"crete" poems
Autumn is a Greek sea,
A summation of wet leaves,
Gathered wicks of sunset,
A hypocaust of warm water,
That lies beneath our feet,
Incense from the Sea of Crete,
Risen to the airy suggestive.
Autumn is a word in the mind, fallen leaf-like to the mouth,
How like the orange rind, our ancient past is shriveled under pillars.
May 29, 2022
May 29, 2022 at 8:24 PM UTC
And here face down beneath the sun
And here upon earth’s noonward height
To feel the always coming on
The always rising of the night
To feel creep up the curving east
The earthy chill of dusk and slow
Upon those under lands the vast
And ever climbing shadow grow
And strange at Ecbatan the trees
Take leaf by leaf the evening strange
The flooding dark about their knees
The mountains over Persia change
And now at Kermanshah the gate
Dark empty and the withered grass
And through the twilight now the late
Few travelers in the westward pass
And Baghdad darken and the bridge
Across the silent river gone
And through Arabia the edge
Of evening widen and steal on
And deepen on Palmyra’s street
The wheel rut in the ruined stone
And Lebanon fade out and Crete
High through the clouds and overblown
And over Sicily the air
Still flashing with the landward gulls
And loom and slowly disappear
The sails above the shadowy hulls
And Spain go under the the shore
Of Africa the gilded sand
And evening vanish and no more
The low pale light across that land
Nor now the long light on the sea
And here face downward in the sun
To feel how swift how secretly
The shadow of the night comes on…
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Blazing brightly in the night miles below on
Crete. Icarus plummeted. And puzzled.
The Phoenix shattered ablaze and battred
The phoenix Glances to the night sky.
As a bird of prey whizzes by.
Struck to ground.
Thundering sound.
Phoenix pauses beats his wings.
Flaming feathers burn and drift.
Rises slowly from the ashes.
Icarus crumbles in broken waxen wings.
Youthful tragedy. Never to rise.
No reclamation.
Silent hubris.
The dirge preceeds.
Then quietly
Receeds.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
"Found poem", all the text lifted from a tourist pamphlet picked up in Crete, only very slightly edited.
There are daily buses starting from Chania
to the head of the gorge,
which is called Xyloskalo.
Buses say on the front "Omalos" and depart
from the central bus station.
By taking any of the morning buses you get to Xyloskalo
after one and a half hours.
At Xyloskalo there is a tourist pavilion
where you can get meals, drinks,
and which has only seven beds for staying overnight.
For those wishing to spend the night
on the Omalos plateau
there is another possibility, that of staying
at Omalos village itself, five kilometres before Xyloskalo,
where are two cafés providing several beds. From there
you get any of the morning buses starting from Chania
to the head of the gorge.
The length of the gorge is sixteen kilometres, and you need
five to six hours to walk through it. There is plenty
of drinking water all along the gorge. Tennis shoes
or walking boots are recommended. Camping,
overnight staying, smoking, hunting,
cutting and uprooting plants
are forbidden.
At the mouth of the gorge is Aghia Rouméli village,
which provides restaurants and accommodation.
From there you take boats
either to Sfakía (duration: one hour) or to Soughia
and Paleochora.
Remember that the last boat to Sfakía is at 17 hours,
which connects with the last bus to Chania at 18 hours.
Duration of the bus trip: two hours.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
Maybe I got greedy.
Maybe it's in my blood.
Maybe I'm a descendent of Icarus, the Greek son who flew too high.
All I know is that while my
ancestor was trying
to escape Crete, I've been trying
to escape myself
and baby you were my wings.
But I flew too high.
I should have noticed
the burning in my lungs,
the smoke suffocating my windpipe because I was getting too close
to your fire and with every
"I love you"
I could feel the wax
in my heart melting,
dripping down through my ribcage but when it finally fell to my feet,
I ignored the burn.
And here I am,
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
Waiting for you
to catch me.
Maybe the smoke
is in your eyes.
Maybe you're scared
of the flames.
Or maybe
you can't handle
the
heat.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
Here's to all my Aussie friends.
You fought with bravery and honor
at Kimberley, Passchendaele,
Gallipoli, Romani, Crete,
Tobruck, Milne Bay, Yongju
and even in Vietnam.
And I know why you did it.
Abounding in your back yards
were stalking cassowaries, spiders
that rot your flesh, invisible
but lethal jelly fish,
Coastal Taipan and Brown snakes,
not to mention saltwater crocodiles
Great White sharks, Stone Fish,
blue ringed octopi and
the odd Marble Cone Snail.
War must have seemed safe
compared to he horrors of home.
Here's to you mates. Fair Dinkum.
I would have been on the first
transport out, too.
~mce
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 9:33 AM 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
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Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC
King of sky , king of thunder , zeus was the king of gods
Sixth child of rhea and Cronus , doom of titans he was
Being hidden in the caves on Crete
Nymph became her mother
Clashing weapons by curates
hid his crying thunder.
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 8:06 AM UTC
There was a Young Person of Crete,
Whose toilette was far from complete;
She dressed in a sack,
Spickle-speckled with black,
That ombliferous person of Crete.
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wouldn’t it be great to learn Greek
she says
quickly riffling
through the phrasebook
with a thumb and her tongue out
while I try to discover what
‘to speak’ is in Dutch
everyone uses English
you know I say
spluttering ‘ik spreek, jij spreek,
hij spreek’,
trying to nail the pronunciation
like the book tells me to
‘ick sprake, yigh sprake, hi sprake’
but they might appreciate
tourists knowing a bit in Crete
like ‘efcharistó’
or ‘ti ypérochi méra’ she mutters
but it all, literally,
sounds Greek to me
and we can’t visit everywhere
besides, she wants warm weather
but I’d be fine in, say, Sweden,
‘Där är den närmaste Ikea?’
or in Iceland, but I can’t
pronounce anything
the way the phrasebook
wants me to
so Greece is probably best,
and anyway,
she’s too busy
informing me that
‘monókeros’ means unicorn
and it’s 575 quid each
if we book now
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
Gnostics hold that God made man,
but Lucifer created woman; telling
Knossos is the largest Bronze Age
archaeological site on Crete & is
considered Europe's oldest city; settled
as early as the Neolithic Age, the name
Knossos survives from ancient Greek
references to the major city of Crete;
Associated w/ people of unknown
ethnicity termed Minoans, Late Minoan
or Mycenaean Greeks, Knossos was
the capital of Minoan Crete;
Walking through its complex
multi-storied buildings, one can
comprehend why the palace at Knossos
was associated w/ the mythological
labyrinth, dwelling place of the Minotaur
all ideal forms are imperfect, except woman;
who in all her imperfections remains an ideal
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
As if it were on fire, the earth around us aches with
burgundy and ochre. The sun herself has dimmed;
an apology for the wrong she has done you.
Man-made angel, wings of wax and stolen feather,
melted against the heat of a grieving sun.
You played with the fates and so your string was cut.
The ladies of the river cry tears of salt and sorrow.
They dress you in their misery, silken fingers grazing
against scorched and lifeless skin.
Now, Icarus, you meet your final glory and
escape from Crete. Do you know the ties that bind you
have no bearing where you’ve gone?
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
Butter remained in the dish
even when liquid. An even
was the end of the day. Prophets
raised on corn flakes were more
then or loose crunchy. Seven
days were not remarkedly adventurous
in IT. "Am Eye Ah Clnoun?"
or,... "WHAT!"
The dude er romulynn,
stood up and breached a
sword across the mouth of
every line of miss oh genius
phret.
LYCANs actually have
a bagg for Crete, a steady lie
to put the tooth into.
Jesus is from Cremea'.
I said it.
Noisy as 'He 'will' be in here,
nice day too. The butter stayed
in the dish as a liquid. But
hot enough to melt butter.
I said it.
Enough proclivity to trace
50 cal rounds, cleaverer than
that, and totally was walken on
water. *** a matter of fact,
do not lie to me, I'll help hymm.
I said it.
Have a nice day. Maybe a better
written one tomorrow.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
"you have a body of melting memory, & at the
slowest pace, the most random places are
now your home, so please take this number
down, please take this stone, please
shatter your reality & reality is all you'll ever
own
you blew through the ages, timeless imagery
imagining a cost to your freedom, a reason for
perplexing dreams - now it's your turn to run
away in this maddening forest of urban storms -
you've crushed empty sidewalks w/ cemented
grins, you've pushed all magnolias
from such green fields,
now let me in.."
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 10:34 AM UTC
Take me to
where the sidewalk ends.
I'm tired of these concrete paths
you've laid for me.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
I think I can hear my heartbeat in my ears
in the corners of my eyes
when I look down at my hands
they shake the soup from my spoon like childplay.
I’m cold.
not physical mental dimensionally cold.
I’m a wall of ice and stone.
my thoughts and feelings sink into concrete
and harden into my bones
thicken my exterior
I’m dreaming of a way to get away
from the sins I’m bound to commit.
to you
to me
to god
my spine does so much work
for a still lifeless form
When will I fall apart ashes to ashes
rust through rust
I can’t seem to feel more than tin emptiness.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
“Come my children, and gather around,
For there is a lesson to be learned.
About a young man named Icarus,
and his father’s words he spurned.
Now, young Icarus, he believed,
knew all there was to know-
But, as you hear this story-
you will learn it wasn’t so.
Icarus, and his father-
both prisoners of Crete,
Planned to make good their escape
from the Cretian tyrant's fleet-
They shaped two frames from willow wood-
and sheets of woven flax-
Then took the feathers of a frigatebird
put to the frames with sealing wax
His father warned him, as the wind began to blow-
“There is a danger to being aloft,
So, to keep the wax from turning soft
do not fly too high, or low.”
But , to his father he didn’t listen-
and soared higher toward the sun-
And when the wax began to melt
Icarus knew his fate was dealt -
And he fell, disappearing, into the sea.
Now, the gods on Mount Olympus-
believed it was a matter to discuss
So, they all agreed to change his name, to-
Dumbassius!!
Copyright-Richard Riddle 03-07-2014
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
We have sacrificed freedom upon immovable alters
White runny paint is our animalistic blood
We decorate where we pray
frescos, mosaics,
Crete’s naturalistic landscapes
imitation only because we are unsatisfied with the un-safety inherent in Earth’s identity.
look at the wall
imagine your lover on the other side
hold your hand to it
imagine your finger tips touching through the plaster
now see her dead
mutilated on the ground
in a ****** pool
because you couldn’t reach
over the wall
the City is a masquerade ball
things hide behind brick masks
who knows
you could **** a tenement building with a Mac truck
like an aristocrat penetrating his princess
late into Moon’s rise
and find a thousand thousand beetles and cockroaches streaming out of the hole
and prisoners who haven’t seen the sun in years
we are humans
no longer natural, caged.
no longer aware, lost
no longer real, facades.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
Le jour pousse la nuit,
Et la nuit sombre
Pousse le jour qui luit
D'une obscure ombre.
L'Autonne suit l'Esté,
Et l'aspre rage
Des vents n'a point esté
Apres l'orage.
Mais la fièvre d'amours
Qui me tourmente,
Demeure en moy tousjours,
Et ne s'alente.
Ce n'estoit pas moy, Dieu,
Qu'il falloit poindre,
Ta fleche en autre lieu
Se devoit joindre.
Poursuy les paresseux
Et les amuse,
Mais non pas moy, ne ceux
Qu'aime la Muse.
Helas, delivre moy
De ceste dure,
Qui plus rit, quand d'esmoy
Voit que j'endure.
Redonne la clarté
A mes tenebres,
Remets en liberté
Mes jours funebres.
Amour sois le support
De ma pensée,
Et guide à meilleur port
Ma nef cassée.
Tant plus je suis criant
Plus me reboute,
Plus je la suis priant
Et moins m'escoute.
Ne ma palle couleur
D'amour blesmie
N'a esmeu à douleur
Mon ennemie.
Ne sonner à son huis
De ma guiterre,
Ny pour elle les nuis
Dormir à terre.
Plus cruel n'est l'effort
De l'eau mutine
Qu'elle, lors que plus fort
Le vent s'obstine.
Ell' s'arme en sa beauté,
Et si ne pense
Voir de sa cruauté
La récompense.
Monstre toy le veinqueur,
Et d'elle enflame
Pour exemple le coeur
De telle flame,
Qui la soeur alluma
Trop indiscrete,
Et d'ardeur consuma
La Royne en Crete.
717
Only a fool would e'r fall for you dear,
You who blaze at ten thousand degrees.
And he was a great fool who flew up much too near,
Just to fall to his death in the deepest of seas.
You must be so proud to have been the one,
To have caused him to plummet so fast.
Did the look on his face make you wish it undone,
Arms out grasping for you and his eyes all aghast.
Daedalus' child, O why did you fly
Where your father bid never to go?
Did you hear the soft call of the bright azure sky,
Though with sweet honeyed words it foretold only woe?
Crete far behind you with wings on your backs,
You grew prideful in freedom's warm gaze.
Trusting only in wings made of feathers and wax,
And your heart deep in love with the sun's deadly rays.
This be the lesson to those who have ears,
Heed your forefather's unceasing call.
The loud call which first came afore Daedalus' tears,
Warns that pride always goeth before the downfall.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
Paul, a servant of God, and an apostle of Jesus Christ, according to the faith of God's elect, and the acknowledging of the truth which is after godliness;
2 In hope of eternal life, which God, that cannot lie, promised before the world began;
3 But hath in due times manifested his word through preaching, which is committed unto me according to the commandment of God our Saviour;
4 To Titus, mine own son after the common faith: Grace, mercy, and peace, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ our Saviour.
5 For this cause left I thee in Crete, that thou shouldest set in order the things that are wanting, and ordain elders in every city, as I had appointed thee:
6 If any be blameless, the husband of one wife, having faithful children not accused of riot or unruly.
7 For a bishop must be blameless, as the steward of God; not selfwilled, not soon angry, not given to wine, no striker, not given to filthy lucre;
8 But a lover of hospitality, a lover of good men, sober, just, holy, temperate;
9 Holding fast the faithful word as he hath been taught, that he may be able by sound doctrine both to exhort and to convince the gainsayers.
10 For there are many unruly and vain talkers and deceivers, specially they of the circumcision:
11 Whose mouths must be stopped, who subvert whole houses, teaching things which they ought not, for filthy lucre's sake.
12 One of themselves, even a prophet of their own, said, the Cretians are alway liars, evil beasts, slow bellies.
13 This witness is true. Wherefore rebuke them sharply, that they may be sound in the faith;
14 Not giving heed to Jewish fables, and commandments of men, that turn from the truth.
15 Unto the pure all things are pure: but unto them that are defiled and unbelieving is nothing pure; but even their mind and conscience is defiled.
16 They profess that they know God; but in works they deny him, being abominable, and disobedient, and unto every good work reprobate.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
nobody has their head in the game
from mineral to plant
from plant to beast
from beast to human
from human to pure soul
it is an easy universe to fool
a simple paradox
a play on words
[ cue that guy from Crete ]
creates a small disorder
disrupts the soup
spills the beans
the stars continue to spin
in heaven for sure
but a little less certain of themselves
the earth need not be saved from the gnats
currently messin’ up the scene
who listens hard to sycophants
who paint each other green
who fret and moan such personal fears
while they foul and **** the land
as if five billion balanced years
leaves you room to understand
that people are a stubborn lot
a speck on a crumb on a speck
a fact that is very easily forgot
what else would you ever expect
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
My soldier traveled across the sea.
He gazed upon twinkling purple Crete stars and thought of me.
He felt the undertones of my body in the grey blue Bahrain Sea.
I sent him my warmest love when he stared at the sparkling sun.
My soldier came home when my letters arrived.
Time was too long.
Her silky hair laid on his chest,
just as the dry Crete wind blew,
when I whispered I love you 6000 miles away.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
Life is relentless there's no more time to live,
One foot off the gas and no more time to give,
When you wake a little motivate it takes some time for me to operate,
I know what's coming I await patiently it waits
Strung along I reappear back to the same spot where I ordinary belong,
Riding through the night,
Driving home before daylight,
Every street with a different score until I want no more.
Engine switches off the bodies tired relaxed to a tee,
Imagination wanders off,
Luck brings back a crete of creativity, like a mind in an ancient box,
It springs to life like a chip of the old block,
It ticks and it talks silently experiments those dictionary words that can express gain and loss.
A little cure to this fear its all I know,
It doesn't come near, quilt covers all and it shields,
I'm never coming out but neither can I sleep concious dreaming with a banging heartbeat.
So let me sleep in all this wilderness,
Let me feel the love of happiness,
I promise to keep the next day I repeat this more often than not with a life little less ordinary.
I'm still waiting for this change like all my life its how I behave,
True to the word of fate it hides its destiny seal and it frustrates.
As if that was all meant to be,
Nothing unusual just a life little less ordinary and a bit more of me.
O'Reily@17052013
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC