"cronos" poems
XV. TO HERACLES THE LION-HEARTED (9 lines)
(ll. 1-8) I will sing of Heracles, the son of Zeus and much the
mightiest of men on earth. Alcmena bare him in Thebes, the city
of lovely dances, when the dark-clouded Son of Cronos had lain
with her. Once he used to wander over unmeasured tracts of land
and sea at the bidding of King Eurystheus, and himself did many
deeds of violence and endured many; but now he lives happily in
the glorious home of snowy Olympus, and has neat-ankled **** for
his wife.
(l. 9) Hail, lord, son of Zeus! Give me success and prosperity.
7.7k
Zeus had plastic surgery,
his fingertips shaved off
so he would not leave prints
when he committed
his archetypal crimes.
He changed his name to Saturn
then to Cronos
then to Albatross Von Mariner,
all this subterfuge
just to disquise the fact
that he goes borderline ballistic
when he doesn't get his way.
He pulled Icarus out of the sky,
wounded Prometheus’ side,
left Sisyphus on a steep lonely mountain,
dared Demeter to save her daughter,
yet these souls persist
in mnemonic literary defiance
of a single fact…
No god is greater than you,
the karma jury has come in
and Zeus is sentenced
to five years of community service
on Interstate Highway 5.
He will wear a yellow clown suit
with a red rubber nose
and floppy green shoes
with a fast food tray hanging from his neck
and he will walk in traffic snarls
stopping at every car
to clean the windows
to sell hotdogs
with purple relish and black mustard
wrapped in grey buns
as unappetizing and pathetic
as the lies
he has told us about ourselves
for so long.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC
XXXII. TO SELENE (20 lines)
(ll. 1-13) And next, sweet voiced Muses, daughters of Zeus, well-
skilled in song, tell of the long-winged (35) Moon. From her
immortal head a radiance is shown from heaven and embraces earth;
and great is the beauty that ariseth from her shining light. The
air, unlit before, glows with the light of her golden crown, and
her rays beam clear, whensoever bright Selene having bathed her
lovely body in the waters of Ocean, and donned her far-gleaming,
shining team, drives on her long-maned horses at full speed, at
eventime in the mid-month: then her great orbit is full and then
her beams shine brightest as she increases. So she is a sure
token and a sign to mortal men.
(ll. 14-16) Once the Son of Cronos was joined with her in love;
and she conceived and bare a daughter Pandia, exceeding lovely
amongst the deathless gods.
(ll. 17-20) Hail, white-armed goddess, bright Selene, mild,
bright-tressed queen! And now I will leave you and sing the
glories of men half-divine, whose deeds minstrels, the servants
of the Muses, celebrate with lovely lips.
5.3k
What will you do when the clocks no longer tell?
After you smash to pieces Cronos' clock
And you slip into the stillpoint as the Eye opens
In the palm of your hand; after you cross
The Threshold and return to offer up your Boon
To man.
When the ego falls away and you begin your
Gift of servitude.
When the trees drip light, and each child you
See has around their head a circle of light.
Light surging up and over,
Bleeding from eyes and hands;
Oceans of light illuminating beaches;
Lovers enveloped in a cocoon of light;
The crow blasting through photons,
Climbing currents into the face of the sun
To erupt in all-consuming flame;
Like William Blake driving Apollo's
Chariot into a supernova;
Walt Whitman pulling from the River
Why a fish erupting and igniting his
Beard, showering him in corpuscles of light;
Like a Devish whirling, shooting off sparks
And laughing like a madman dancing and
Burning in the Dragon's jaws.
And Vincent, in your dreams, deep in a
Sea of sunflowers looking up at you
With the wondrous eyes of a child
And waving his arms like a Sorcerer
Conjuring and you see what he sees:
Heaven in a wildflower.
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 6:50 AM UTC
I. TO DIONYSUS (21 lines) (1)
((LACUNA))
(ll. 1-9) For some say, at Dracanum; and some, on windy Icarus;
and some, in Naxos, O Heaven-born, Insewn (2); and others by the
deep-eddying river Alpheus that pregnant Semele bare you to Zeus
the thunder-lover. And others yet, lord, say you were born in
Thebes; but all these lie. The Father of men and gods gave you
birth remote from men and secretly from white-armed Hera. There
is a certain Nysa, a mountain most high and richly grown with
woods, far off in Phoenice, near the streams of Aegyptus.
((LACUNA))
(ll. 10-12) '...and men will lay up for her (3) many offerings in
her shrines. And as these things are three (4), so shall mortals
ever sacrifice perfect hecatombs to you at your feasts each three
years.'
(ll. 13-16) The Son of Cronos spoke and nodded with his dark
brows. And the divine locks of the king flowed forward from his
immortal head, and he made great Olympus reel. So spake wise
Zeus and ordained it with a nod.
(ll. 17-21) Be favourable, O Insewn, Inspirer of frenzied women!
we singers sing of you as we begin and as we end a strain, and
none forgetting you may call holy song to mind. And so,
farewell, Dionysus, Insewn, with your mother Semele whom men call
Thyone.
__________
The Homeric Hymns in the Hello Poetry collection are provided by:
Online Medieval and Classical Library.
Source site: http://omacl.org/Hesiod/hymns.html
4.2k
XVIII. TO HERMES (12 lines)
(ll. 1-9) I sing of Cyllenian Hermes, the Slayer of Argus, lord
of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, luck-bringing messenger of
the deathless gods. He was born of Maia, the daughter of Atlas,
when she had made with Zeus, -- a shy goddess she. Ever she
avoided the throng of the blessed gods and lived in a shadowy
cave, and there the Son of Cronos used to lie with the rich-
tressed nymph at dead of night, while white-armed Hera lay bound
in sweet sleep: and neither deathless god nor mortal man knew it.
(ll. 10-11) And so hail to you, Son of Zeus and Maia; with you I
have begun: now I will turn to another song!
(l. 12) Hail, Hermes, giver of grace, guide, and giver of good
things! (31)
4k
XXIX. TO HESTIA (13 lines)
(ll. 1-6) Hestia, in the high dwellings of all, both deathless
gods and men who walk on earth, you have gained an everlasting
abode and highest honour: glorious is your portion and your
right. For without you mortals hold no banquet, -- where one
does not duly pour sweet wine in offering to Hestia both first
and last.
(ll. 7-10) (33) And you, slayer of Argus, Son of Zeus and Maia,
messenger of the blessed gods, bearer of the golden rod, giver of
good, be favourable and help us, you and Hestia, the worshipful
and dear. Come and dwell in this glorious house in friendship
together; for you two, well knowing the noble actions of men, aid
on their wisdom and their strength.
(ll. 12-13) Hail, Daughter of Cronos, and you also, Hermes,
bearer of the golden rod! Now I will remember you and another
song also.
3.4k
Home.
Three.
Two.
One.
Ignition;
We ascend.
Faster now;
Ground control:
Are you there?
Systems functional.
Slip past gravity,
Escape velocity;
Break Gaea's bonds.
Fuel tanks go.
One.
Two.
Past Luna,
Towards Zeus.
Aphrodite's horizon.
Sol's pull,
Too close,
My wings burn.
Faster now;
Cronos looms;
Rings shimmering.
Faster still.
To Caelus,
Beyond the sky.
To Poseidon,
Past sea's shore.
With Hermes,
The gates of Hades.
Edge of home,
Losing touch.
No longer domestic.
Three.
Two.
One.
Gone.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 1:03 PM UTC
XVII. TO THE DIOSCURI (5 lines)
(ll. 1-4) Sing, clear-voiced Muse, of Castor and Polydeuces, the
Tyndaridae, who sprang from Olympian Zeus. Beneath the heights
fo Taygetus stately Leda bare them, when the dark-clouded Son of
Cronos had privily bent her to his will.
(l. 5) Hail, children of Tyndareus, riders upon swift horses!
2.1k
.
The serpent around my eye
in perpetuity eating its tail.
A sigil to represent fluidity,
sheds its skin to no avail.
The Truths play around my head in loops eternal,
infinite possibilities of ***********
fractal gems cavorting in lustrous oceans,
that cleanse an hours disgrace.
Pan-Dimensional
and Omni-Directional
Truths are connecting.
Ouroboros, protector of the Tree of Life,
his apple is the gift of Knowledge.
Are those tempted weak and futile?
or hungry for the secrets of Cronos.
The fruit of Wisdom picked, and devoured,
in the garden quest for clarity.
And the serpent around my eye,
like a monocle allowing sight,
flows Truths into my mind,
reflecting matrices taken to flight.
© Pagan Paul (09/06/17)
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
XXIII. TO THE SON OF CRONOS, MOST HIGH (4 lines)
(ll. 1-3) I will sing of Zeus, chiefest among the gods and
greatest, all-seeing, the lord of all, the fulfiller who whispers
words of wisdom to Themis as she sits leaning towards him.
(l. 4) Be gracious, all-seeing Son of Cronos, most excellent and
great!
1.7k
XXXIII. TO THE DIOSCURI (19 lines)
(ll. 1-17) Bright-eyed Muses, tell of the Tyndaridae, the Sons of
Zeus, glorious children of neat-ankled Leda, Castor the tamer of
horses, and blameless Polydeuces. When Leda had lain with the
dark-clouded Son of Cronos, she bare them beneath the peak of the
great hill Taygetus, -- children who are delivers of men on earth
and of swift-going ships when stormy gales rage over the ruthless
sea. Then the shipmen call upon the sons of great Zeus with vows
of white lambs, going to the forepart of the prow; but the strong
wind and the waves of the sea lay the ship under water, until
suddenly these two are seen darting through the air on tawny
wings. Forthwith they allay the blasts of the cruel winds and
still the waves upon the surface of the white sea: fair signs are
they and deliverance from toil. And when the shipmen see them
they are glad and have rest from their pain and labour.
(ll. 18-19) Hail, Tyndaridae, riders upon swift horses! Now I
will remember you and another song also.
1.6k
The sky is clear,
No cloud in sight.
Yet the mind is Dark,
Chaotic,
Turbulent.
Cronos in a rage.
Adrenaline peaks
And the heart stops.
The sky is clear,
No cloud in sight.
Your breath,
Shallow.
The wind blows strong.
Under currents drag,
And the light is too bright.
The sky is clear,
No cloud in sight.
Sounds swells.
There's a ringing in your ear.
A gunshot too close,
There's no violence,
Except for what rages within.
The sky is clear,
No cloud in sight.
And I reach out,
A flower,
refusing to Die.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
perfura-me os olhos
perpétuo motor da sombra
há tempo o que move esta senda
é o regurgitar do vômito
por obsessiva garganta
de um estômago de Cronos
entremeia com violência o claro e escuro
invalida pupilas uma vez ágeis
até que Sacra Dualidade seja conjunto vazio
e nega dadas respostas e insiste
que são impossíveis questões
num antigo e ébrio laço
encerra o deísmo em ti mesmo
macromania moral macerada em fermento
que tem por Sol os teus olhos
perfura-o pois
e encerra, agora,
suserano da perspectiva
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
Oh proud engineer of eternity
Seam of reality
Stitch of the universe
Go forth
Cross those barren wastelands
Composed of the flesh of your kin
All of what was
Sail those tumultuous seas
That lifeblood of Cronos, Father Time
All of what is
And find yourself naturally to a shore
For that shore is your shore
Though the bank not of sand,
But of finely woven threads
The threads of reality itself,
A blossom of life amidst the swirling tides of time.
And you shall break onto that shore,
A behemoth bred of circumstance,
For you are this moment!
And with all the might of a whisper,
A syllable and a heartbeat,
A spike and dip of glorious emotion and sensation,
Shall you impress yourself onto the fabric of life
And all at once release.
Recede with pride,
Backwards through that sea, once spiteful, now docile
Drift into that void what harbors all things once seen,
And with peace,
Await all that remains
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
Busco amor donde no lo hay.
Busco arte donde sólo hay mierda.
En busca de la belleza me encuentro.
En pos de mi sino me hallo.
Mal acompañada voy en este viaje.
Mal acompañada voy en la vida.
Cuatro amigos mal contados que se alejan.
Y tú que podrías estar tan cerca
pero estás tan lejos, tan lejos.
Lejos de mi camino se halla tu montaña
y mi pack de escalada se torna inútil.
Quisiera conocerte como no lo hago.
Quisiera que me conocieses como no lo haces.
Y mi pack de escalada se torna de piedra
y pesa, pesa, pesa...
Pesada mi alma por armas inútiles.
Cercenado mi corazón por mi propia mano.
Mi alma pesada por mi corazón cercenado.
Mi mente dolorida por mi estupidez humana.
Me siento inútil.
Inútil porque no se vivir sin tí y no te conozco
y ojalá conocerte.
Inútil porque lo que conozco se torna de oro
y el oro pesa, pesa, pesa...
Ni siquiera sé a quien va dedicado este poema.
Tal vez este poema vaya dedicado a mí.
Porque no me conozco.
Porque no me entiendo.
Porque no valgo para nada.
Mi cuerpo es inútil y es otro peso muerto
que pesa, pesa, pesa...
Mi cuerpo que odio con todas mis fuerzas.
Me gustaría otra vida,
me gustaría empezar de cero,
ser mujer desde el principio,
saber quién soy y saber qué quiero
pero nunca sabré qué soy
pero nunca sabré a quién quiero.
Voy a rajarme las venas esta noche.
Voy a hacerlo porque me pesa el alma
y atraviesa la cama y llega al suelo.
Estoy tirada en el suelo.
No se si voy a morir
pero mi sangre manchará el baño
y tal vez mi cabeza volverá a ser ligera,
como ligero vuela el boli sobre la página.
Tengo fijación por algunas palabras,
por algunas letras,
efe, efe, efe.
No me quiero pero quiero a las efes,
pero no sé a quién quiero,
pero no sé a quién va dirigido este poema,
pero creo que no me quiero pero...
Cierro los ojos y se me nubla la vista.
Quiero morir.
Otra vez...quiero morir.
Quiero morir otra vez.
Me asumo Jesús insatisfecho por su resucitar.
Me asumo Cronos en el abismo infernal,
llorando por no estar muerto
pese a estar muriendo.
Lloro por no estar muerta
pese a estar muriendo.
Digo que lloro pero no lloro.
No lloro porque no me quiero.
No me importa mi propia muerte.
No me importa que no me quieras
porque estoy muerta.
Me gustaría escribir como sangro.
Me gustaría escribir como mi vida se resbala
porque no la quiero.
Porque no me quiero.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
this melancholy
drifting in thought like a skiff windless
on the cobalt blue
on the rich scent of salt and sea
on the deep memories of her
the mast tilts and wavers across the pattern of sky
like a pencil etching invisible patterns
among the ever silent stars
but it is not the seas vast salt tinge
but the harsh taste of my tears
that the mast writes of this night
that the mast scribbles madly into starfeild
far into the night
this story of loves known
and grand heights of lovers embrace
that the heart speaks
that hidden sea of the soul
made from a lifetimes loves and loss
they are
the peaceful and deep waters
of night that have always been the world
where my words could run free
sails unfurled
swift and rough breaking on wave crest
tacking ever eastward to open waters
out into
the deep quiet halls of the sovereign serenity
found in the solitude of night
where my thoughts undisturbed
could be true unabashed
cronos and the sea
this melancholy
and now i find myself
nailed here to the deck
by the turmoil of emotions
shore a sparkling light miles to south
and first breaths of dawn slowly
expanding along the east
i am caught between all the things i was
and am
i only wish to drift and dream
nothing to feel
nothing to worry upon
nothing to trouble my old heart
free me
let me forever drift now
free
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 7:13 AM UTC
I love you like Zeus loves his cow-eyed wife
As Cronos, scared and jealous, loved his young
Like Agamemnon cherished afterlife
And Creon prized his niece’s nimble tongue
My love is like an ocean full of sharks
Where mortals fly too high upon wax wings
My love is Oedipus kept in the dark
The Minotaur to Theseus’ string
I see you with Tiresias’ eyes
A play with no deus ex machina
Hephaestus’ lust to wise Athena’s thigh
My heart as blessed as mother Hecuba
Though from your mythic love I’m left irate
I cannot use a word so strong as ‘hate’
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
Eleanor and Charlotte ,
drifting in sunlit reverie ,
see Marie Antoinette at her
easel
and the beginning of her
sorrow .
☆
How many cherubs , smiling ,
fixed scribes of shimmering
light ,
recline incumbent in vast marble halls .
☆
When ,
frozen in Time ,
two maidens in a doorway ,
pass a ceramic jug
between one another
for eternity .
☆
A man yells ,
seeing people back in time ,
that they were
too close to the chapel .
☆
Look , over a bridge ,
past an aqueduct ,
lay an unkempt meadow ,
where the mood was unnatural
and unpleasant .
☆
While behind dull meadow ,
the treeline was
as woodwork or tapestry .
☆
Flat and lifeless ,
as a shadow without
light or dark .
☆
No wind stirred the trees
and the two women
felt an unease of dreariness ,
as if walking in someone else's dream .
☆
" Wherefor the Trianon ?! "
The gardener stopped his labour
☆
" You will see a fine lady
in summer gown
and a large white hat . "
☆
And suddenly he was gone .
☆
Then , finally at the gate ,
a large man ,
in period costume
and born of a malevolent star .
☆
Dark cloak and
smallpox scarred ,
he stared forebodingly
under brim of black hat .
☆
Cronos , Father Time and
Death .
☆
The Future was stalling .
Oct 20, 2024
Oct 20, 2024 at 7:39 AM UTC
She is the most powerful force in the universe
holding the great beings in place, Zeus and
Cronos, Aries and Hermes
She keeps them spinning, orbiting our sun,
che holds them together, even her most volatile
child remains due to her loving embrace
but
A simple force beats her every time
two insignificant chips of metal
will remain united over gravity every time
but
what happens when their magnetism
remains the same, but their gravities
pull them a p a r t ?
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
Gira la flor
-¡Tenue, exquisita flor!-
al son del pasar, de lo próximo y lo incierto,
al tacto del rincón eterno del ojo de Cronos
tu vestido nochebuena;
sus sangrientos espirales,
bombeando la vaporosa y gris arquitectura de tu ****
marcando el límite -territorio-
señalando y ordenándome
sentir sino punzante y pedregosa impotencia;
ahogados en fuego llanto
gritamos yo y mi alma en silencio:
-Detente tu girar y date vuelta;
haz dos de tus girares, corazón;
dime, dime una vez más, con tu danzar;
recuérdame cual viejo frío y senil
el cómo te empecé yo a amar.
Y, delimitada mi clemencia, mi suspirar y mi poder
repetiste, con ignorancia, mi razón de lujo amar;
diste el bucle enamorado
recordando el ser de tus frías venas
recostándose en su verde esplendor;
tus contemplaciones, líneas de leer
del parentesco tuyo al griego guerrero
cuya espada y formidable escudo dorado
respondían con insolente vehemencia
a las plegarias del desdichado Héctor;
es tu intrigante idioglosia
tu secreto idioma tambaleante y curvilíneo;
la respuesta onírica, anhelada
bajo tu impetuoso y salvaje vestir nochebuena.
Códigos causantes
bañando el camisón de barroco secreto
de tu sucio y ominoso deseo;
poderíos inexistentes redactados con iris
en el más humano idioma;
la táctil y clara erección de tu registro
lubricado en el sadista idioma tuyo;
el tortuoso y cíclico tremor
de tu vestido nochebuena.
Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 5:13 AM UTC
I hope I'm chosen for Elysium,
though I doubt Cronos will have me.
I could wander the fields, drink my wine, and dream as if I held thee.
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC