"cyprian" poems - Hello Poetry

Cyprian, in my dream the folds of a purple kerchief shadowed your cheeks --- the one Timas one time sent, a timid gift, all the way from Phocaea

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Sappho

Cyprian, in my dream

Cyprian, in my dream the folds of a purple kerchief shadowed your cheeks --- the one Timas one time sent, a timid gift, all the way from Phocaea

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From my new book, Poems of Ancient Rome and Greece, available in paperback on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as eBook on Kindle, Nook, and Apple Books: https://www.amazon.com/Poems-Ancient-Greece-Christopher-Saitta/dp/B0DS6933HB?ref_=ast_author_dp My mother the sea, She woke my sandy eyes, Just to tell me she had to leave, Draw past the markets where the fish are sun-dried, Snarled by the coral-rough hands of divers deep. My mother the sea, She left her running tab Of the grocer’s choicest greens, Thumbed the velamentous rinds and spiny scarola, Her xylem and phloem are the slow moving cruciferousness of a breeze. My mother the sea, Charwoman of tides, Who dips and delves upon her knees, Who scrubs her brothel-coves with chamber lye, Cyprian mistress of the salt-stained sheets. I have looked for you, mother, A scugnizzo amid the striped awnings of the marketplace ~ like sails to the sky ~ Where the fishmongers hawk their pride Of conch, cavallo, and black sea bream. I have looked for you, mother, Walked sun-forged along the boardwalk, Amid the neon-mascara of signs, Hand-in-hand with only the ladyfingers of salt and vinegar fries, Toward the crisp syllabub of pebbles and sand. A beach is window-warmth spread free, cosmopolitan, The longeur of eyes crushed in the glass-dust of cities. And in the sputtering of the frosted spume of tides, Held broken seashells in my hands like broken needles, Heard the pump-click of the ventilator through your mask of sand. My mother the sea, A naked convalescent, Whose ever-turnings have taken A turn for the worse. Who will know her by her death, who but me?

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Jan 21, 2025

Jan 21, 2025 at 8:29 AM UTC

ChrisSaitta

My Mother, the Sea

From my new book, Poems of Ancient Rome and Greece, available in paperback on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as eBook on Kindle, Nook, and Apple Books: https://www.amazon.com/Poems-Ancient-Greece-Christopher-Saitta/dp/B0DS6933HB?ref_=ast_author_dp My mother the sea, She woke my sandy eyes, Just to tell me she had to leave, Draw past the markets where the fish are sun-dried, Snarled by the coral-rough hands of divers deep. My mother the sea, She left her running tab Of the grocer’s choicest greens, Thumbed the velamentous rinds and spiny scarola, Her xylem and phloem are the slow moving cruciferousness of a breeze. My mother the sea, Charwoman of tides, Who dips and delves upon her knees, Who scrubs her brothel-coves with chamber lye, Cyprian mistress of the salt-stained sheets. I have looked for you, mother, A scugnizzo amid the striped awnings of the marketplace ~ like sails to the sky ~ Where the fishmongers hawk their pride Of conch, cavallo, and black sea bream. I have looked for you, mother, Walked sun-forged along the boardwalk, Amid the neon-mascara of signs, Hand-in-hand with only the ladyfingers of salt and vinegar fries, Toward the crisp syllabub of pebbles and sand. A beach is window-warmth spread free, cosmopolitan, The longeur of eyes crushed in the glass-dust of cities. And in the sputtering of the frosted spume of tides, Held broken seashells in my hands like broken needles, Heard the pump-click of the ventilator through your mask of sand. My mother the sea, A naked convalescent, Whose ever-turnings have taken A turn for the worse. Who will know her by her death, who but me?

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When I look to the night sky When I look to the night sky Leaving the panic world behind In the dominion of starry nigh I travel to the galaxies so high Stars are dim in the moon light Goddess Moon is on the throne Her majesty is on the height And the surrounding glows bright Every star has its cosmic world Too different than the earth Which looks pensive and absurd? As no groans and pains are heard All are busy in their specific role And they never fatigue To locate their concerned goal Neither they stay nor they stroll I was in the romantic shroud But the groans of my world Explodes the balmy veil of cloud When someone calls my name aloud To a Butterfly O' short lived butterfly Ye live forever in the dale of beauty Spreading about the rainbow of colours Thy honeydew makes saline moments Of the spectator, sweet and manna When thy reflection in his eyes Gets a forever protection… Monarch like expedition do you make From country to country Crossing the boarders of brooks Meadows, deserts and spiky paths And occupy the states of gloomy hearts Diurnal ye are as a man But stop! There's a wide gulf Ye console the weary heart in the long run He grants weary heart to the consoled one Materialism…. He is not just a countryman of mine Even we have a same boundary line But many years turned into history Our looks remain a part of mystery Hunter… To brothel Cyprian goes And priest to the Church What's there for them They are in search Tis' a Chance that evaluates In the game of luck and doom There is crash there is boom Some win without action Some actions lack reaction Some fall in exertion Some succeed in desertion Some defeat in holding seat Some triumph in their beat Tis' a chance that evaluates Success and defeat are just baits

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Aug 6, 2016

Aug 6, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC

david-ehrgott

Words of Adjam Abbas

When I look to the night sky When I look to the night sky Leaving the panic world behind In the dominion of starry nigh I travel to the galaxies so high Stars are dim in the moon light Goddess Moon is on the throne Her majesty is on the height And the surrounding glows bright Every star has its cosmic world Too different than the earth Which looks pensive and absurd? As no groans and pains are heard All are busy in their specific role And they never fatigue To locate their concerned goal Neither they stay nor they stroll I was in the romantic shroud But the groans of my world Explodes the balmy veil of cloud When someone calls my name aloud To a Butterfly O' short lived butterfly Ye live forever in the dale of beauty Spreading about the rainbow of colours Thy honeydew makes saline moments Of the spectator, sweet and manna When thy reflection in his eyes Gets a forever protection… Monarch like expedition do you make From country to country Crossing the boarders of brooks Meadows, deserts and spiky paths And occupy the states of gloomy hearts Diurnal ye are as a man But stop! There's a wide gulf Ye console the weary heart in the long run He grants weary heart to the consoled one Materialism…. He is not just a countryman of mine Even we have a same boundary line But many years turned into history Our looks remain a part of mystery Hunter… To brothel Cyprian goes And priest to the Church What's there for them They are in search Tis' a Chance that evaluates In the game of luck and doom There is crash there is boom Some win without action Some actions lack reaction Some fall in exertion Some succeed in desertion Some defeat in holding seat Some triumph in their beat Tis' a chance that evaluates Success and defeat are just baits

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Cyprian, from Cyprus Named for the trees of his kingdom Prince or king Livia, envy or blue Beautiful daughter of king Divaro Ruler of the kingdom In the four seas Lucius, the light He has a way with words King or prince Hilaria, cheerful Accurate for such a child Who only smiles But daughter of which king Nero, strong and aptly named Impossible strength in a lithe body Prince or king And of which kingdom Aurelia, the golden child Men have gone insane for her Of which king Felix, the lucky Rumors to carry the Tears of the water sprite King or prince or thief Avita, ancestral Sister of Cyprian But who us the king Cato, how wise The brother of Hilaria A prince is revealed Dulcia, a wonder Lost in translation Daughter of which king Of which kingdom The diviners of the south The scholars of the north The ocean people of the west The skilled hunters of the east Or maybe the mountain dwellers

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Apr 28, 2015

Apr 28, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC

BlackHeartedHope3

A writers choice

Cyprian, from Cyprus Named for the trees of his kingdom Prince or king Livia, envy or blue Beautiful daughter of king Divaro Ruler of the kingdom In the four seas Lucius, the light He has a way with words King or prince Hilaria, cheerful Accurate for such a child Who only smiles But daughter of which king Nero, strong and aptly named Impossible strength in a lithe body Prince or king And of which kingdom Aurelia, the golden child Men have gone insane for her Of which king Felix, the lucky Rumors to carry the Tears of the water sprite King or prince or thief Avita, ancestral Sister of Cyprian But who us the king Cato, how wise The brother of Hilaria A prince is revealed Dulcia, a wonder Lost in translation Daughter of which king Of which kingdom The diviners of the south The scholars of the north The ocean people of the west The skilled hunters of the east Or maybe the mountain dwellers

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