
however unwillingly!"
Come to me now, most Holy Aphrodite!
Release me from my heavy heartache and anguish;
grant me all I request, be once again
my ally and protector!
"Hymn to Aphrodite" is the only poem by Sappho of ****** to survive in its entirety. The poem survived intact because it was quoted in full by Dionysus, a Roman orator, in his "On Literary Composition," published around 30 B.C. A number of Sappho's poems mention or are addressed to Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. It is believed that Sappho may have belonged to a cult that worshiped Aphrodite with songs and poetry. If so, "Hymn to Aphrodite" may have been composed for performance within the cult. We do know that Sappho was held in very high regard. For instance, when Sappho visited Syracuse the residents were so honored they erected a statue to commemorate the occasion! During Sappho's lifetime, coins of ****** were minted with her image. Furthermore, Sappho was called "the Tenth Muse" and the other nine were goddesses. Keywords/Tags: Sapphic, Sappho, ****** translation, ancient Greek, hymn, Aphrodite, Zeus, daughter, immortal, goddess, holy, lady, heaven, enchantress, enchantment, love potion, charm, spell, persuasion, beguiler, beguilement, mistress, discipline, ********** prayer, prayers, chariot, heaven, descent, ally, protector, lust, desire, passion, longing, *** crush, girlfriend, women, grief
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 10:53 PM UTC
In Hebrew, her name means devoted to God
She was consecrated,
An oath to God
But she never fulfilled her purpose, for she went astray
Endless and countless sins, undeniably a sinner
Living not according to the Almighty's will, but
Living according to her choice, so
Expect her to be, both good and bad
Imperfect she is, but it is what makes her human
Special, she may not be, but still out of the ordinary
Many times she was lost
Yet, still managed to be found
Not wanting to be astray, again she trusted the invisible hand
Afraid of what might she become, again she started to pray
Miserably she asked for His guidance,
Enlightened, her faith restored, and now trying to serve her purpose
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC
130
These are the days when Birds come back—
A very few—a Bird or two—
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The old—old sophistries of June—
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee—
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear—
And softly thro’ the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze—
Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake—
They consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!
5.3k
An Open Letter to Really Important People
The Old Dime Box, Texas Statement
A Manifesto Made Manifest in Manifesting Manifestingness
We post this serious looking document
Bloated with long vocabulary words
Sodden with weak dependent clauses
Marshaled in numbered ranks, down, down they go
To the GossipNet all serious like
And everyone has to pay attention to us
Because it’s AN OPEN LETTER, y’know -
You may sign it if you’ve got letters behind your name
Signatories:
Apostle-Disciple Magic Dawn, DD., Non-Binary, Author of Green Polar Bears I Am, Co-Equal-Director of the Anti-Oppressionist Theatre Against the Occupation, Agent of the Revolution, Auteur, Guest on The Wheel of Fortune and Parent of Two AMAZING children of indeterminate Gender with Their AWESOME and AMAZING Life-Partner Sven-Marie.
Massive Ferguson, M.Ed., Poet, Rector of Admissions, The University of Where the Old Circuit City Use to Be
Poncy Tworbst, M.A., PUBLISHED Author, Seeker, Inspirational Singer-Songwriter, PUBLISHED
Heather-Mistee La’ Thwitte-Tworbst, Ph.D., Director of Library Resources at Saint Margaret ****** Homeschool Resource Authority Collective, Inc., Certified Ordained Consecrated Priest in The Worldwide Church of Me-ness and Pastor of the World-Famous Weddings ‘R’ Us Chapel of Rainbow Dreams in Magdalena, New Mexico
Lawrence Hall, HSG, Thinker of Thinky-Ness and, Like, Stuff, Endowed Chair he found at Goodwill, His Mark: X
(Sean Ian Johann Johnson, MBA, J.D., Chief Photocopier Operator at Donald Trump University and Fashion Editor at Gun, God, and Guts Magazine, was not able to sign today; he is sharing a cell with other White House staff and patiently awaiting The Day of Greatness.)
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
Blood-red
you are the
essence of all
that is ******
a passion
unbound by morality,
sweetest smelling,
your satin skin
begs for my caress.
Such heady perfume
draws me closer
fills my lungs,
my eyes closed basking
in the Aphroditic aura of you,
swooning as you caress my senses;
to hold you,
possess you is all
I know ...
Reaching out
pleading,
begging,
my hand enfolds you ...
Your barbs
pierce my skin
blade-drawn, my blood
oozes gently out,
mixes with your satin touch,
its rich aroma
startles my perception
awakens me.
My hand jerks open
and you flutter earthward
to lie crumpled and torn
on the ground
consecrated by my blood,
my complete forgiveness given;
your beauty, your passion deserves no less...
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:50 PM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with with my fingers rubbing on her tongue. A pedagogy I use to teach, but pretty much no longer have a use.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
At what point
would I take for granted
those crystal waters
and those consecrated mountains?
Yet there are days still spent
dreading sundown
or the sleepless daybreak
of a grieving city
Does escaping your hometown
make you a coward or
shall I die a martyr?
Might I pencil in a visit to each grave?
Or would you like to deliver
the flowers
for me?
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 1:46 AM UTC
It was ancient ago we were fond & foe
Once little rascals together we grew
Far apart 'till bounds forebear
Each world soared & flapped
An impending monstrous frosty gap
One fine love-is-in-the-air day in a twist of fate
As this nymph unaimed by cupid's arrow
When all my friends & beau in fun they wallow
Your sudden hailed revere embraced in haste
Then in my own prinky whimsy plot
Both unexpectedly got trapped
In such long winding tracks we hustled
Through the hurdled altar together sprinted
Both oblivious as pledge of affection consecrated
While ocean's torrent & tide waded
A solemn for-us-then-quixotic promise to keep sacred.
At some point the on-off blissful lock flutters
As life isn't all sunshines & buttercups we struggle
Yet notwithstanding the trials & tribulations
Such troth acknowledge without question
And now has the moon stone or opal
As our anniversary gemstone
Will our gemstone lose its lustre
Or will it continue to shine like a flash of lightning from heaven
Are we fiercely resolute to bid for the silver
Or stay solid firm to wish for the golden
And vow to persevere for the truly eternal diamond.
One thing we know for sure...LOVE CONQUERS ALL!
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 3:37 PM UTC
Nothing is simple now… and nothing ever was.
But i recall the majesty of my naivete’
and linger in the triumphant fog of my illusions
as a young man of almost a Minute.
Be that, as it may.
i am not among the Mockingjays
nor the calendars of arbitrary
Days.
I am the eclipse of insincere Living.
i blot out the None.
with blueberries from an indigo
Genesis: i stain my sky with every unbelievable Promise -
my Calculus can muster. My Love in tow.
I gather at the edgeless mist
of my Identity and etch the core
of my consecrated cacophonies
into the bones of dead whales like Scrimshaw
for deep kids.
And that's It.
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 2:21 AM UTC
1555
I groped for him before I knew
With solemn nameless need
All other bounty sudden chaff
For this foreshadowed Food
Which others taste and spurn and sneer—
Though I within suppose
That consecrated it could be
The only Food that grows
2.1k
Moon drops splayed themselves
as though crystal blankets on summers ethereal stream,
Violet memories traced her deep obsidian eyes
How she beseeched Lethe’s empty flow
Night stars dreamed of patchouli perfumed rhymes
Ebon blooms dance with dulcet tones,
And fireflies whimsically danced to tune
Unspent words whispered from bottles of hope stored,
Hypnotized by sweet bees, her heart swept laden fruit groves
─ As hunger ate her soul
Eucalyptus his breath against a smoked filled dawn
A wood fire burned and hands clasped content
Tender his silk fingers traced blush her lips,
Consecrated by night she devoured poetic blooms
Of gold the cauldron blazed how yellow the young flame
One drop be lemon acid boiled black she sang,
Tasting dreams on smoke tarnished in polished prose,
How she bayed to moon’s blueberry gaze and bled geranium red,
By his voice herbs and stones weep and she forgets
─ she forgets, only the night moon bleeds
© Arnay Rumens / A Sol Poet
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
Come away with me, I know the perfect place.
A starless night where I can't see your face.
Surrounded by the death and decay of centuries past,
A place where I can bury us at last.
We'll consummate our hatred on consecrated ground
An epitaph, screamed into the void of the night is the only sound.
We'll shatter the peace of the dead as our bodies clash
Our hearts, kindling, our flesh, the flint, we'll strike together and burn it to ash.
Open yourself to me, time for one last round.
Look into my eyes while I pound you into the ground.
Scream my name while I use your body to misbehave.
I'm going to hate-fuck this love, straight to the grave.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
we all remember
where we were
watching the towers
burn and fall
knowing that things would
never be the same at all
disbelief at first, or
had an action movie
slipped into the news
no, it was real
and then twenty years
of vengeful repercussion
of military posturing
of suffering for many
we watched
the baddies being painted
good and evil
being redefined
virtue confused
impotence and power
conflated
lies and spin
consecrated
truth
alternated
idiot rich guys
promoted
tax for the poor
promulgated
democracy
desecrated
climate destruction
accelerated
by denialist
complacency
inequality
more concentrated
goodness and morality
infiltrated
by posturing political
pus weasels
venal vultures
of self interest
grasping for
short term dominance
and then ..
complacency pervaded
as absurdity
was accepted
as our new state of normal
and the height
of compassion
was owning a dog
and tut tutting
as refugees marched
across our news screens
and now we
bemoan being isolated
from being contaminated
we are mostly relegated
to stay in our mansions
while dinner is contemplated
have you been vaccinated?
Sep 11, 2021
Sep 11, 2021 at 4:32 AM UTC
1231
Somewhere upon the general Earth
Itself exist Today—
The Magic passive but extant
That consecrated me—
Indifferent Seasons doubtless play
Where I for right to be—
Would pay each Atom that I am
But Immortality—
Reserving that but just to prove
Another Date of Thee—
Oh God of Width, do not for us
Curtail Eternity!
1.9k
The shadow self, the parts I disavow,
The aspects of myself I can't allow
To surface in the light, the hidden traits,
That fester in the darkness, sealed by gates.
The anger, envy, jealousy, and greed,
The insecurities that plant a poisonous seed,
The fear of abandonment, the need to cling,
The wounds that never truly learn to sing.
I cannot run, I cannot hide away
From this reflection staring back today,
I must embrace the darkness, understand
The reasons why it holds me in its hand.
To integrate the shadow, piece by piece,
To find compassion, grant myself release,
From the self-condemnation, the endless blame,
And recognize the human in the frame.
To understand the origins of my pain,
The childhood traumas that still leave their stain,
The patterns learned, the coping mechanisms used,
The wounds inflicted, the defenses infused.
To see the child within, afraid and small,
Desperate for love, and fearing any fall,
To offer comfort, understanding, grace,
And heal the broken places, time and space.
This journey inward, difficult and long,
Demands vulnerability, a strength that's strong,
To face the ugliness, the raw, unfiltered truth,
And find the beauty hidden in my youth.
For in the shadow, strength can be found,
Resilience forged on consecrated ground,
A deeper understanding of the soul,
A path to wholeness, making me whole.
By integrating the shadow, I can see
The darkness not as enemy, but me,
A part of myself, deserving of embrace,
A source of wisdom, finding its own place.
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 7:00 PM UTC
Desolated in the rhymes of my mind
Isolated by the thoughts left behind
Many wayward dreams fill my head like a book
Rip them out at the seams, not worth another look
It's time to forget the past
Finally move forward, at last
Consecrated in the folds of my dreams
Decimated by the tears and the screams
So much disappointment lodging in my brain
Am I human, and if so, am I insane?
It's time indeed, it's overdue
Gotta live for me and forget about you
Impacted by memories buried deep
Infatuated with thoughts, losing sleep
The time has come, to look ahead once more
Staying sober of you, not like before
I'm through with the history
Ready for a grander destiny
Deep damage from all your savior faire
Detente, forced by the au contraire
Perhaps this vessel sprang a leak
Clean up your mess, I ain't your freak
Dot your vowels and cross your "T"s
The time has come for your release
Imaginary thoughts of you, now gone in the wind
Revolutionary ideas, now ready to begin
Picking up your missing pieces, shattered around
Never lying to myself again, you brought me down
I fell, it's just the ugly truth
Never again will I fall for someone like you
Time has come and gone for us
No more unum, just e pleribus
Many moments and many tears
Seems like a waste of some good years
Time to part and heave a sigh
Time to say that last goodbye
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
The cloud,
A formless palace in the sky,
Drifts by in the haze of this fleeting dreamworld:
Out the window that keeps me separate
From the freedom of its emptiness
As if to enter it's glittering void of star and city light
Would immediately dissolve it into its own abyss...
Consecrated by this boundary
This metal bubble drifts through
This most intangible of kingdoms:
Empire for the passing bird
Who never stop here
To make their home
But ride along the fallow winds
That blow in this world of transition.
How I long
To join the darkened skies,
And drift among the passing clouds:
To live forever in the flux and flow
Of the homelessness of empty space.
But I am not asleep tonight
As dreams fly me outside this shell
Made of flight and metal hollow
To the wind's cry in my new domain.
But ground draws me towards its wake
For dreams that flew me from its grasp
As my world falls from me like a stone
And from this,
My kingdom
I stand overthrown.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
i.
A black vested barbarian
From the land of Corinth;
Garbed in snowy himation
Travelling the Filipino drench.
ii.
Twas, I was not use to this land
There's only a dry and wet season;
Mine black snake Boot's
Protected me from venomous poison.
iii.
This ground as mine own
Untamed primal eye's;
They Pierce through the wilderness
Phantom's passeth through thy body, it's their energy as a high.
iv.
Tis I was greeted
By an aboriginal watcher;
I met her mother, who wanted me for her daughter
I Gaveth mineself to this young queen, mind full of wonder.
v.
As tis I hath joined, this clan of beautiful native's
I consecrated mine Reyna's amour', as we became related;
Whilst we danced, around the fire her mother hath built
The Filipino bead's around mine neck read " Jane", meaning self.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
Lincoln died today
He hustled to an early grave
After patience bore the pain of hell
One final bullet to his dismay
Robbed him of the end he craved
Not of time or the sullen knell
But the kiss of a dagger in his worn hand
A battle lost and a battle won
A perdition purged a new ring rung
He's left this hollowed land
Consecrated by blood and gun
And travels now to songs unsung
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 9:16 PM UTC
(Mark, xi.17)
Thy mansion is the Christian's heart,
O Lord, Thy dwelling place secure!
Bid the unruly throng depart,
And leave the consecrated door.
Devoted as it is to Thee,
A thievish swarm frequents the place,
They steal away my hopes from me,
And rob my Saviour of His praise.
There, too, a sharp designing trade
Sin, Satan, and the World maintain;
Nor cease to press me, and persuade
To part with ease, and purchase pain.
I know them, and I hate their din;
And weary of the bustling crowd;
But while their voice is heard within,
I cannot serve Thee as I would.
Oh! for the joy thy presence gives,
What peace shall reign when Thou art there;
Thy presence makes this den of thieves
A calm delightful house of prayer.
And if Thou make Thy temple shine,
Yet self-abased, will I adore;
The gold and silver are not mine;
I give Thee waht was Thine before.
1.4k
God's acre was her garden-spot, she said;
She sat there often, of the Summer days,
Little and slim and sweet, among the dead,
Her hair a fable in the leveled rays.
She turned the fading wreath, the rusted cross,
And knelt to coax about the wiry stem.
I see her gentle fingers on the moss
Now it is anguish to remember them.
And once I saw her weeping, when she rose
And walked a way and turned to look around-
The quick and envious tears of one that knows
She shall not lie in consecrated ground.
1.4k