"gilgamesh" poems
They say that music and maths are the worlds unifier,
its non-barrier standard. All can unite in music and maths.
Yet, they forget the literature form of Poetry.
Poetry its long history, dating back to the Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh. Evolving from folk songs such as the Chinese Shijing, or from a need to retell oral epics, as with the Sanskrit Vedas, Zoroastrian Gathas, and the Homeric epics.
Poetry is the history of mankind. Memorable for its form, rhyme,
meter, subject, symbolism, metaphors, similes, hidden meanings,
Truth, fantasy and fable.
All human emotion, no matter what colour, gender, creed, faith or belief system, is welcome through poetry, gains from poetry, learns from poetry and in return is taught by poetry.
Those lines in a myriad of languages, styles, form and content is mankind's story, a poem can feed your soul 'Invictus' taught humankind through one man's struggle. Not music, not maths.
From a Sonnet to Shi
Villanelle toTanka
Haiku to Ode
Ghazal to Narrative poetry
Epic poetry to Dramatic poetry
Satirical poetry to Light poetry
Lyric poetry to an Elegy
Verse fable to Prose poetry.
We write poetry because we are human! filled with passion.
And other pursuits are necessary to sustain human life.
But poetry IS what I stay alive for.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
a late harvest in Brigadoon
plucked from good earth
by strong hands
hauling
uphill, until
a gentle
slope
rewards
a stiff
back; easing
a grateful
burden
that levitates
famine
[ bushels ]
now
ziggarats
in a root
cellar
a Sumerian skyline
of parsnips and rhubarb
with fennel minarets
where Gilgamesh slept
in a pantry of pagan loot
underneath a corner room
at the very back
of a round
house.
where four seasons bunk with an almanac
mason jars of pickled beets
breathing their own blood
hanging gardens from the ceiling
of the Underworld
like fliers of missing children
on telephone poles
i go outside and wander off
you stay home
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 2:02 AM UTC
In the dunes, the dust raises a dirge
echoing in the nooks of Qardu:
prophet of the pasts, a ghoul
who led an arc on to the mountain
singed by the daystar where now,
men cut their hands to quench infant-thirsts.
And outraged women wail into the nights.
All for this? All for this? The anguished
song in the valley in an archaic tongue
that the Spirit stands surveying
that called out a fire off a bush, leading
a nation out of wilderness. Now, who
delight in murdering children.
The emperor of the world, is busy playing ball
offering the slaughtered heads to Quetzalcoatl,
and a beating heart plucked out
of a terrified infidel does not move him
as much as the stench of oil. Black
is the song of despair whispering in the smoke
blighting the reign of K'inich Ajaw,
all for this, Marya, all for this?
And the chief of Angles is dismayed, the
spoils of crusades blow back as young men
disappear from your homes, emerging
as butchers in black baying for slaughter,
journeying to the worlds end with
Gilgamesh along the Tigris.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
Mon aux deux tiers divine,
Toute laine et marjolaine
De douceur et délicatesse,
Courrais-tu, bufflesse, les steppes
Avec ton ombre d'argile
A la recherche du plant de jouvence
Semé aux Treize Cyclones
Qui hantent les îles-fleurs du bout du monde ?
A chaque cyclone aux ailes brisées
Qu'offrirais-tu, Gilgamesh, mon ombre immortelle
Dans le nigredo causal et a-causal où se fond l 'abîme ? ?
Au Cyclone-gel, la baguette et le cerceau ?
Au Cyclone-mauvais, le taureau céleste ?
Au Cyclone-tempête, la Forêt de Cèdres ?
Au Cyclone-rafales, le corps de la Joyeuse ?
Au Cyclone-tourbillons, les hommes-scorpions ?
Au Cyclone-du Nord, les cyprès ?
Au Cyclone-poussières, les gazelles ?
Au Cyclone-du Sud, les Enfers ?
Au Cyclone-de l'Est, le Déluge ?
Au Cyclone-de l 'Ouest, la nuit d'étoiles ?
Au Cyclone-tornade, le sourire des hyènes ?
Au Cyclone-mortifère, le feu éphémère ?
Au Cyclone-souffleur, le feu éternel ?
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 2:44 AM UTC
The difference between ‘this’ and ‘that’
existentially plastered and preparing for nothing
The Hadit and Nuit
Bored and lonely on a carpet and picking acne
The being in and for
The words of infinite relation and perspective
Horus and Nut
On Saussure’s lap dogged, tired, and deceptive
Gilgamesh and Inkidu
"And nothing else matters" Metallica claim
Yin and Yang?
All are the same
and different at the same time
built in illusion
'the paradox conclusion'
God written in Mathematics
And forgotten in words
The Nature of the universe is SO immature
Always sitting and waiting for life to begin
Looking for answers to moral and logical sins
A Non gendered third person pronoun, shin
Cough! and Cough! and sputter and Die!
Burnt by the spent life
Why?
We are but the glorious observers of such things
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
Arachnid fingers
picking at my heart
like the peach pit
torn from its soft, sweet home and
swiftly discarded.
Stuck to the side of a garbage bag,
perhaps one day it will take root
in some far off landfill and
grow into a clumsy metaphor
for beauty
amid heaps of ****
That girl
with the cotton candy colored hair at
the corner of Fourth and Chestnut
struggles
with four garment bags.
Where the **** is she going
with four garment bags?
I see her every day,
sweating,
shifting her burdens
from arm to shoulder,
then back to arm.
Except when I’m running late;
quarter past whenever.
At least tomorrow is Friday
when we can all gag on our toothbrushes.
The privilege of a clean mouth
should come
with some discomfort.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 11:31 AM UTC
#You were telling him about Buddha,
you were telling him about Mohammed in the same breath
You never mentioned one time the Man who came
and died a criminal’s death. [Bob Dylan: Precious Angel]
If Christ and His Gospel are offered you
you squirm—then dredge up the gods of the East.
Your act of avoidance is nothing new—
salvation proposed: evasion increased.
Waxing socialistic – as if on cue
your blustering is consistent, at least.
you brandish your anti-Christ point of view.
Descending like Darwin: angel to beast.
In Babylon’s gardens you disembark
to deconstruct Noah, the flood, the ark.
On Gilgamesh, Enkidu, in madness
you ramble—and it fills me with sadness.
There is one truth, undiscerned, unadored.
Be still. In silence, acknowledge your Lord.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
you glazed bricks blue
at Ishtar Gate,
deep seas where
lion, bull and dragon dwell
you are featured on
the gold funeral mask of Tut,
adorning his brow line
in deep eternal hues.
your name is summoned
several times
in the Epic of Gilgamesh,
the oldest known piece of literature
known to exist.
your mere
consonance
of L's
and slant
assonances:
eleven tongues licking all my holes.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
Gilgamesh--two-thirds god, one-third man--was the despot of Uruk. He treated his subjects cruelly. To ameliorate this abominable situation, the gods create Enkidu, who was reared by animals. At first, Gilgamesh and Enkidu fight, but then become friends. They want to cut down a cedar forest that is off limits to mortals. The forest is guarded by a monster, Humbaba, who serves Enlil, the god of earth, wind, and air. With the help of Shamash, the sun god, the two **** Humbaba, then cut down the trees to make a raft. They float back to Uruk. Ishtar, the goddess of love, falls in love with Gilgamesh, but he rebuffs her. Angered, Ishtar asks her father, Anu, the god of the sky, to punish Gilgamesh by bringing down the Bull of Heaven that creates seven years of famine, but Gilgamesh and Enkidu fight and **** the bull. The gods seek revenge and **** Enkidu. Gilgamesh is forlorn, and in his grief begins to wear animals skins. He wanders through the wilderness. Gilgamesh finally meets Utnapishtim to whom the gods have given immortality, but he won't tell Gilgamesh how to gain immortality for himself. Gilgamesh therefore continues his travels, this time through total darkness, until he finnally reaches the sea with its beautiful surroundings. It is there that he meets Siduri. He tells her about his quest for immortality. She responds by telling him to abandon this quest and to learn how to enjoy the pleasures of what remain of the rest of his natural life. Men would die, but humankind would persevere. Gilgamesh is a changed man. He returns to Uruk and sees the city and its people in a different light. He will find meaning and gratification in the years he has left, and humanity will endure.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 1:17 AM UTC
Children,
all of me was all for you,
from towers I commended,
from basement I sympathized,
and god,
how I find all of me,
missing all your adoring stares.
I stood by,
I watched your birth in the garden
all those years ago,
and how your cries floated to heaven,
and how heaven answered with meadowlarks,
I handed you the apple,
I kissed your brow,
you would coo and grasp my coat,
I felt love, you felt vital.
I waged war,
with all the saints and arthouse critics.
We drank their blood by the moon
and our temperate speech
did flow from the fount,
under the table we were,
grew we did,
proper adolesence looking for
classical supremacy.
And Children,
I know the darkness was always creeping,
crippling every satellite, every sandy shoreline,
withering us in mirror,
you asked if the tide could claim us,
I patted your shoulder,
kissed your hand,
there is no enemy capable of victory,
oh, how the prophets betrayed me.
When your compliance was absolute,
when our neighbors pledged allegiance,
when I crushed the throats of Solomon, Gilgamesh, and
the sons of Zeus,
leagues made banners,
few made poison.
I gave you slaves,
girls, and sport.
I gave you a voice,
blankets, and victims.
The crowd and chants,
my pride and concubines,
the grass never faded,
nor the flowers wilted.
Children,
why did the publications turn against me?
I erased the existence of all you wanted dead,
I gave you dreams,
I gave plenty to sup,
plenty to remain drunk,
Children,
why did the prophets lie to me?
The priests carried daggers,
preyed upon me,
prayed for my passing-by,
the stares were there,
empty of adoration,
only hungry for my sacred blood.
I watched seas of my own,
pull down every cast,
my form laid to waste
on the streets I built under your feet.
My royal guards
chained my hands,
I could only stare at my blue veins,
my royal guards,
dragged my feet,
and in the senate they made me watch,
as my record was blotted out.
As the sun set,
the streets were lit
by effigy.
As the sun set,
I found myself in
the garden.
I stood straight,
back to a stake,
all eyes on me,
all shouts for me,
all the rage,
effigy, effigy,
they poured pitch at my feet,
they said prayers and incantations,
the flowers were in full bloom,
and the sound of buzzing flies buried
the cries.
I tried to be a friend to everyone.
Now history's vapor,
I tried to be a friend to everyone.
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 11:13 AM UTC
The grand flood was a teacher who learnt his student the secrets of eternity. Utnapishtim knew all the secrets when the mightiness of water transfigured in front of his eyes. There are no fairies or witches on the flood but Utnapishtim realized the listen and knew the essence of life. In front of the wide eyes of the flood, Utnapishtim built his big ship to save our life and all these smiles. Gilgamesh crossed the great sea to meet Utnapishtim, the man of the flood who told him about the plant of immortality which resides peacefully behind the wide sea. Gilgamesh traversed the wide sea and found the eternity plant but when he entered the cold pond to swim, a snake of destiny stole the timelessness from our hands. Yes, Utnapishtim grasped the eternity because he had built a big ship while Gilgamesh lost his immortality plant because he just made a small boat. The flood has a heart, so it learned Utnapishtim the wisdom and the secrets of life while Gilgamesh’s plant has a sleepy eyes, so it chose the snake instead of us.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 5:35 AM UTC
What wouldn't I give
For a little bit more
Where does it end
The wanting
When you have enough
What is enough.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
Four miles I ran
dense was the darkness, light there was none,
neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow me to see.
Five miles I ran
dense was the darkness, light there was none,
neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow me to see.
Six miles I ran
dense was the darkness, light there was none,
neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow me to see.
Seven miles I ran
dense was the darkness, light there was none,
neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow me to see.
Eight miles I ran and cried out in pain,
dense was the darkness, light there was none,
neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow me to see.
Nine miles I ran ... the North Wind.
It licked at my face,
dense was the darkness, light there was none,
neither what lies ahead nor behind does it allow me to see.
Ten miles I ran ...
... I’m near,
...running for miles.
Eleven miles I ran and came out before the sunrise.
Twelve miles I ran and it grew brilliant.
...it bears lapis lazuli as foliage,
bearing fruit, a delight to look upon.
The pain endured
Was worth every mile
Still a few more before home.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
Who is there, my friend, can climb to the sky?
Only the gods dwell forever in sunlight.
As for man, his days are numbered,
whatever he may do, it is but wind.
Tablet III of the Old-Babylonian version
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 12:31 PM UTC
Man and Animal?
Enkidu and Gilgamesh,
For want of master
Shut the **** up already about your civility
Your calculated reason
On fever pitched high above the nigh, unrelenting woe
The anguish
The souls’ empty hole
Tragically filled with the filthy swill of order
May chaos reign!
For it is the only truth
The only order
With rites that aren’t lost in practice
It is the only father
That doesn’t devour its kin
For it is only sin
When you rage against the coming of the night
The inevitable night
That eclipses all petty human whims
So is it not right?
To follow the animal within
Wrought from chaos old
I made a bed with Satan
Through knowledge
and Animal lust
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
Might I travel through time to see the crulety?
Of what we define as death or human mortality
That Limits our joys and the Godly given totality!!!
It keeps us in fear of the mythical divinity
Regardless of not knowing to which divine is superiority.
Leading us to rage, grief, and pain with helpless tragedy
Which we might even come to enjoy its collateral beauty.
We are told that time would heal the wounds with its mystery
Pouring rains of happiness to the unforgotten memories
Instead it flows like a wind shaking the pleasant acceptability.
I'd say time is a rutheless illusion full of ambiguities
that make you question why on earth would Gilgamesh seek immortality!?
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 11:59 PM UTC
When you held me in the forest
we stared at the stars until our bodies were numb.
If I were stronger, I could build iconoclast dreams,
but when I close my eyes I see the moonlight in your own,
and I know that one of us was blessed.
How many statues could I ***** before I realized
gold would never feel as your soft skin on mine again?
Don't leave me your robes when you go,
because what will happen on the day the incense fades
and they will never smell of you again?
Would my last breath of you be known to my memory?
Sleepless nights retain you,
would I be who I was when I knew you in the morning?
My love is grief in the future tense:
the fear I will not live long enough to keep you living, too.
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 7:36 PM UTC
Dictionary in hand Bobbies
manned state of the spy craft created
strategic peripheral outposts
a comma dated,
(sans syntax garnered monies) equated
justifiable to build galley ma free
Highland Manor wing - feted
via "FAKE" glitterati
creating surreptitious hated
surveillance monitor ring, which insulated
decked out starry eyed Starship
Enterprise surprise rated,
as an unbelievable well Spock kin
Duplicated Star Trek venerated
popular culture science fiction set piece,
where elderly residents waited
this other worldly architectural phenomenon
didst immediately outshine by alight
year among the original seven wonders
of the world prominant
as a buck toothed over bite
yet, didst camouflage top secret AngloSaxon
incognito missionaries delight
upholding correct language usage,
Thence trumpeting amidst
nonchalant onlookers as excite
mint hinted grammarians with listening devices
some flying unseen
as period size drones taking flight
other more sophisticated
electronic accouterments
dolled, gussied, issued with apostrophe
shaped flower buds scaling height
of cerulean sky, where blinding light
of a solar ellipsis, thus
arousing no discovered night
gallery suspicion during
feted occasion rife with polite
"FAKE" markedly questionable legatees quite
suitable asper The Art Of The Deal during
ribbon cutting ceremony,
and after words right
ting up citations slyly
slipped under windshield wipers
as the madding massed crowdsource,
would take dispersed out of sight
nonetheless echoes plenti chutzpah left
English figures of speech
uttering unstinting (quote unquote)
premature ejaculations,
eh so blandly trite
non-sequitur visited
by thee epic of Gilgamesh
for a dangling participle
during the split infinitive Sumer season
(exclamation point) no more to write!
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 2:15 AM UTC
Mon amie, ma muse
Nue et sincère
Tu cherches l'oiseau rare,
L'âme effervescente aux yeux d'eau noire,
Aux yeux sans visage
De sel, de cendre, de vin
Qui te ressemble
Et qui profusément te rassemble
Entre tumescences et détumescences.
Tu l'appelles Décébale, géant guerrier de pierre,
Tu le pries Gilgamesh, immortel héros mythique,
Tu le couves des yeux Lucifer,
Ange déchu, doux démon
Entre tumescences et détumescences
Tu les synthétises, tu les allaites
Tu les baptises et débaptises
Tu les tatoues
En femelle animale virginale
En chatonne de lynx captive
Un jour Regina, le lendemain Jao, le surlendemain Zoé.
Je l'appelle sublime élan vital,
Entre zénith et nadir, incandescence.
Il se manifeste entre boursouflures,
Dilatations, bascules,
Turgescences, érections, éruptions, bandaisons,
Flux et reflux de sang et de sève,
Marées basses, dégorgements,
Enflures, dégonflements, coulées de lave.
Alors dans cet entre-deux parfait où les eaux
Animales, humaines et divines
Se déversent en impossible amour
Ton masque entre en transe
Et tu nages jusqu'au delta lustral
Des colombes aux abois.
Tu es Dyonissia, tu es Aura, Gradiva,
Annabel Lee, Princesse Brambilla,
Tu es immortelle, tu es Tout-Monde
Entre tumescences et détumescences
Tu renais immortelle.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC
Within the fortress of my chest,
two armies rise at dawn—
one clad in crimson silk,
the other in shadowed steel.
Love, with hands warm as sunrise,
lays flowers along the corridors of my mind, promising peace in a voice
that feels like home.
Hate, with eyes like storm-torn skies,
sets fire to every blooming thing,
swearing the ruin is mercy,
and the ashes, my salvation.
They march the same veins,
drink from the same pulse,
speak in the same tongue—
and yet their banners
will never fly side by side.
Some nights, Love wins
and the world feels golden.
Some nights, Hate takes the crown
and I sharpen my silence into swords.
But more often—
they lock arms in stalemate,
pressing their weight upon my soul,
neither yielding,
neither retreating,
leaving me
to live in the uneasy kingdom
where both are king.
"The heart of man is a divided river,
and its two streams know not the other’s course."
— Epic of Gilgamesh
...
Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 10:48 AM UTC
We have to be careful whom we root for in the movies.
For example Gilgamesh was rebellious against God.
Some of the earthly heroes are angry at Christ.
They believe themselves to be their own sort of God.
For pride is a very evil sin that sets in to full people.
Making themselves believe that they do not need God.
But I know that I am nothing without my God Jesus.
Gilgamesh and ****** are one and the very same.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
At the house of Viennese, Gilgamesh's actors
and team members were transformed into Batist
heroes. Sea to sea and in the future for Russia,
green and green. Kay Nielsen's Essay allows
you to swim in the North Sea and give the
animals to Berlin. When he was about to leave,
he was born into a future baby. The best of the
best soundtrack players is the best and best
playlist. Chinese Stars Museum of the Museum;
Museum of Saudi Arabia 1 Saudi Arabia
helps to improve their alcohol consumption
needs Health Care Neurons System.
Women's clothing; Six women. He was a small
member of parliament in the organization.
D Badar Today, Bugan, the author of the group,
the author. Indeed, the Signs of our Lord
are indeed an adornment by the stars.
Although Bishop Christopher came from
the Heavenly House in the courtyard of God's
house, in Heaven, Dry and Rough through
at home. Hutch At least 10 percent of the
acoustic and six hundred years of a song
or GH to Guru ★ ◆ ◆ ◆
was an African composition,
but a perfect compass. Fifth
Mark is thought to be Africa's
longest Karl Marx, the fifth
lifestyle leader. It is not unusual
for women to make women,
as much as women in Swat.
Water color What is the color
of the water? This man is a
persecutor. After spending all
the wildlife dreams, they are
willing to sell the finest
Arabs, bestsellers, and Arabs.
For example, you sell grocery
and have bullets for sale.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC
Are you of the aeons before time,
how do we ken, us forlorn
of this speck of a world?
Blank we saw the canopy of our world
where stars blink in the dark night
and wept for a love caring and kind;
Lost, fatherless, orphaned
out of our childhood dreams
and we went searching hither
Gilgamesh to the horizon and back;
And you smiled, peasant woman,
hair streaking across the clouds
over the hills, across the vales;
In the still depths, an assurance;
Senora, or is time of the aeon before?
So long before that era then
to us forlorn of this speck of a world,
it matters not, it matters not
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
Gilgamesh’s return and the reckoning of wisdom
So Gilgamesh, with empty hand,
returned at last to mortal land.
No plant of life, no sacred charm—
just calloused feet and weathered arm.
The snake had stolen the living root,
his hopes undone beneath its boot.
No second chance, no sacred breath—
just days that marched toward certain death.
But Uruk stood, its walls still high,
its towers brushing against the sky.
And in those stones, he saw his name,
not godhood's flame, but mortal fame.
He turned and spoke to none but air:
“O winds, be witness. Time, beware.
Though flesh must fade and blood grow still,
a city stands by human will.
Not gods, not dreams, nor deathless kings—
but hands that carve and voices sing.
In every stone and every stair,
I leave my soul—I leave it there.”
And so he carved upon the gate
the tale of loss, the weight of fate.
No longer king, no longer god—
just one who'd wept and walked where trod
no man before, nor since with ease—
a soul that questioned, bruised by trees
of cedar, stars, and serpent's guile—
and found in death, a life worthwhile.
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 1:13 AM UTC