"delphi" poems
they emerge from the wooded neighborhood ridge and fringe at dusk
into breadth of lawn
& limb.
witchy chicks
casting banter n bitchcraft.
teenage dead end dreamers tipped in black magick lip gloss
& glitter, their
genderfluid familiars &/or wayward boyfriends apparate
in the street pink cloud spinning wheel,
& hawking bile.
****** stella smile.
swallow a hex, send a snap, tongue along his neck
promising to fold bodies before sunrise.
the effervescent gasp
of post-ritual clarity.
in the house,
is a kid.
a gig.
the devil with a younger grip.
& the kid thrills on a bit of the ol’
u l t r a v i o l e n c e.
****** videogames, ****** anime, ****** mayhem n melodic music.
he is a conduit of dark energy.
a pure blooded offering of the stone age/video age,
mind in a kind of kaleidoscopic way.
he is me.
bred on televised bucket slime ceremonials.
she checks her purse.
drugs & snacks & juul & a pretty dead bird.
a daughter of delphi watching your kid.
tending to him.
trending him.
popcorn smelling him, the texas chainsaw massacre on vhs just before bed.
palace of teeth n twigs.
just a short walk to the edge and then its bath time.
the demon version is grisly and cruel.
the angel version is starry-eyed and adventurous.
to conjure some
thing,
at the cliff jumping.
it was fun.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
XXVII. TO ARTEMIS (22 lines)
(ll. 1-20) I sing of Artemis, whose shafts are of gold, who
cheers on the hounds, the pure maiden, shooter of stags, who
delights in archery, own sister to Apollo with the golden sword.
Over the shadowy hills and windy peaks she draws her golden bow,
rejoicing in the chase, and sends out grievous shafts. The tops
of the high mountains tremble and the tangled wood echoes
awesomely with the outcry of beasts: earthquakes and the sea also
where fishes shoal. But the goddess with a bold heart turns
every way destroying the race of wild beasts: and when she is
satisfied and has cheered her heart, this huntress who delights
in arrows slackens her supple bow and goes to the great house of
her dear brother Phoebus Apollo, to the rich land of Delphi,
there to order the lovely dance of the Muses and Graces. There
she hangs up her curved bow and her arrows, and heads and leads
the dances, gracefully arrayed, while all they utter their
heavenly voice, singing how neat-ankled Leto bare children
supreme among the immortals both in thought and in deed.
(ll. 21-22) Hail to you, children of Zeus and rich-haired Leto!
And now I will remember you and another song also.
21.3k
This is a party for the old and wise
a rave up with rich tea and biscuits
all talk of many years past lessons
I sit intently wanting to all learn
In their austere faces
I see the child within each
such wise ladies that mother me
give me freedom and never smoother me
I keep to my cup of Earl Grey
taking in everything they say
maternal goddesses
wise as Delphi's Oracle
It's a vertebral feast
to listen to history
knowledge can make a man
guided by women right
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
All wise and knowing seer of Delphi, Oracle I beg thee tell me,
What enchanting malady afflicts my mortal soul?
It churns my stomach like as butter, pangs my heart and makes it flutter,
Spins my thoughts so rapidly, I lose all self-control;
A wildly spinning vortex and I lose all self-control.
Striking deeply, sharp blades whirring, thrusting madly, twisting, turning,
Searing pain that scorches, burning, brings me to despair;
Silently it tracks and trails me, pouncing when my courage fails me,
Oracle, what sickness ails me? Save me from its snare;
Oh wise and noble Oracle, what has me in its snare?
Mortal fool, be still and listen, I espied you in a vision,
Ancient magic has arisen from the depths of hell;
Crafted in the Devil's furnace, cunningly it seeks to burn its
Way into your soul, I've seen this, none can break its spell;
It knows your every weakness and you cannot break its spell.
You must succumb and do it swift, or e'er your soul will be adrift,
Held captive in the Devil's rift, your mind will split asunder;
Your struggle will be fought in vain, eternal doom in endless pain,
Relent or e'er you'll feel its bane, your soul it comes to plunder;
You must relent and let it in, or feel its wrathful thunder.
Oh Oracle, all wise and knowing, fear inside me keeps on growing,
I can sense a chill wind blowing, filling me with dread;
Although your words seem strange and hollow, I submit and gladly follow,
For I know the God Apollo guides the path you tread;
Wise Apollo takes your hand and guides the path you tread.
--
What sweet exquisite joy I'm feeling, giddily my head is reeling,
Days have passed and find me kneeling at my sweethearts feet;
Oh Oracle, I will not tarry, asking her if she will marry,
Saving me from malady, she makes my soul complete;
She drives away the malady and makes my soul complete.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
They had not seen, for ages, such beautiful gifts in Delphi
as these that had been sent by the two brothers,
the rival Ptolemaic kings. After they had received them
however, the priests were uneasy about the oracle. They will need
all their experience to compose it with astuteness,
which of the two, which of such two will be displeased.
And they hold secret councils at night
and discuss the family affairs of the Lagidae.
But see, the envoys have returned. They are bidding farewell.
They are returning to Alexandria, they say. And they do not ask
for any oracle. And the priests hear this with joy
(of course they will keep the marvellous gifts),
but they also are utterly perplexed,
not understanding what this sudden indifference means.
For they are unaware that yesterday the envoys received grave news.
The oracle was given in Rome; the division took place there.
2.9k
your eyes hot like a bullet
mine engulfed by the equinox &
the silences I walked away from
we are two or more
two people who shout at each other letters
that have never touched any alphabet
who throw beautiful ideas to be caught by twilight
the hour is always unknown
as if we watch each other's destiny
what comes next only the oracle of Delphi knows
or the roots of entropy maybe
I keep some thoughts in the straitjacket
we guard bridges, ancient castles in the sky
we guard the world not to turn into a casket without music
who invented this question mark
that we owe each other happiness
I wonder if the trees have unspoken meanings
do they turn overnight into telescopes to quest
the loneliness of stars, as we do
I might turn into a shadow
blinded by darkness
we draw uncanny shapes,
everything a circle can endure
with our mouths full of pebbles
Feb 17, 2023
Feb 17, 2023 at 9:45 AM UTC
People wish to be settled. Only as long as they are unsettled is there any hope for them.
-- Thoreau
My life has been
the instrument
for a mouth
I have never seen,
breathing wind
which comes
from I know not
where,
arranging and changing
my moods,
so as to make
an opening
for his voice.
Or hers.
Muse, White Goddess
mother with invisible
milk,
androgynous god
in whose grip
I struggle,
turning this way and that,
believing that I chart
my life,
my loves,
when in fact
it is she, he,
who charts them--
all for the sake
of some
as yet unwritten poem.
Twisting in the wind,
twisting like a pirate
dangling in a cage
from a high seawall,
the wind whips
through my bones
making an instrument,
my back a xylophone,
my *** a triangle
chiming,
my lips stretched tight
as drumskins,
I no longer care
who is playing me,
but fear
makes the hairs
stand up
on the backs
of my hands
when I think
that she may stop.
And yet I long
for peace
as fervently as you do--
the sweet connubial bliss
that admits no
turbulence,
the settled life
that defeats poetry,
the hearth before which
children play--
not poets' children,
ragtag, neurotic, demon-ridden,
but the apple-cheeked children
of the bourgeoisie.
My daughter dreams
of peace
as I do:
marriage, proper house,
proper husband,
nourishing dreamless
***
love like a hot toddy,
or an apple pie.
But the muse
has other plans
for me
and you.
Puppet mistress,
dangling us
on this dark proscenium,
pulling our strings,
blowing us
toward Cornwall,
toward Venice, toward Delphi,
toward some lurching
counterpane,
a tent upheld
by one throbbing
blood-drenched pole--
her pen, her pencil,
the monolith
we worship,
underneath
the gleaming moon.
2.3k
i can't know
my artifice of kneeling doesn't change the fact
at Delphi
gasping words
from wide silken eyes
mating doubt and trust
in seizmic gnosis
fissures claim
even olive sky
freefalling streambeds
tossed
chests of gold heave
spill with ******* lovers
mingle debts
and portents laid
denuded
over cool marble
shimmered under earthquake suns
===
ἓν οἶδα ὅτι οὐδὲν οἶδα
Hèn oîda hóti oudèn oîda
"I know one thing, that I know nothing"
Socrates, paraphrased from Plato's Apology.
===
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 9:11 AM UTC
ABSOLUT 0!
the greedy trees
liked to bleed the green
to spite the leaves.
they seem to be
pretty pleased by
believing in a
definitive middle.
then **** soon
flew off the richter
cause it wasn't so simple,
1 to 3 easy.
when the police
beeped the gentry,
oil already leaked
on the scene
even though
hunting season
was ending.
&seeding; season
pleaded for
beginning
& forgiveness
for bearing false witness
to a new system called
self sufficience.
take one leave one
break one mean one
make one be one
of what.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
Thy tallow flame burns brighter than the rest, my love,
Warming the jealous heart within my breast, my love!
Thou art the envy of all lovers' lovers eyes,
Thy whim commands me unto thy behest, my love!
Arcadia proffers to thee her beauty throne
Where shepherdesses gather to attest, my love!
Wild winter plants her lilies over autumn crown,
Setting pure ice born crystals for thy crest, my love!
Yggdrasil bows and offers thee a fledgling branch,
A gnarlèd sceptre, life and spirit blessed, my love!
Erato guides old Argo unto Colchis bay,
Thy stately robes to fetch from hydras nest, my love!
All-seeing Delphi Oracles gaze heavenward,
To beg thy wisdom (or they lied and guessed), my love!
And I, your humble servant Tryst, declare to thee,
Thou art my sacred never-ending quest, my love!
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
Outside the backyard windowpane
owl's clover beckons a butterfly
to feed in the wildflower meadow
silver tree bark and naked branches
stand lining edges on two sides
songbirds sing symphonies in flight.
Opaque shadows mark the horizon
in a blink, blurs eat blue from the sky
and as clouds circle back sunshine dies
winged creatures grounded, insects too
with no moonlight -no critters can fly,
cicada shrill to a coyote pack's howl
little hairs rise in a goosebump dance.
Heartbeats pound- pulse rate climbs high,
a scream -glass breaks -then silence
purple is devoured inside a chilled fog
as lights 'round the world pass me by,
weep with the willow- sob to the breeze
darkness yanks and dew kisses flesh,
curls, clothes, and soaked skin drip dry.
Body shakes- lips quiver- teeth rattle
my grey view bleeds into ebony,
no Seraphin cradles me in a goodbye,
tunnel lantern holds no oil for the light
too dark to lift me or for us to fly.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 2:18 AM UTC
vague games enable and our liturgies co-mingle in an inkling of the I.
your mind succumbs to the soul. the rabid rain is ironic and the font you spell ' god ' with
is all scrawl and scrumptious. you lump this dream into your dolphin of Delphi
and squeak cute symphonies of deep brood.
you choose your Oblivion.
and that's how Angels kiss. they force the Word through your Animus
and greet your weakness with squinty eyes and Lion's breath.
you're the next best thing since that one thing that had no soul for god to play with.
it never complained. you might look and you might not see
what you're not supposed too. but i know you'll be happy with lemon-drops
and long dark naps.
that's how we do,
like a crispy pillow is a cloud with a lobotomy
and all my barbed wire is wine.
Like i'm the king of unbearable sublime. you anoint the fallen. i spike the punch, judy. you sunshine.
eulogies wet the pavement. darth mauls
the halls of our peril
and the dry
sparrows
you had no love but you had a thing that went thump
when you met her. and some other cocka-mamy thing.
and your narrow view
of the wide ha ha and the mute " **** this "
and why not?
we're all caught in the same frame and the gorgons are massive. you have to elect a hero to laugh at Death with and might get a girl.
you're nothing at all and that infuriates the reality you were dreamt with. you have no kin, but your family hasn't been.... you were unhinged
from the stark grim and the tide pool. why do you think i say things that ain't been language but has always been lingua nova ?
why would i lie ? this is the scepter of the vengeful design and the glee demons of first love sipping from a chalice of lost love
with closed eyes. this is the pier and the ocean. the dime store Picasso hanging the velvet Elvis with the perfect circles
with the little
cube inside...
aching for flamingos.
or not.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
now cast aside by pyrrah’s glowing fire,
bereft and waste, his wild heart never tamed,
long flown away, burnt out upon the pyre
that winter's teary passion once inflamed.
apollo’s chariot climbs in the east,
and delphi’s altar calls with prayers and songs,
while chilly mortals long for summer’s feast
bewildered by sad winter’s sorry wrongs.
the spring draws near upon the roman shore,
and laughter fills the streams, an aerie choir,
while my new lover hammers at the door
seducing me with roses from the briar.
slow winter pulses quicken and awake,
and love, sweet love, will give and then forsake.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 6:19 PM UTC
It was classic,
just like Delphi said it would be.
Bright lights
(I mean bright),
yellow walls
(shades of *****
a low hum
(in the bass range).
Mister Suit
sporting a razor-thin mustache
sat stoic at a long black table
carrying a wry grin,
his eyes shades of pitch.
They unshackled me,
hands pushed me down
into a chrome chair
with a firm red leather cushion.
Screams came through the wall
from the room next to us.
I sat there just as stoic
across from him
with a wry smile
of my own.
It felt like a scene
from a stereotypical sci-fi flic,
it wasn't though.
This was as real as it gets,
these guys meant business.
Guys like me were trouble
for the Control Boys.
They'd find out soon
I wasn't a pushover.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 4:40 AM UTC
In my geographic corner, where it rains most often,
when it does not, I remember you
on the face of the rocks, lightfooted on the oracles
amongst the bobcats and the butterflies
and the sunshowers like curtains from real.
Years ago, but minutes; miles, no—
I cannot deny the miles.
I open my window on this spring morning and I
taste Delphi in the air, and you,
you everywhere.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
In my travels, I happened to find this little box. It has no key, and has no locks. So, sit back, sip a cup of coffee, or favorite drink, relax for a little while, and hopefully, enjoy the ride:
On the table, the box it sits-
All six sides of equal fit-
What is the mystery inside-?
What are the secrets that it hides?
This little box--
That has no key--and has no locks.
The Oracles of Delphi-the hermits on the peak-
Claimed to see the future-but in truth they did not seek-
The power of this little box-
That has no key ----- and has no locks.
It doesn't eat! It doesn't breath!!
But oft it can, and will, relieve
Your fears of the fiercest days ahead--
All within this little box-
That has no key---------and has no locks.
When clouds gather, dark and drea'r--
Eyes swell, and start to tear--
It's not a curse! nor a pox!
Just pick up the little box--
That has no key---------------and has no locks.
So, with great ferocity--
Quench your thirst of curiosity!
Discover the secrets held within!!
Feel the power again, and again!!!
Learn the mystery of the box--
That has no key--------------------and has no locks
(YOU MAY NOW OPEN THE BOX)
Put together with guise and guile--
With hopes that it will make you smile-
So, now you know the mystery--
And the secret of the box-
There never was a need -- for keys and locks!!!
Copyright r.riddle-August 17, 2010
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
flashes of the past crash into my mass
blasted and scratched, hide chapped,
I clap and shout at the memory
I approve of myself –
Old images of self-worth re-birth
And my fading girth is better for the earth
Large ***** pass gasses collapsing the greenhouse, but
I approve of myself –
Internal health and immeasurable wealth
As if the Delphi oracle imparted me
with love for self
growing stealth
with approval of myself –
affirmation nation retaliating against
infatuation with concentration camp
regurgitation
my patience wears thin and yet still
I approve of myself –
Granting panic stricken epidemic victims
Injections of insulin and bicarbonate soda
So the right wing harm bringers
Will no longer harbinger orangutans
Oh! the will of man…
Planning to land a dodge ram on the spam factory
Rectally cramming grandfather clock hands
Scamming bands of Ayn Rand fans
I approve of myself –
Derailed writings without direction
Making up things like “latterly”
…..better to just end it----
I approve of myself
And much of this message
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
Mirror, Mirror, Where is Delphi
i preferred it when you had your hair in a bun,
walking down Tweedy with ripped jeans and taylor gang chucks,
with your hair blazed bloodier and brighter than desolate Mars,
when you were just another girl i grew in war with,
i never dreamed, though i saw that one day you would leave,
and desert the dirt covered laces and kiss me goodbye,
tethered up in knots as you threw us in the sky,
i look down at you tangled on the line,
a saddened women posing in her in undergarments before the digital eye,
you are the baddest *****
i can see it on my screen as i scroll past in thirst,
you are the baddest *****
i acknowledge this to be true,
infantry ****** open fire, shooting explosive emojis that detonate your feed,
i know you wear bullet proof armored sweaters
but i also see the bruises on that solitary face,
leeches feeding lust into your neck,
you step into battle with black eyes on your chest,
swinging your “i don’t give a **** sword, beheading lascivious foes,
i preferred when we sat on the terrace during the decline of the sun,
softly voicing how we’d get out of this cage,
walking north of south gate with worn out tokens,
i left you unguarded
pardon me, lustful,crimson Helen of Troy
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
“A to Z—the beginning and end
Abraham the volatile catalyst
Zara the terrestrial base
to neutralize and stabilize
the reaction; jointly they shall
set mankind to rightfully inherit
the world; free of thy oceanic reign.”
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
from the precipice there i sat i stared
at all the earth's truths laid bare
laid bare there the naked truth
no beautiful siren of delphi
no open **** no wound
no one to tell you where to put it
or pare down complicated lies
like train bar cars in
cold swiss mountain
moonlight
falling off the stool forgetting now where
'near zurich' (bar car bartender)
'perhaps sir has had enough'
tell 'got a good handle on it'
handle being 60 ounces
fade to blackout
80 proof
****
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
Igor & TT were the hit of the new wave
film circuit, reviving thoughts
of vintage Auteur cinéma vérité;
MOTHERWELL [formerly banned]
on a double-bill with _A Star Is ****
American film makers hitting a
glass wall rush to sign the least
talented; shooting on a billion-
dollar shoestring knockoff ****
films about artists & faux art films
about **** stars; Eli could never
breathe the air of LA or the USA;
wanted as he was for the ******
of an unnamed drifter; the actress
at his door, crying it was her dad;
Eli pours her a whisky & having one,
sits & watches her bawl her eyes out;
& picking her eyes from the floor,
handed them back to her, & blind
she thanks him, before putting
the red orbs back in her empty head;
rushing to his arms & missing completely, she hits the wall;
"u'd better go back to America," he said,
"Stay there & send ur mother over here."
"Are u going to **** my mother?"
the echo of the question rang out through the ages;
how many girls had asked how many men
[stepfathers & strangers] [on the way out,
the realization] under how many clouds of doubt,
suspicion & threat, 'are u going to ****
my mother?' inevitably, the answer
was yes, confirmed by Oracles of yore;
Mighty Delphi itself proclaiming
that her mother will be ****** by the man
she desires for herself; yes, always &
for all time in the eternal recurrence
of lust, love & separation; moms always give better head
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 10:53 PM UTC
in the temple at delphi
upon the steps afront
my crown of wire lay
a pile of birds
sat crossed in thirds
my lungs resigned in splay
phobos’ kiss afflicts with bliss
amongst the thistled dirt
the sowing of a new isle
what once was old
and now is true
are a bygone from the blue
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
Low are the crickets of Delphi
With their chirping rays of sunset,
Like Phaethon to photon destructs
Into the fiery ruts of chariot wheels,
Or two eagles flying opposed on stringed vicissitudes,
A bird-yarning of sky from the omphalos stone,
The fulcrum of sung misery, a fishing net thrown,
As the half-bird and half-ion in siren’s undertones
Lure in subatomic orbs of ghostly parabolic swerve,
Into this blued Corinthian evening, self-vibrato,
Rocking like an empty boat from the dock rope,
Or an empty heart, unmoved by its own beating.
May 11, 2025
May 11, 2025 at 10:06 PM UTC
Nothing comes to mind, each stroke and word aches inside me.
A fleeting thought coming up dry in my throat.
My temple, empty and abandoned.
Only traces of wine left, They have forsaken me.
They have cursed me, ripping out what made me alive.
I no longer hear the future only sinister laughter
Under the altar is a reminder of what could’ve been.
They think I am undeserving.
They know I would rather die than be nothing.
Why make me believe it?
-Percy
Feb 15, 2024
Feb 15, 2024 at 4:05 PM UTC