"melpomene" poems
My sweet water nymph
...earlier?!
You wished for me to arrive "earlier"?!
By your side be my life.
I carry your heart through realms of chaos.
Beg my pardon for the lapse in minutes..
Reliving your love can ****
You are thy muse.
Enchanting and mischievous and empowering is your being.
Your aura bleeds ecstasy and grace.
Calliope, Clio, Euterpe, Erato, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, Urania...
Collapsed in a single body.
What a body.
My sweet water nymph. . .
Carrying inspiration in those stems.
We can't help but bow to you.
Give me your ripened fruit of art.
You poor soul.
. . .my sweet water nymph
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
Dream a dream.
Make paradise twice as nice.
Take away all ills.
Apollo taught muses their crafts.
While playing on his lyre.
The muses danced on laurel leaves.
Paradise on Mount Helicon.
What was purpose of those muses?
I hear your request.
In land of myth from times long gone.
Nine goddesses,
spirits,
to put the world to rights.
With artistry, music, science and literature.
Linked under the heavens.
Forget the evils of the world.
Music, poetry catharsis.
Thalia.
Hysterical lady of comedy it seemed.
Good cheer and plenty sent.
Clio.
Made her history.
Wanted fame 'twas said.
Tried to keep it cheerful.
Along came Melpomene.
Singing loudly while playing around with tragedy.
Urania.
In celestial style,
glances to the heavens.
While Polyhymnia.
Sings and dances.
Making many songs
Sometimes in a silent mime.
The lovely Erato compiled poetic words of love.
Euterpe.
Made lyrics poetical
Brim filled with joy.
Maybe for Polyhymnia to sing
Calliope.
Her beautiful voice is heard.
Nearly a Nightingale.
Maybe singing bird.
Creation of poems based on epics.
Terpsichore
Danced on and on eternally.
While poets pens write on!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
Well hello, sweet Muses.
How nice of you to drop by
at four in the morning.
Let me make you some tea.
How are you all today?
Oh, I forgot for a moment
that you are goddesses
and are always
exactly as you should be.
I'm fine except my sleep
has become oddly contrary.
But you all know that and more.
You are the magic that
stirs my dreams until
I give up and get up.
You betray me to nightmares,
insomnia, memories and poems
that could certainly wait
for morning if you so desired.
And where have you all been?
For three years, you've been gone
and I have been left mute.
Such fickle ******* you are,
only bestowing your favors
according to your whims.
But we have all, back to Homer,
known how unfaithful you can be.
Now you've returned and I can't sleep.
You know I'm not so young
as the last time you visited.
I need a little rest occasionally,
but you are working me to death
as if no time at all has passed.
There should be a union for poets.
Of course, I will do your bidding as usual.
Calliope, Clio, Euterpe,
Thalia, Melpomene, Terpsichore,
Polyhymnia and sweet demanding Erato.
It's nice to see you all again,
all so lovely and immortal,
but please remember I am only a man
and a man can only take so much.
So please, try not to show up before 8 AM.
~mce
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC
Out beyond the edge of reason,
beyond where my senses can claim
I cannot sleep or wake…
nor dream.
In a state of
nondescript stillness. Bereft of
unnecessary memories.
I am not loved,
I do not love
in ways I can any longer
understand. Stark states of
stalemate.
Melpomene and Thalia
hunched over game pieces
a drunken heart
laments all a sober mind must
reason.
When liquid gold
and golden light
take to loving,
we as humans,
are no match. Either of
these elixirs in their limpidness,
bronzes our throats and
smothers our breath,
consumes our vision
with that last still drift of
sulphur, struck…
My flickering writhe
is a lambent match flame
Leaning in
to kiss a wild bonfire.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
I followed a writer up a tall tree
And every leaf was his poem.
Once at the top I could look out
Over a sprawling poetic landscape –
A resplendent chorus of
Glistening verdant wisdom,
O’ vast quivering sibilance of
Melpomene and Thalia!
And there I remained
Until a long winter wind came
And undressed each tree!
So from my perch,
through gaunt branches,
I could see…
The low-slung place
where each poem fell
I thought, “so many writers,
clothed in so much comedy
and tragedy.”
And down I climbed
and away I walked
Over resting leaves
while red and rust
ran from their veins
Into the rich palette
of my memories
O’ even now
The sweet scent of decay
Reminds me of Spring
when I will climb again.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
I call upon their harmony
They honor me with artistry
The pupils of Apollo's
Lyre resonant inside of me
Calliope adventurous,
Intrepid in her recklessness
Emboldening my will to lead
The unenlightened on this quest
Through Clio's scrolls of history
My oracle clairvoyant
She has graced me with the vision
Of the future sky chatoyant
And a buoyant sea of Euterpe
All floating through the lyricist
That synchronizes all of this
Into a metamorphosis
Evolving as Erato's love
A heart as soft as silk
A dove, tabula rasa thirsting for
The Mother Gaea's milk
To rise from Melpomene
Masks of tragic flaws of Icarus
For I divine the comedies
Thalia simply can't resist
Polyhymnia, Terpsichore
My rarest of expressions
Still reveal themselves in forms
Of spirit guide possessions
When Urania in cosmic bliss
Transports me to the stars
Reborn again to join them
As Mnemosyne's memoirs
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 1:11 AM UTC
the only calliope
i ever really wanted
has already decided
she's through with me
without giving me
a chance to speak.
-
and she's polyhymnia
in the comedy of hell,
raising voice in praise
of anything she respects
and in that she garners
all the power intrinsic.
-
no need for erato
when she's around
to keep my arteries
and thoughts clear
of emotional plaque
and writers' embolisms.
-
she is euterpe on a stage
of all the beautiful words
in all the beautiful languages
that can never be explained,
only known, and loved
and said in blissful ignorance.
-
she's thalia and melpomene,
comedy and tragedy,
laughter in her steps,
and springtime song,
and the ache of departure
evident in her wake.
-
terpischore at play
when the music starts,
involuntary, a reflex;
dancing is like breathing
to she who will break
my heart so many times.
-
she is urania --
she keeps my eyes
on infinity and away
from sights that feel
like shaky index knuckles
on unforgiving pistol triggers.
-
she is clio, keeper
of simple night histories,
because those are what
she lives for, and those are
what i've always mused upon
living for -- with her.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
I followed a writer
up a prodigious tree
Every leaf I brushed,
his poem.
From the crown
I scanned the pastoral
a poetic landscape in repose,
A resplendent chorus of
Glistening verdant wisdom.
O’ vast vibrato of sibilance
slipping the breaths of
Thalia and Melpomene!
Alight by dusk, I lingered.
Comes the long wind of winter
to undress each tree!
So from my aerie,
through gaunt branches,
I could see…
The low-slung place
where each poem fell
I thought, “here so many,
clothed in so much comedy
and tragedy…
recite their odes
of heaven and hell.”
And down I climbed
and away I walked
Over quiescent leaves
while red and russet
ran from their dendritic veins
Moldering into the palette
of dormant memories.
O’ even now
The sweet scent of decay
Reminds me of Spring
when I will climb again.
From the rot of the roost
to the dust below boots,
by the pen of the winter writer
Spring will come again.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
How lonely infidel
He that passeth I;
in Phlegethon dwells.
Son of the Seas,
seasoned with algae.
Had a plea
about how he happened to be:
"When you threw me to the
depths, into the heart of the open sea,
then a very river encircled me"
Melpomene holds her Mother's dress
while sailing the temptuous tide.
Recalls the sight of hundreds and
hunches over to address.
"Lead by a primitive spirit" she wails
and solemnly stoops to ponder.
Their ship's prow now plunges deep and
through the ripples, Melpomene meets the
seedy yellow iris' of the beast
reflecting the clouds. She squints upwards
and beholds hoofs with Faithful and True.
As the river streams into Tartarus, Mnemosyne's ears
begin to ring with a thousand cries and pleads.
But the whinnies ring out louder to deafen her
while the tail of Leviathan disappears into the blue.
Through the cave and into Lethe, the earthy smell
of the tops remain as the last but dizzy to remember;
of all those who swam lightly past its mist. But to her,
tears to enter the watery abyss:
"Many must have passed through here,
lived long to see,
but not enough to learn--"
But the ship sailed on.
The stream narrows and an opening reveals. They
see melted hail with blood on the only land they recall.
A Tree glowing brightly in front of a black sky; counted many
swords gathered at the foot. Three days they traveled in
their ship, but now their oars were put on land.
Thunder whips and trumpets horn, the fallen fruit
comes ashore.
THEIR voices bellow to ask a question:
"Was it needed for a war?"
An answer, but no pardon:
"Many a pang I have felt, those aches
violently sprung up from the seven lakes,
Is nothing but a genuine mistake.
Those worthy time and day,
Will surely be given a way."
Mother and daughter wiped the tears from their eyes,
while gently lifting them to the skies.
Above them the sun shone on the wet mass,
they see high and colorfully cast:
A reassuring Promise and eternity.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 1:59 AM UTC
Called again into the night
by the three am goddess
on her winged flight.
She drapes tail feathers ‘cross my mind;
She rings her bell
and says “its time.”
Who is this waif, just out of sight,
whose siren call
breaks dream’s delight?
Calliope, Erato too -
Sing Euterpe!
I know the tune.
Show the way down night’s dark hall
to the inner hell
where true love falls.
Terpsichore, swoop round me, do.
Dance memories,
each dressed in blue.
Is that you, dear Melpomene,
come to trump
your sister queens?
Your song, of all, so clear and true -
hold tight my hand,
I’ll go with you.
But wait, whose lantern shines ahead?
Dear Clio knows,
she’s made my bed.
And to it now I shall return.
The words are down,
they’ll no more burn.
I’ll lie awake no more to muse
upon the love
I’ve yet to lose.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
Urania speaks with darken'd brow:
'Thou pratest here where thou art least;
This faith has many a purer priest,
And many an abler voice than thou.
'Go down beside thy native rill,
On thy Parnassus set thy feet,
And hear thy laurel whisper sweet
About the ledges of the hill.'
And my Melpomene replies,
A touch of shame upon her cheek:
'I am not worthy ev'n to speak
Of thy prevailing mysteries;
'For I am but an earthly Muse,
And owning but a little art
To lull with song an aching heart,
And render human love his dues;
'But brooding on the dear one dead,
And all he said of things divine,
(And dear to me as sacred wine
To dying lips is all he said),
'I murmur'd, as I came along,
Of comfort clasp'd in truth reveal'd;
And loiter'd in the master's field,
And darken'd sanctities with song.'
1.2k
Clio, you are part of me.
Euterpe, you are too.
Thalia, you lift me up
when I am feeling blue.
Melpomene, you are close to me
Terpsichore, you were my youth
Erato, touch me secretly
Polymnia, you are truth.
Ourania, comes to me at night
and my soul she does enthrall .
Calliope, I love you most,
but see you least of all.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
Perhaps The Muse,
the White Goddess,
Erato, Melpomene,
Rhiannon, Ceridwen,
becomes, one day,
a late middle-aged
woman with
muffin-tops,
stuffed into
yoga pants she
should know better
than to wear
in public.
No matter.
Even frumpy,
she remains
divine, alluring,
luminescent,
beyond the
constraints of
mundane fashion,
the sharp edges
of mortal flesh,
Still whispering
beauty in the
awestruck
poet's ear.
~mce
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 4:39 AM UTC
Awaken on Friday morning with green hair,
Looking every bit as mythical, out of the ordinary as your personality.
Do you remember telling me in my clouded memory that I was loved?
I don't blame you if you don't,
You were shapeshifting, you were busy.
You had more to worry about than my ramblings and poetry.
///Preamble.
Into the past where I find myself slipping,
Forgive me if you find that I'm trespassing.
I see hurt and heartbreak...
Want to bring you back through the vortex
Despite the physical barriers.
How many thousands of men could not break your enigma,
And how many sincere girls have shattered your heart beyond repair?
Oh, who could have blamed you for reading Nabokov in bed?
The marijuana haze was too prevalent,
You having gone years without joy but not a handful of minutes without self-deprecation,
I saw in the full frame of this seriousness,
I cut my hand on the picture frame,
And looked to the floor out of shame.
This is your story after all,
Is it fair if I exclude myself?
///Submersion.
Born under a black sun,
And drowning in the omnipresent light,
The Pantheon took note of the atmosphere,
Heightened with sadness.
But you're locked up, Melpomene,
I hardly know your name,
Your tragic songs...
What quiet, old voice has led me to write this?
The same morning my anxiety had reached its peak
And I had little reason to think you'd reached clarity,
I sat in the hallway of struggled composition,
Arrived at the reckoning that nothing should cause worry,
That questions either warrant answers, spite or silence.
All in between is dictated by sadness,
Dictated by you, then.
Please, step back from the ledge.
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 6:55 AM UTC
Sometimes I think we are orbiting each other
Lost in space
Floating in tandem
Locked by gravity in the emptiness
And sometimes
I know that’s nonsense
And that you are the asteroid
Who will knock me into the sun
Still
I must admit
The heat felt good for once
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
We are creatures of habit, believe this is true.
For we are the sum of the things that we do.
So if I adopt the thousand yard stare,
Who will I be but the mask that I wear?
What would I be but the role that I act?
A remorseless killer, devoid of tact,
For fear that through kindness his weakness will show,
So the spaces between him and others would grow,
As if to match the point of his focus.
His thoughts all bearing an inward locus.
His life desolate, its body cold,
Loving no one, and growing old.
Just as well I could try on a charming smile,
The kind that says, “Sit down, stay a while.”
And as with a fire, others would find it meet,
To huddle around me and draw on my heat.
Assuming that there was some magic within,
Causing my cheeks defy gravity with a grin,
As if to propagate life’s paradox,
Who with ironical grin entropy mocks,
As a river flowing against an eddy,
Removing its basis when conditions are ready.
This in mind, clever Judases would know,
That through my kindness, my weakness would show.
So which should I wear, Thalia, Melpomene,
Exists there a mean between your extremes?
Whichever the case, this much we should trust:
That what we do without urging, speaks most of us.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
They're still standing like statues of marble rock.
They still linger in humans hearts bearing the gift of old.
Nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne keeper
of world's memory.
With eloquence and harmony of voice Calliope presides in epic poetry.
In heaven of holy spirit Urania withers away
warden of philosophy.
Sacred is her hymn, sacred is her poetry, sacred is Polyhymnia
the dancer.
Joy and laughter brings Thalia with comedy and idyllic poetry
and men overcome their grief.
With a lyre in hand Clio tells the story of the world
but with no delight Melpomene narrates the tragedy of this world.
She is the loved one, the desired one Erato of loving poetry
giver of delight.
And close to the sea stood another, with a lyre in hand Terpsichore
dancing with her daughters, the Sirens.
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 11:18 AM UTC
I wish
They get so tired and weary, possibly from people, possibility days grow so old you can see it on their face. What's the point in being someone? Word after word, write after write, same lines say it's better to be no one
When life tries to groom you in to someone. Art used to imitate life but these days life tries to imitate art like a bad Hollywood remake we grow so tired. Fake smiles of Thalia, we greet each other in the streets but beneath the frown of Melpomene,fixated to our soul. I wish I had no face. No name to call my own or be called. No conscience. No desire. No lust. No anger. I wish I was nobody, my mind razor sharp,so sure feelings are gone and understanding so pure. Then I would not be tired... Then I could live my life. no fear, just will, at peace, my mind in control forevermore.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC
What is this?
You're a demon
disguised as Melpomene
You can't fool me
I've been around the block,
and I write about it.
I need no help
from the likes of you.
You want rhyme?
You want rhythm?
You want structure?
Do these things not exist in Hades?
Don't send me to the Goth O matic.
I'd rather write a stinker,
than to indulge your darkness.
I know the difference
between Melpomene and you.
Off you go now.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
a child stands before you
begging to devour your wit
praying to steal your eyes.
he is looking at you,
he who no longer has a body
no longer has a voice,
he who was made translucent,
he is looking
through you
and howls his white-hot heart:
'how does one live,
how can one love,
if one feels no anguish?
first, there lies death;
then, a massacre of void-kissed beliefs.
and then, only then, can there be life
which bears little importance.'
the sage muse of tragedy
holds in her forgiving palm
the secret of your
divine-poisoned sap,
she kisses your bones;
tied together by vine branches
born from the hands of fervid dionysus.
you hear her inside your skin:
'i know how weary your throat is
of singing (screaming) the same hymns.
dip them in terror, see them
drip with slaughter and doom
and ablaze cries and a
long-forgotten deity’s roar and —'
the last words die off
between your soiled fingers,
on the bloodstained ground.
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 11:36 PM UTC
Entire lives encircle Sol believing that the ancient gods are a fiction.
These joyless sacks of empty flesh have never been graced with a moment in your presence. In that instant, all doubt is dispelled, for at your birth the Muses crafted their ultimate blessing to us mortals.
You embody the inspiration of Polyhymnia, Erato, and Calliope;
sacred, epic, love poetry flows unbidden from even the most
leaden of souls when you are near.
Dreams of grand comedies, heroic tragedies, and monumental
histories spring forth in you wake; each worthy of the pens of
Thalia, Melpomene, and Clio.
Your every sound and step cause Euterpe and Terpsichore to glow
with pride.
But possibly the most magnificent caress cam from Urania; for you,
my Love, are the incarnation of the naked stars in all their
infinite beauty, enshrined on this unworthy Earth.
I wish I could let her know I still ... everything.
Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 11:33 PM UTC