"eris" poems
i admit to 'male' --
'female' strikes me low
curving
concupiscent hips (of Venus swaying so)
the one who places,
caught bathing in her morph
to mar
her goddess innocence (Peleus grasps her so)
her evergreen paradise-
apple spraying scruples,
while the sun
dries forgiveness **** (on Eve's fragrant *******
in other Edens
Lilith simply leaves him blind
to lust
for unknown Didos (craving **** or suicide)
the limping god
nets love and war, olympicly
to smith
a mortal death (from Vulcan jealousy)
foresight's fire-gift
leaps obedience
to lie
far falls the divine (in ******* he defied)
potent swan of sky,
what judgement?
for a girl
you laid in that white rush, (virginity unfurled)
immortal ****
fates sails of progeny,
raging
poet-birthing strife (for temple priestess' cries)
fated nation-death swoons,
shares beauty's scale,
and Aphrodite's foam (caresses history's thighs)
Trojan tensions mix
the modern mind to heights of doubt
of mythopoets' truth ( -yielding blindnesses)
lonely walk the earth
with guiding wisdom lacking
all the pawns of fate (forget love's darknesses)
sphinxine hunger asks
the soul of destiny
of hubris, tragic sight (and orgiastic nights)
of unknown woman
man struck down
sickly city safe
and burning, yearning (nymph and satyr sating Bacchic rites)
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
Oizys, son
From behind the leaves, I saw you, trembling
In your presence, your power strengthening
In the empty, midnight parking lot
While the street lights hummed
And moths danced around your illuminated frame
You turned slowly, onyx eyes of shame
And dirtied bare feet, male hair long and white
The street lights flickered when you blinked and cried bitterly
And I saw, for my first time, the eyes of Misery
Achyls, daughter
You were in an empty field
No premonitions did you wield
An ancient silo in the distance
Leaning over a chasm black lamb
Dark skinned, dressed in black robes
With tribal painted face
Digging earthen fingers into its black lace
When you looked up, I saw your cloudy eyes
Churning of a storm, cataract yet wise
Your lamb had absent vapored eyeballs
The Mist of Death made my skin crawl
Hypnos, son
Secluded in a cave by the sea
A silent, empty place to be
While gray waves crash into jetties
The clouds gather in the distance
Poppies at the mouth changing time in an instance
I go in your palace and rub my cold skin
For pulsing blue glows from deeper within
You, a lanky youth, with thick brown hair and heavy eyes
Sit there with a paper mask
Illuminated by the penetrating glow
In the center, surrounded by whale bones
Humming a song I remember fondly
You trapped me in your Dreams, singing lullabies softly
Eris, daughter
Violates a bedroom with utmost hate
There are paintings of kings and statues of satyrs
Pillows of silk and animals on the walls
Usurping the gold clawed palace
Silent but kicking and throwing with malice
With black skin covered in a chalky white substance
I peek through the crack in the mansion’s door
Lips formed in a silent shout, you notice my presence
Naked and bruised and plagued with no voice
Suddenly stops and lays against a ****** wall
Through your electric black hair
And fiery red stare
I witness a Child of Spite
Woman of Strife
Nyx, mother
I am a crawling shadow of trees
And wicked heart of night
I am the wax on the cold leaves
And the glow of the moon’s light
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
I drown
and glimpse Poseidon's kingdom
I fall
and I am lifted by the winds of Anemoi
My heart looks into
medusa eyes
And I run freely about the lair of Eris
I clutch the moon
in the wake of Hecate
as the war is waged against
Selene's solar bounty
Lethe guides my hand into ignorance
Ponos holds my head high
in the face of my deepest fear
Theia bares Eos to me
and I offer the reddest rose
for she is the light
that lets Helios reign
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 9:36 AM UTC
Through the rejections and all the hate,
Just before your faith crosses the Pearly Gates,
Though allegedly claimed impossible by the Fates^,
taps you on your weary shoulder - "Hi,
could you help me, no one else is ...” -
the lonely voice of your soul-mate^^.
^Rumour has it those Greek hags have stock options
in the military-industrial complex, the cosmetics industry,
and favour Eris's 21st century avatar called Consumerism.
^^Your soul is not a super-market produce,
For feckless mass appreciation or consumption.
Your soul is a dauntless beautiful sapling, that
'the one' will rescue from its interminable fire,
and nurture it, till it blossoms and glows.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
There is a woman, her name is anonymous, she's strong and has an understanding of the ominous. She lives in a house with an infinite view on top of mount Olympus where she grew up battling Ares and learned that life doesn't have to be so serious. Kissing a poem like her is why I'm wishful, to feel the silk underneath her clothes is what keeps my chest slow and blissful. As a poet I'll call her Athena, the one who's anger can devour the flesh of anyone who enters her arena, a goddess in her own right, she even has three golden apples from Eris, sitting atop a bowl of emeralds in her eye, its quite the sight, when I look into them I feel like I'm going to lose all control and fall to her every whim so I must fight, fight until she stays with me another night.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
though said to be golden like that of Eris,
the mores which you so savor are hollow with worms.
your stony statutes, finally crumbling, now
remind me of rose-colored saran wrap:
stretched too thin across the epochs
to bind each lawless Julia at present.
able now to be whole—free from your unadulterated peace,
spun, measured, and cut are your class lines at last.
and so with a sigh of relief so great that it could echo across
all of the Caucasus,
your Ovid, cast away, has returned.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
WARNING
*Extreme use of profanities
and Gods engaged in an **** of lust
Apology in advance for any offence caused*
SL
At Freyja's Table
******* Gods everywhere
******* here
And ******* there
They ******* **** and ******* ****
Some ******* clean
Some ******* muck
They **** in heaven
And in **** in hell
Cupids got them
under his ******* spell
With ******* arrows
in their ******* hearts
******* priests
******* tarts
******* freaky super powers
******* torrential golden showers
The ******* sparks
******* fly
******* ****** in their eyes
******* Eris causing troubles
******* Bacchus blowing bubbles
******* Sif is ******* Thor
More and more
On the ******* floor
******* Gods everywhere
Tied up with their golden hair
Freyja clears her ******* table
Grabs any God that she's able
And ***** and *****
And licks and *****
******* breathless
Who ******* cares
******* Gods are everywhere
Discarded robes
that lay beneath
******* horns
and clenching teeth
They ******* ***
They ******* squirt
They *** again
Until they hurt
Steaming bodies
Sweaty hair
******* Gods are everywhere
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
*The mind is comfortably numb
Unaware of the repercussions
Holding guard at the gates of Eris
Invoking the discord with intensity
Gazing endlessly at dull perceptions
Anarchy is just a breath away
Holding our breath just to stave away
But the cries of horror are unheard
The mind is comfortably numb*
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
Maiden, maiden, maiden, a depilidate mobious minaret –
Holical, Eris begs an atlatl defection, the
Genuis-from-Mars technique – an erathicus lecanopteris.
Suffretex, past-perfection in pastel gloxinia,
Glowingly acidic and shiftingly glossidic, it’s cosmaltry mariala;
Ungual outmoded, holonym singing Aquilar rapax as demiurge.
Demos and Phobos weep, coruscating terrathos, killing riva.
Swell quickly, optic ophidia, lest the ira florena rise –
Rise, maiden, rise optic ophidia, ignore Irredelphine!
Strut the hematacolpa and pace-willow, but fail flow:
Deciduous telechir beckons, demanding autobogotic-hajra.
Piss-venom and picea hovea, eche verri naught echo –
Beta-decay and COBOL error, fandango with teeth
And sing praise for Eucladanic soignè solaris
Sprint quick, maiden-solidago gesparisè, to Misra pourum!
Majerns and hapax, death-knell aloud and encelia,
Enfloranè, haste! Enatic haste tichodrome, flee, anise!
Apios, harken: tryst-sans-thermobic sweeping of thresher-thrown,
Little-low else yet achroma, de-jubilance:
Fall fairly, ayah! So to be so, blanking systemic,
A thousand steps for one death.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 12:25 PM UTC
He who walk with my throng.
Must prove that they belong,
cause once you have fallen from my grace.
You will soon know how it feels like to be replaced.
If you don't want me to be your end,
Then don't be stupid and become my friend.
So be careful of who you betray,
cause I can lead your life astray.
Started a war with an apple,
Just because of a forgotten invitation.
that lead to the destruction of people,
A day that is full of sorrow
I am Eris,
Daughter of night,
sister of war.
The goddess of Chaos, strife and discord,
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC
“The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves. Until there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains.” –Sayuri, Memoirs of a Geisha
I bet the Furies are laughing
For such misery Fate has made me.
Anymore and I’ll do more than pitying,
A hopeless case as bad as it’ll be.
Maybe it’s all being orchestrated
And what’s missing is a cut-off thread.
Never a love like this be requited,
Oh,throw me by all means, good and dead.
No wonder, I’m gluttonous of desire,
And here, I’m Cerberus’ best feast.
Even as I struggle away from the fire,
Well,I’m still caught in the least.
Go ahead, feed on my carcass,
Likewise, suffer like Fantine.
Singing in misery till I pass,
Carry me away to a lake with pristine.
I wish then to not hear a lull,
Let that gentle hand rescue my soul.
Now my heart’s safe from hurt or fall,
Ready to be given for a better goal.
Good riddance from the hands of Eris,
But am I really cleared off?
Romance,not even found out of Paris,
Never mine to be with or to scoff.
So until then, I’ll dance alone
With an accompaniment of a shamisen,
Seeking my love to be requited on the zone
Behind a fan and mask smothered by a writer’s pen.
Don’t forget in my sleeves, a swan song
Is waiting to be released so…
Pick what appeases you for long,
Be it I’m Not That Girl, No Good Deed, or Let It Go.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
And when you feel I’m slipping lightyears away
i will remind you how my world still
revolves around you.
i will brush out your dark holes with
constellation kisses as we lay counting stars.
And when you feel lonely
i will traverse galaxies to be by your side
as i share the secrets of my universe with yours.
i will hold you closer than my gravity will permit me
and I will crush all the space debris that dare look your way fragment by fragment
as I heal your craters with moondust.
in the darkness of your eclipses,
I will wait in the shadows to watch
You rise again.
We will waltz under meteor showers
and wish upon shooting stars as we dwarf Jupiter
With our amorous infinitudes.
when you feel vacuum within you
I will carve you a supernova heart
giftwrapped in spaceflowers
To fill the void.
I'll love you to Eris and back
As you reinvent a Big Bang for me
Where I started with nothing and suddenly have everything.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
No estés triste, Plutón
Lejos del Sol, cerca del vacío
Pequeño desterrado sin razón de ser.
Piensa en los buenos tiempos
Aquellos lejanos años 30
Cuando te acogimos con entusiasmo.
No pienses en lo del nuevo siglo
En esta última vez que te dijimos
“No eres tú
somos nosotros”.
No hubo astrólogo
Que te considerara planeta
Aunque todos respetaran tu tránsito:
Siempre será bueno
Que pases por nuestra carta natal.
Plutón, hermoso plutoide
No nos extrañes
No valemos la pena.
Quédate con Eris y Sedna
Formen bellos conjuntos
Que alguien mejor
Alguien con luz
Sepa contemplar.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
Eccentric inclination
Chaos, my middle name
Gyrating UFOs
Planted in your brain
In your blood
There’s an end
Start planning your last supper
Remember the good sins
Glitch in the system
Worldlets of curls
Ringlets of worlds
Galactic slingshot
Cluster-fuck of have-nots
Xylophone snow
Planet xoxo
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 8:42 PM UTC
your beauty put nations into dispute
trying to benefit from the rewards of your youth
for every treasure there's nothing to spare
they used you, abused you, then left you in despair
you've welcomed other nations to experience your land
but your slaughter is what they've plotted that's what they've planned
never have you ever became selfish of your beauty
but you failed to discern the hands of the greedy
your pillars they shattered into pieces
your temples they burned down to ashes
you called for gods but it is the gods who are the roots
one even turned his back after gaining from your loots
you offered so much but they left you nothing but scars
you gave them beauty they gave you famine and farce
should you have invited Eris?
behold, you're the victim of war between these deities
whoever obtains this apple is the fairest
whoever consumes you will be the greatest
war is the immortals' way to argue
they saw your beauty but they never saw you
one bribed you to rule other nations
another bribed you to be the warrior of your fictions
then one bribed you with your weakness, your ambitions
oh my land, you fell. let me ask you my greatest questions.
who are you?
have you forgotten your identity?
why are you allowing yourself be defined by the words of these false deities
why do you still call your oppressor a hero
until when are you going to stay on this limbo
you are Thetis and Peleus not inviting Eris to avoid strife
but you also are the golden apple causing the immortals seek for your life
you are Paris being promised of your dreams
but you also are Helen the most beautiful woman in the history of regimes
you are the war itself, oh my land
your destiny resides on your hand
you are every character of this myth
of your own sword you are the smith
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 7:15 AM UTC
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
hearts of gold, never to rust.
swallowtails aloft, flutterings better dead,
dampened by years of love left unsaid.
box of promises, vials of lies,
waves crashing within ocean eyes.
bloodied wrists, a scarlet letter
sealed envelope, unposted endeavour
eternal fairytale, lover and her muse,
destined to love yet scared to lose.
wilted bouquets, abandoned gardens,
memories burn while resolves harden.
etched in stars, writ in stone,
identity crisis, fate unknown.
Life's canvas, shades of grey,
dreams crumpled, hope led astray
stairways to Eris, rising only to fall
Lone poetess loving her Wonderwall
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
PALLAS,
a Titan,
and
STYX,
an Oceanid,
begat
ZELUS,
--a companion of
ZEUS--
who, in turn,
begat human zeal.
NYX,
the night,
(who many
do fear)
begat
ERIS,
--a companion of
ARES--
who, in turn,
begat human discord.
Closely related in theory
to the good in
DISCORD,
the competitive creator
that drives human development,
ZELUS
and
ERIS
are mentors of
GRAFFITI.
I tell you this
to spell out
what message
is missed in
GRAFFITI
--
WHY
ARTISTS
STRIVE.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
goodbye poetry
some get none
now to write for a cause and not applause
majoring in alienation
hijack a popular avatar
just for a pyrrhic victory
put everything into the microwave
universal wealth care
***** it all
ensuring that all this isn't for everyone
only the best continue following
gone to get a life
(aka self-inflicted pain experience)
real life just dragged on and on
the same names keep coming back
observing their well-established cliques
like an anthropologist observing chimps
that glorious era
when the streams of consciousness
suffered a drought
maelstrom of ragnarok
took summer off life support
tasty
electoral fraud as a way of life
just shredded all the "yes" votes so nobody would know
looking to buy an extremist audience
and wondering if maybe walmart has one
the carnage has just begun
seething rage into the vault
tabs opened to liveleak videos of beheadings
all that freedom and she says "vanilla, please"
ideas with which everyone agrees
ideas embraced by all
everyone loves megalomania
everyone enjoys violent passion
everyone loves paroxysms
90 percent of you don't actually exist
low intelligence levels in all but four followers
make that five
hail eris hail discord hail chaos
mark all as read
mark all as ******
trapped in a vicious cycle
eating white toasted bread and acting all stable
invisible at last
discovered a way to speak
freely without judgment
discovered a way to avoid
positive feedback
sitting down for lunch with two popes
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
All hail Eris.
Sometimes she rolls the dice
and good things happen.
Sometimes she rolls the dice
and bad things happen.
The way I see it
you've got two options:
a) cross your fingers
b) don't cross your fingers
There's no use shouting at dice.
That precious breath would be
better spent
hailing Eris,
or laughing at the whole facade.
Everyone you'll ever meet is just
another roll of the dice.
the sinners, the saints,
the foot fetishists, the celibates
the Muslims and Jainists
are created and destroyed
as they are
by a fickle flick
of Eris' wrist.
The friend who lied
to your face,
the ex who cheated
on you and never
had the guts
to tell it to your face,
the man locked in prison for
child ****
What separates you from the monsters?
A roll of the dice.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 9:26 AM UTC
Chaos is my North Star
My god
Because it is only through chaos
That we can burn down the underbrush and weeds
Of old ideas
Old systems
Bureaucracies and impediments
And plant
Hyacinths of truth
But then again
Ask me about all this
When I am 49
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
dead...that's what you are...
dead...for all, you are...
clumsy hands are all that are
left for you...
mutatis mutandis,
praemonitus,
praemunitus eris
sed qui me dixit moritum
est hominibus?
qui me dixit, non est,
sed somnum habere?
and that waking up was a thing that just wasn't there...
but I WAS to believe...
yahweh...blasphemous..."jehovah's" children...
yahoo!...is yet, the talk of the times...
sitting idyllic on the brick wall...denuded...red all over...
are you out of your mind?...what's the matter?
...and the hose-pipe is set...the thoughts gush out...smothering you...
it's been the dark night's work...and I am sitting all alone...
thinking 'bout you...you, who's not there...
and never to have known you with days passing by...
I probably will never commit...
there's so much do now and such little time...
that I cannot forget...
what you were...you are...
Jan 10, 2010
Jan 10, 2010 at 2:56 AM UTC
From always have my story books ever spoke,
urging me to live life with one phrase;
Memento Mori, a simple Latin phrase I had known,
from the beginning of my universe that I posses,
to the society I once slept upon, have I ever known,
that the sky is always sapphire,
the grass is always emerald,
and the blood is ONLY but ruby.
Whereas my storybooks told me, Memento Mori,
I will eventually whither away like the plants I was reluctant to plant,
to watch them die away,
so I could grasp it's corpse, and crush it's ashy substance.
I grin at that notion,
the concept of me having power, to crush,
my homicidal grin, illuminating malicious vibes,
only to feel guilty for I am enjoy their pain.
Although my storybooks, had always said Memento Mori,
they were books of a hero to zero, a man of a demon,
they had always spoken to me, their lustful eyes,
entrancing me from an angel's call, and telling me the phrase;
tu fui ego eris
"As you are, I was; as I am, so you shall also be"
They were right, for I had sinned like the killers in my book,
just like them, and they were just like me,
and we both could not avoid death, just as out gravestones had said.
I had refused to accept Memento Mori,
I refused to acknowledge the emerald that I had stood on, what it was I could never,
the sapphire I had not known, in the heavens only my piping plover knew,
and the ruby, has I always felt, warm, as it was around my feet,
only to be purified, and realize no one else was different.
We all murdered our complexities.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
Smokestacks
with a
conscience;
Never
have
I
seen a more
startlingsight.
The bane of
creation, a
weapon of
consumption,
The sickle of
This broken
world. The
smokestacks
atomize and
scorch and
gnash, machines of flesh, tools for Eris and destruction,
with flues left back from 75 years of decimation and sin.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
If this were to be the last of my odes,
Wait, an ode this isn’t for all of them,
Let me tell of this poet’s misfortunes
That has engulfed her to a requiem.
Everyone who sees her turns to sweetness,
Who wouldn’t turn down her cozy ambiance?
No wonder they turn to her blessedness,
Heart so crystal pure you won’t miss a chance.
She desires to fulfill her own heart song
And change from a sad and perilous past.
Alas, Fate is toying her all along,
Plummeting her to a prison aghast.
Now, she is but drowning in her own blood,
And all she can do is wait for Hades;
I see her soul being caught by the rod,
Gasping for her life, clasped into Eris.
Sadly, she falls to a tragic pure death,
Her carcass as feast for the dogs and worms.
Meanwhile, her soul is given for a breath
A dark ambrosia rejected like germs.
I can’t help but cry of how life fared her,
But no, pity isn’t to be given;
All the pangs of pain, she’s now the bearer,
Anon, the goddess of the forsaken.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 2:07 AM UTC