Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
touka Jun 2018
she says I'm too young,
but sadness manifests the same
so I place my broken jaw
back into its broken place

a modern epimetheus
dragging my prudence by the reins
confronted with the trouble that'd been steeping
for years on the fire

and like the ferris wheel that spun every summer
that I lost interest in
as I sloughed more and more of my childhood skin

I look off into the fog, salt and sand
'n the moon perched so highly,
a king in the sky
sending off its armed stars to cut through the night

****** from this nonage fantasy
by the bitter taste of tobacco in my mouth

maybe I can't love anyone

not yet
Carsyn Smith Apr 2014
You must think you're funny
parading around with that mask on.
People must think you're smart
convincing them of your deep thoughts.
Epimetheus, dear, you were never one
for prethoughts.
Now look at what you've done.
My love for you is burning.
You dangled it above the flames,
threatening it,
questioning its validity.
But I pushed it in --
held that dilapidated beat in the bluest flame
and listened to you scream as it died.
You have nothing over me now --
I am free.
Kewayne Wadley Sep 2017
The touch of lips- brief and soft.
There was no more grief.
This evening forever lost in memory.
Through the ripples of untroubled water, we sat.
The waves rolled closer.
Together we crashed by the pull of the tide.
Anxiously losing track of time.
The wave- thick, unforgiving.
Retraced its step.
And I forever lost.
Forever inhaling it's essence.
Forever remembering that night with closed eyes.
The knowledge burned up,
The wisdom became chastised,
The secrets fall on deaf ears
And are hidden from mine eyes.

The wanton flames of Caesar’s fleet
Swallowed the Library.
The outraged mob
Raged out the Serapeum.
Politics as usual.
Swallowing faith by the spoonful.

I shed a tear
For the sweet Hypatia,
Long gone
But never forgotten,
Mourned on
But teachings begotten.

The elliptical paths
Of the Wanderers
Buried at the hands
Of the Squanderers.
Such imperfect shapes
In God’s creation,
The audacity of defying
The circular relation;
A reflection of humans
And our imperfect gestation.

Now here I stand
At the bleeding edge of the future,
Prometheus in mind
While Epimetheus is crucial.
A gift for mankind
For Nature’s love to be fruitful.

Pandora’s Box
Unleashed Hell on our plane.
What’s needed is a delicate touch
To clean the mess that was made.
But where do I turn
With ancient tomes rent asunder?
Such foundation destroyed
In the name of faith, pillage, and plunder.

My mind reels in itself,
Eyes wide full of wonder,
My full heart pours forth
But empty promises do flounder.
There’s a new world to be built,
An age of peace yet to flourish,
But our banks of wisdom dried up
Like the last drop of milk in the cat dish.

But with a powerful intuition,
I find the knowledge and euphoria;
I turn my mind within and read
The Lost Scrolls of Alexandria.
I H Σ
IHS HOMILIA

In the natural fatigue of everything created, the Duoverse presented its IHΣ, falling on the eighteenth letter of the Greek alphabet and on the duo hundred changes in physical memory. The PH (Hexagonal Primogenitor), is conceived in the presence of the Chrismon, but Hellenic with the Vexillum banner, to rescind the fatigued and depressed winds, since the quantum of memory was lost in its integrity of aerophobic to the earth, and therefore the subsequent one would be air-water, being for this reason, preceded the ceremonial that begins by stripping before the abenuz Diospyros, with its stamens usually in sixteen plus its hypogines or inserts at the base of the corolla; like those of the female flowers, being part of the gynoecium of the Tsambikas part, and of the androecium that will have to be of the Diospyros in Theoskepasti; with ovaries generally tetra ocular adapted, to be inseminated for the raids of the demigods of the Horcondising and El Duoverso, with the monogram HDD (Horcondising-Duoverso), for those who trace the bifurcations with Zefián; chaos computer, all the way to modulated Theoskepasti. Making the changes that have to be reborn in the stamen, being almost sterile, aborting in the memories of Galilee, signifying the pollination performance of the Diospyros and sprouting in the same stem of the whorl, even more in each hand of stigmatized Vernarth and Etréstles , bearing the IHS candles, the monogram and the Mandylion-Vas Auric, as a sign of the Olives Bern. Before the seams of the carved heels are erected and the one of the gutters of the annelids going up through the alabaster, to the chalice with the chrismon hat.

Filling the warehouse of Anemoi himself, and forgetting his deposit of the empyrean breath on the synaptic abbreviations, the argument of Saint John the Apostle continues in the network of Rhodes and Kímolos, for the cortex of the sensory past and the consequence of the gusts of falls by the trisomies, affecting to be regenerated on the oxygen-nitrogenous bases, from the activation of nemo-genetics, to specify the loss and egregious gain of channeling between the Cyclades and the Dodecanese. Carrying memories of Vernarth's cerebellum stuck and not trembling towards the lake of the hippocampus, where the Zoroaster carried the Magi, at the end of the span and first-last border in the vicinity of Ein Karem. On the evolutionary scale the weak air masses fluctuated, in the flood of the Meltemi over the Aegean, taking them to the bay of Dekas, on the knees of the colossus that impregnated with its fennels so that some delirium could replace its articulation. Remaining like this, on a scale of emptiness reminiscent and tacit ..., it continues to be and not, occupying itself and not, but it does rise towards the colossus from the ground of Vernarth, which had split bipartite from Rhodes to kímolos, like Verthian neuroscience, whose prose they emanate submissive glaciers of Intuitive Hypermeditation (as a technique of knowledge and meditation, for functional links of inspiration, purgative insight and yogic memory). All the nonsense is alluded to, breaking the rationality of the Vas Auric ceremonial, in its phenomenology, making curvilinear pauses to re-captivate phraseological keys, diminished in condensed memories equivalent to approximately ten terabytes, from a homologous half, almost surrendering when exhausted before both scholars and their debts exchanged when driving ..., thus recovering wave dips before reaching the bay of Dekas, Kímolos and ending in the necropolis of Hellenika ..., and vice versa before re-climbing in the middle of Mandraki, Archangelos and Filerimos, to finish in Tsambika, Rhodes.  As a parallel response to the archpriest of not altering the  IHS homily monogram, and of the association in remembrance, which may affect the conduction of the mediumistic trance, almost prostrating him in the house of forgetfulness and frenzy, if he is to recover not stabilized. The sulfurous and mercurous component of Cinnabar proceeded by acidifying the essences of Vas Auric, already prospering in the hands of each auric conductor ..., Archpriest and Saint John the Apostle, each with the sulfur from the mountain and the arc of the Aegean Sea, as genesis volcanic for its diametrals towards a change of chemical prisms, to the multi-angle of the topaz that Saint John the Apostle wore in his air, close to the reliquary, hanging from some fringes of the Vexillum, that he had arranged near the Vernarth. Immediately on the banks of the monastery, Raeder was walking with a lantern looking for those who might try to enter, he believed that it was his father from Kalymnos, the ones who came on another mission, to be carried away by the energizing power of cinnabar, more than a breath for those who observe by the quarters, stationed in the sandy areas of Rodas.  Petrobus, the pelican…, circled around the heights of the monastery, delimiting the laxity of his body's memory, in prayers in case they ventured through Kalimnos for a good portent, in waters for the tenth seeds for all the Rodines.

From the monastery with one of its necessary dependencies, all were with exacerbated white candles between the steps of each cell and their attached friars, they made a room of the nave near the church on the hexagonal floor, this being screened through the center of the garden where everything was dominated by the limits of the alabaster arches, which only now pointed to the closet of the books, this time being fed up and sparing their voices with devotion. Chapter by chapter it expired ..., for each cell, identifying each portion of the world in creation to the scriptorium and the refectory, where in this ceremony books were swallowed for the infinite world of the Duoverso, near the parlor, to do the times when He was teaching Saint George and the Dragon, vinegar the presses for the wine of the missal. Even so, Eurydice, organized the fragrances of the cells and intermediations of the southern called in the voices of Proserpina, coming dressed in proclaimed black, but with the appearance of Persephone in reality wedged into her face as a goddess woman, but with a hemiplegic collapse.

Sequence shot at Kímolos, Panagia Theoskepasti

Etréstles says: “according to what has been said in this dimension, the word will be the world of the Duoverso. Synchronously, it lined up with the monastery in Tsambika, by the third hour after noon, reflecting off the undisclosed walls of the chapel. On if,  in the radiosities of cinnabar. Thus entering electromagnetic lassitude through the trusses of the pulpit anchored in the Vox of the mystical vortex, towards those who entered and left thousands of times through the counter shutters of the chapel, colliding and colliding many times, until by the iridescent Cinnabar, somewhat Sulfur rial, mixed with the radiosities of some novae, which also acted as a decoy of the chrismon, which Kanti carried the steed adjusted in the saddle on his back, as a mount of syntactic esotericism, speaking of intangible brown colors of cinnabar, almost human. I know that the scrolls will write themselves, and that no word will have to be written or pressed by a mortal who protects it, the Diospyros, will exert anticipated redemption from the imbalance of the proximity of the Universe that slowly fell on Greece, while in the hegemony of the abenuz, everything looked with its graceful synchronous stamens that were usually sixteen, plus its hypogines or inserts at the base of the corolla; that attracted the essences of the Androecium with ovaries generally tetra ocular adapted, but according to the word Ebreh Ke Dabra, for those who carry it under a state of extended ******* and under a possession of psychopathies, to delegate them in non-demonized existences, if not emerging from the syntax of the verb, close to the intellect that works for the grace of the subsequent. In this way, all demonization would remain in the distractions of the annelids, who travel the coast of Kimolos, from Dekas to Hellenika, where they will finish the alternation of the gifts of the Vas Auric, teleporting in the vessels; or vehicles rolled to the chapel, to later be forwarded to the necropolis.

At three o'clock, after midnight in its antipode of noon, the psalms will shield with the wings of Petrobus all the government of Theoskepasti, and with its golden, feathers ..., and the heraldry of Vernarth with its Aspis Koilé, lavishing it in those of Saint John the Apostle, in the Shaddai that acts as a temple, towards the lower funnel of the Hetairoi, confined to the elect devotion of being protected towards the gates of the Savior, in lands of sand removed over the naked and reddish bodies of Archangelos and of Psathi with mega gallons of papyrus, falling like the blooming chrysalis of Diospyros on the litanies of the archpriest, who was interrupted in his syntactic diction, when permeating the sequence shot Cyclades-Dodecanese, Tsambika-Theoskepasti, Anemoi-Meltemi, Vernarth- Etréstles , low the Vexillum or mercenary banner of the Peltasts that in legions gathered to assist together with Vernarth in both chapels for the chalices of the fish that welcomes the dead in battles and takes him from his nets and enables him with his gills…; "Tel Gomel, Gaugamela and the Gordian knot in the hands of Saint George and the Dragon"

In the aftermath of the memory loss of Vernarth's body, he already had his chest full of Cyclops, St. George appearing to venerate his litany and wide pain, common to the one who, even in that state, can sustain the world like Atlas, but like Epimetheus of afterthought. Being triumphant in his imaginography, appearing with the snowy horse, in total synchronization at the moment in which he is seen appreciating Etréstles, on the bulbous clouds that enveloped the chapel, and haughty and shrewd the knight Saint George of Anatolia, Roman and Christian was seen . With his mother; Polychrome, having already been trained here in the town of his mother's origin, in Lydda, he was trained as a military tribune knight, and was later appointed as a Diocesan personal guard.
Vexillum
I may or may not be:
a posited feline absurdity
curled up on comma paws
inside Herr Schrödinger's *****-trapped box.

Its flask is uncertain
whether to smash-poison my mighty mews
and spew a gray-mouthed cloud
that inky clots neither's sharpening quill.

Entangled buts become
stranded as knots of fuzzy pink yarn, to send
either-or careening
arm-and-arm down imperfect pictured paths,

where Epimetheus
stands, ready to wed Pandora anew,
and doom-birth our many
worlds with the lifting of my thousand lids.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Yuan – gobierno – kaadlawan ni Juan
Brad Pitt kg Spielberg – mass media – kaadlawan ni Juan
Epimetheus – siyensiya – kaadlawan ni Juan
Islamic Development Bank – ekonomiya – kaadlawan ni Juan
Mga modela – ikaayong lawas – kaadlawan ni Juan
Star Wars 7 – literatura – kaadlawan ni Juan
Iglesia sa San Juan – relihiyon – kaadlawan ni Juan

-12/18/2015
(Dumarao)
*Kaadlawan ni Juan
My Poem No. 445
FireZombie Dec 2011
Iron, hot dreams had gone away in mist
By silver moonlight and of burning day
Could have the G man forced a poisonous kiss
Or was it I, Ego who’s gone astray
An island out at sea is where you are
uncertain goods you wish by your own exile
In hope that wasted time left not a scar
Of long secluded life made others avile
Athena grace me with your deep insight
A wisdom wider than the ocean great
Away with you Epimetheus a blight
On the eyes of Present – unwanted trait
Out stretched heartstrings do yearn to be embrace
By future bliss and away with doubt erase
Adam Kinsley Feb 2017
I'm wasted by my apathy
I'm barely even here
My will knows Ambiguity:
A grievance for my peer

I rarely Love my fellow man
Or, practice what I preach
Deception is my biggest fan
My Dreams are out of reach

I live as Epimetheus:
And, run from each mistake
I hide my Lies, like most of us
And, give much less than take

I lust to see my Ego fed
To hope this Lie is true
But, deep inside, I feel I'm dead--
Pretending, just like you...
Kelley A Vinal May 2015
The Great Andromeda Nebula
No longer as such
Now, she is a galaxy
Close enough to touch

As with life
And consciousness too
We form a singularity
In which attraction cannot move

Or can it? It's unknown
The wonders of this mold
It's Torricelli's Trumpet
Filled with finite gold

Take me on Cassini
Each pass-by in blue
I've seen Jupiter, and Saturn
And Epimetheus too!

I can't wait to keep on living
In this fantastic, beautiful, enigmatic,
expansive, wondrous universe
With you
Adam Kinsley Jul 2016
It took three years to bury myself
Amidst the reckless notions of preservation
But, I wrapped up my distress, deeply within my skin
Writing the answers on my hand, and forgetting that they were there

I bathed in spite, three times-a-day
And, ran from sober thoughts:
To build a persona, an alter ego
Then, to remember what I had forgotten

I live in my imagining--
The present is much too distraught
So, I fall off of the cliff, with Epimetheus
Until my heart is plundered by a fleet of Visigoths

There are skeletons, pumping through my veins
Though, I pretend they're gone--
I hear my conscience screaming at me
So, I put the cork back in the bottle...
Adam Kinsley Sep 2018
I forged my dreams in the mire of regret
The past had not passed me for long
The angel of Death awaits my plea of ignorance
While the sands of time bury my aspiration

I acknowledge my mistakes
Yet, do not learn from them--
Walking backward with Epimetheus off the cliff
My disdain surmounts my discerning heart's integrity

Between me, myself, and I
We produce the same Lie
Gouging out my eyes to spite my mind
I am solely affixed to its lack of fervor

My descent into dissent imprisons me
This island is no longer a paradise
I cannot run from my own mind
But, I can turn down the volume, just for tonight...
This poem is about not learning from your mistakes. I use Epimethius as a metaphor, because, in Greek mythology Epimethius
Mahdi Akhloumadi Dec 2022
My dear friend, carbon form of life!
Or digital.

Tomorrow we had;
a Greek date for mate, out of format,
And tea without seafood.
And cha-cha boom
And Besame Mucho!

your Epimetheus,
And your forgetfulness,
Fishy and slipped away,
Thanks to ,
Sandman's fingers.

And I have a worm in my stomach;
By the name of Shay-Khulud.

My sweet dilemma
farewell.
1973 – gintukod ang isa ka talaguan sg kwarta
Sg mga sumulunod ni Allah
Islamic Development Bank ang ngalan sini niya…
1966 – nadiskubre ang isa ka bulan sa Saturn nga planeta
Sg isa ka iskolar nga taga-Amerika
Epimetheus ini kon tawgon siya…
Bangko kg Bulan sa iya pagbata!

-12/18/2015
(Dumarao)
*Kaadlawan ni Juan
My Poem No. 442

— The End —