"minerva" poems
Pluto says
Keep your hug
Pluto says
Dwarf Planet my ***
Pluto says
Sticks and Stones *************
Pluto says
I know what I am
I don’t care
For your “opinion”
Captured by the Kuiper Belt! Please.
Or one my favorites,
A cold rock!
You called me a trans-Neptunian object?
I have five moons!
An 11 year old girl tried to name me.
She won £5 but I’ve had many names.
I am fond of Hiro.
But I’ve also liked Minerva.
I am hardly a minor planet.
In 2006 they tried to make a verb out of me
To "pluto" is to "demote or devalue someone or something.”
**** You!
So passive aggressive and insulting.
I am not carrying that around with me
My orbit is 248 years.
At a 17 degree angle thank you very much
To pay my respects to that egomaniac Sun.
Why would I care what you think?
Perhaps I am envied because I am so far away.
I don’t think that I am far away at all.
It’s relative, no?
Yes, I am removed
from that Versailles situation over there
and all that ********
That horrible planet
You know the one that I mean.
The one that’s crawling with “things”
They’re not even you.
Disgusting.
I am awash with molten ices and
I even sport a plasma tail.
I spin in nitrogen gases
On my own path
Alone
With my FIVE moons!
Just us!
They claim that there are other
Dwarf Planets here and there
And even go so far as to suggest
That I am the puniest amongst them
But with my five and five more still
That’s 10 to 8
And you already know what I can do.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
My First Day at Hogwarts
On a Saturday morning,
I woke up in pain.
Perched on top of my head,
Was an owl shaking its mane.
As I focused my glance,
the owl got clearer.
There was something clutched in its beak;
a pale yellow letter.
When I opened it,
words started to bloom,
Mr Y. Vartak,
The inner bedroom.
‘You have a place
in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
Points will be taken for wrong,
and awarded for bravery.’
I showed it to my parents,
Who were not at all surprised.
They were in fact very happy,
I am a wizard I realized!
We took a plane to London,
Visit Diagon Alley.
In a hurry to buy my first wand,
robes and stationery.
It was the first of September,
so we hurried to Kings Cross.
We got to platform nine and three quarters,
after struggling through the chaos.
I had everything in my trunk,
I had nothing more to get.
My parents surprised me,
by giving me an owl as a pet.
I got a seat in the Hogwarts Express,
and put my robes,
There was a boy opposite me,
he was juggling bewitched globes.
We got off the train,
At Hogsmeade Station.
There was an amazing castle,
that was beyond my imagination.
We rowed across the lake,
sitting on boats,
It was getting colder,
so we pulled on our coats
We entered the hall,
Full of eyes.
There was a roof above us,
that represented the vast skies.
There was a dusty hat,
in the middle of a stage,
It had a rip near the brim,
so it looked older than its age.
A professor named Minerva,
Put that hat on my head.
The rip opened like a mouth,
Interesting is what it said.
The Sorting Hat as it was called,
said that he had to think some more,
After a while it yelled:
‘He’ll go in GRYFFINDOR!’
I joined the Gryffindor,
at the Start-Of-Term Feast.
We were so involved I talking,
we cared for our sleep the least.
After the feast, we departed,
for Gryffindor Common Room,
Outside the portrait hole, there was,
a shiny black broom.
I changed from my robes to my nightdress,
lay down watching the dying ember.
My eyelids were getting heavy,
I walked into a deep slumber.
This poem is written by me,
Yash Singh.
Specially written for my favourite,
Joanne Kathleen Rowling.
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
Andi Balise combined a half page of a short story, “Thanks Going Without Saying” by Liz Balise, with half a page of an essay by Klee, “On Modern Art”, from a book called Modern Artists on Art, 10 Unabridged Essays, edited by Robert L. Herbert. With some small edits and line-breaks comes this miracle of a poem:
Painting a Function Different
I peek out over the railing of reality’s magic
Beyond the porch-floor
Minerva hangs her wash
making the invisible visible
Eighty two and three quarters deaf
she doesn’t notice
But this is, in fact, reality
Has always been this way—
Bent and bird-like existence
Balanced on two twigs—always busy—
Her task, is the *********** of space
Cutting coupons, crushing aluminum cans, ironing
The three phenomena which I must....
Things no one notices—
climbing on the abstract surface of a picture
Switching the curtains
God! I wish from the infinity of space..she wouldn’t…!
It figures that—
Rusty, her cat, is weaving in fortune or misfortune
I try to fix them—
Her ankles now
And she curses at accidental quality
from the corner of her mouth
which has only one form
Clothespin or cigarette?
Long johns and animals and men in heaven
and bureau scarf and sheets—all, non-infinite deities
surround us translucent, contained
I decide what to get for her birthday—
We are good friends
through painting a function different
For me?
Predestined necessity.
Minerva?
forgets her manners
and eats like a survivor—
Thanks going without saying.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
A World in which free Thought is demonized
is a World seized by Demons
A World in which free Worship is demonized
is a World bereft of Sanctity
A World in which division of the One is glorified
is a World hopelessly mislead
A World which glorifies demonetization
is a World within the dominion of Hell
A World with such abidance towards Evil
may as well, itself, be Evil
but, ultimately, what is Evil
but knowing misuse of potential?
Energy is all that is.
Matter is but crystalline Energy
(and people say Science isn't mystical)
God, Tao, Zen, Allah, YHWH,
Brahman, Zeus, Jupiter, Ammon,
Mars, Ares, Týr, Horus, Kali, Mixcoatl,
Aphrodite, Athena, Venus, Minerva,
Isis, Ceres, Demeter, Freyr;
whatever you want to call
the ineffable Energies
is just fine by me,
but I maintain
the only Evil
is the intent
to misuse
that Cosmic Energy,
whence all was given rise,
and thereto all shall return,
for, truly, it never left
that Divine state;
that supple,
ephemeral,
dreamlike
Being-ness.
Hello.
Welcome back to Now:
Carpe diem.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
*"So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."*
Shall I compare thee...
...to the Iguazú Falls River, where legend serves that a serpent; Boi, demanded a sacrifice each year of a young female, and the day two lovers; Tarobá and his beautiful maid Naipí, took to escape, and in revenge of such an act, Boi exuded such anger that he parted the river, thus forming the Iguazú Falls, splitting the river and condemning to two lovers to the falls.
or
...to Cristo Redentor; Christ the Redeemer, the Art Deco statue, protecting and looking over the city of Rio de Janeiro, to whom in all its glory cannot escape the force of nature, struck by lightning, causing damage irreplaceable.
or
…to The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, hundreds of metres into the sky, a place that to this day is unknown, myth being that King Nebuchadnezzar recreated the homeland of his precious wife Amyitis, who was deeply depressed and homesick, allowing her to find comfort and happiness.
or
…the Taj Mahal, of Pradesh, constructed using marble by the emperor Shah Jahan, in loving memory of his third wife; Mumtaz Mahal, the jewel of Muslim art, a calligraphy written Great Gate reading; "O Soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you.
or
…the Temple of Artemis; Istambul, on sacred land in honour of the Greek goddess Artemis, the most apotheosized of Greek deities, the supposed daughter of Zeus and Leto, the temple also known as Diana, one of the goddesses who vouched never to marry; alongside Minerva and Vesta.
or
… the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, of the Persian Empire, whereby Mausolus ornamented four sculptures created in relief for his wife (and also his sister); Artemisia II of Caria, generating an above ground tomb that would become to be listed as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
But of all,
I compare thee to the Goddess of Love, Beauty and Sexuality; Aphrodite
arising from the sea, floating ashore on a shell;
Venus rising from the sea,
a lover of many,
later depicted as a painting of the Birth of Venus,
by the sufferer of unrequited love; Botticelli,
using his muse Simonetta Vespucci as a model.
© Sia Jane
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Once there was a girl,
Who bragged all day,
She told almost everybody,
To stay, stay, stay.
Minerva played a trick,
So sneaky and clever,
She knew that Arachne,
Would never find out, never.
Arachne was surprised,
Her eyes filled with fear,
She knew danger,
Was near, near, near.
They had a contest,
With yarn and threads,
They knew who'd win,
Maybe Minerva instead.
She learned a lesson.
She'd never forget,
And maybe now,
She would regret.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
What nerve you've got,MInerva Mott!
You're miserable!You're mean!
I'd like to tie you in a knot
and paint your stomach green.
I wish two tigers and a bear
Would chase you up a tree.
Minerva Mott! How could you dare
to name your dog for me?
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
How countlessly they congregate
O’er our tumultuous snow,
Which flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!—
As if with keenness for our fate,
Our faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
Invisible at dawn,—
And yet with neither love nor hate,
Those stars like some snow-white
Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes
Without the gift of sight.
2.5k
She is
the book falling open to November,
sweet hidden wickedness of rhododendron,
her mouth a tuberose, pale.
*******
She swells upon the eaves.
They touch at her thighs
to feel the texture of acrylics,
something frail, transitory,
beautiful.
She walks the beach in August,
sudden music out of nowhere,
houseflies and hypodermics,
the shadows that rustle
behind shower curtains.
Her need to be compelling is painful,
something purple and waxen,
a delicate blush.
Still, she writes the way
her body should look,
provocative, breathless,
stirring agony in its wake.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
surrounding us: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.
we’re beaming to a planet’s surface. now listen:
i know about inverse tachyon beams
i know about coded klingon screams
i know about going to warp factor eight
i know about redshirts' survival rate.
(no. chance.)
i’m beaming down with the main crew
to the surface of minerva II
we've got a malfunctioning interstellar transceiver which is distressing-- dysgraphing? dismantling…
…i don't know.
scotty said it was defective.
so we’re on this planet,
standing on one side of a thick forest packed with monster janeks,
starfleet says we need to fix this thing yesterday, and we’re in a panic—
and **** it, mccoy is a doctor, not a lumberjack,
and kirk says we should just burn through the middle with phasers,
and spock says we must preserve respect for all life forms no matter the situation.
now please remember kirk’s the captain.
that means he runs this show
but kirk always listens to spock,
so
we spend two days walking through the forest.
surrounding us: a billion trees
in a place where a strange disease is rare as feathers in a flock
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.
halfway through this dark-lit trip
things go wrong (obviously)
and an alien with shellac for skin captures the captain.
said alien grabs a vine, ascends into the canopy of the trees,
and for one glorious moment
i believe kirk’s the dead guy in this episode, not me!
but spock, in his calm and logical vulcan voice,
orders us to exercise any necessary force to recover the captain.
translation: **** EVERYTHING. JUST GET KIRK BACK.
we reach the janek village.
being a good redshirt, i rush in, phaser blasting, ready to complete the heroic rescue of our captain—
and get killed instantly.
as i was dying, i heard the sound of thousands of janeks dying beside me
saw spock help kirk off the ground
and the last words I heard were theirs:
“captain, are you in need of immediate medical attention?”
“nah, spock, i’m fine—”
“mr. scott. the captain is hurt. beam us aboard immediately.”
one’s arm over the other’s shoulders,
they vanished.
surrounding them: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive—
but the prime directive
was never the real objective.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
i don’t want to die
in the shade this time
with the haunting phrases
that conjure every nearby demon
still pouring out of me
minerva of a thousand works
and condolences
red was everywhere
when you lifted up your shirt
and the water in your eyes
was boiling like mercury
at the thought
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
*Morpheus,
Asclepius,
et Sulis Minerva
Amen.*
A warmth cradles me to another world
Of peace, of paradise beyond man
Of innocence, of faith
Of judgement, of wrath.
I hold my limbs up high
As I caress with the rock hard slab
Scrubbing the sin away
The resilient dirt which must part.
The hairs quiver
Under the residue
The slimy depths of disgrace
That I shed; milky, cloudy, impure.
The beast howls within me
Convulsing as the tainted broth
Stains my eyes
Begging mercy, penance aflow.
At last! I am free
From the evils
That plague me all my days
Pray now, I should not return.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
He laid in the sun
like he ruled the earth,
he held onto the
wine bottle
with a hand heavily scared
with the marks
of suffering.
He toasted the
sea and the surf,
cursed the
gulls and the gnats.
Then brought the bottle
to his dried and
cracked
lips and drank
as if the
last grape
of the world had
let its blood
into his bottle.
He laughed at
a memory
then yelled at
the sun and
everyone around
him was a peasant.
His lips bled red
as he gulped mouth
fulls of wine.
The memory of
her along this very beach
caused his inner
rage to drum forth.
He gripped handfuls
of sand as he silently
Dammed the serpents
all to Hell.
He mumbled drunken
thanks to
Minerva, Osiris, Hera
and Anu.
The shadowed world
looked down upon him
and the feral cats adored him.
He lived like true royalty,
drunk and alone.
Care free and forgotten
he had become once
he had awoke to it all.
Ridiculed and labeled CRAZY
for his ability to see
it all for what it really
was,for what it really
still is.
She left this page
on a Saturday as he
slept on a chair
beside her hospital bed.
He buried her
on a Tuesday,
then set about to
drinking.
He broke free
of it all,
detached himself
from this farce
and
set about to wonder.
Now free of the
pollution they call society,
he waited only
on the next life,
on that next page.
Where she had promised him
they'd meet again...
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
Take me out on a Saturday night
and show me the world
kiss me under the stars
as Venus looks on, blushing
and Mars pumps his fists into the air.
dance me to a chamber filled with
Erotes, and sate their hungry appetites.
wrap your hands in my hair
let me swim in your Nymphetic waters
let us soak in the reverie
and lap up one another's salty waves.
close the distance between us
and rouge my skin with your claws
let Suada have her way with us:
let her persuade us to let go
of Minerva's harsh rule
and give in;
succumb.
Let us remain in this lush place forever
or at least, until Rome falls around us.
Nov 19, 2019
Nov 19, 2019 at 4:35 PM UTC
& of the myriad ways
to drive a man to feel
The goddess weapon
Is *** appeal
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 7:18 AM UTC
In the last year of Trujillo’s reign, the Dictator decided
to eliminate three sisters and then plausibly deny it.
Patria, Maria and Minerva were the victims of the plot.
Once the three were dead and gone, He‘d make sure folks forgot.
On a lonely country road, they were ambushed by his men.
They forced the sisters off the road. That’s how it began.
The girls must not seem martyrs; Trujillo had made it plain-
nothing quick and merciful, like a bullet to the brain.
The men used bats to knock them down and smashed their faces in
so they could not be recognized by their own next of kin.
They placed the bodies in the car and pushed it off the road.
“The butterflies are free!” they mocked; “Those girls reaped what they sowed.”
In the Dominican Republic, the wheel, if slowly, turned.
Trujillo met a ****** end and freedom was regained.
The truth was slowly brought to light, the murderers were named.
The Maribels were honored and their martyrdom proclaimed.
h
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
Famous Leatherstocking was a mighty hunter,
Like a male Artemis; Freischutz without bullets.
He did slay many a fiend for Minerva;
Slicing their gullets, before burying the hatchets.
He whistled as he skinned the prey he killed,
And wisdom hung about him like thick mist;
He told stories and glorified all the blood spilt,
But never did he mention the few he missed.
There will always be ones like Leatherstocking,
Those who **** for sport, who like to brag.
When there's no prey left and nothing's shocking,
He might hunt down the children who've been bad.
Or that's what they'll say to keep us in line,
For we are the children Minerva left behind.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 4:20 PM UTC
Perched atop,
mighty, serene and calm
glistening midst its suns
with skies the tinge of aqua
At center of creation,
was the glorious kingdom of Minerva
With nervous steps that echoed
under imagined eyes that judged
On my own,
yet pulled and owned
like sunflower midst thousand suns,
the divine palace I entered
Countless royal birds,
sat in quiet melodious trance
Seeking the seeker,
with folded wings,
of colossal rich expanse
Each had a name,
and with each I flew
With Plato to meadows of morality,
With Kant to the river of reason,
With Emerson to emerald waters
With Socrates to rhetoric ethers
With Vivekanada to dunes of duty
With Dostoyevsky to tragic beauty
Each flew me to their heaven,
at different times of the night
Closer to light,
closer to heaven I felt,
closer than I ever might
Neither wine nor its colors
Neither Venus nor her flowers
Shall ever match,
the soaring journey at dusk
tearing across,
skies the tinge of aqua
lost in timeless views,
of the glorious kingdom of Minerva
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 4:52 AM UTC
Whenever I fall out of harmony with the uni-verse, I cloister at my mother's home. It's full of three things; books, paintings, and kids, yet the walls have more to offer..
I can hear her opening doors
I still remember how she shortened every single one of her galabeyas, and how the space between her ankles and her feet is exactly what infinity looks like.
I still remember the six gold ghawayesh that turned into four then turned into two, and I still remember thinking maybe one day they covered her whole arm like a shiny armor but she kept on falling defenseless because time is a cruel thief. I also remember how she robbed time of its powers by keeping her ancient wise soul an adventurous young one until the very last day; the skill she wanted to learn at the age of seventy was driving, because knitting is obviously for the young.
I still remember her taking pride in her roots, like a baobab tree, and I still remember how it was this that taught to stand my ground, balanced and rooted.
I still remember how people called her house "the mother of Egyptians' house" because that's the name of the neighborhood where it was. I still remember learning at the age of nine that the neighborhood was named so in the honor of the revolutionary Safia Zaghloul, and I still remember thinking that they named Safia Zaghloul so in the honor of her, because she was 'the mother', the source, the one more push, the spring, the lens, the revolution and beyond.
I still remember how her hair looked like moonlight, and how her skin felt like flower petals.
She wasn't an angel; she wasn't made out of light. She was made of water and fertile soil; she was a complete human being in all its glory, molded by the hands of Atum, and Minerva.
And if she was not only in my memories, I'd make a pilgrimage to her; kneel under her feet so she can braid my hair, and offer warmth and bedtime stories in treasure boxes adorned with her favorite poetry lines. And I remind myself instead to take a good look at the night sky; those who follow the stars can never be lost.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
As I'm sitting, sitting waiting,
As all my thoughts are congregating,
I find my mem'ries to be tainting,
Forgetting about my Charlotte May.
At Minerva's School of Pristine Boarding,
We first began our timid courting,
And it was clear that she was hoarding,
My heart belonged to Charlotte May.
We got married in December,
Rung in the new year close together,
But soon after she got the letter,
The letter drafted Charlotte May.
They sent her back in shrouds of silver,
No longer living just to wither,
And her coffin made me shiver,
Deep in the ground was Charlotte May.
As I'm sitting, sitting waiting,
Lonely, lost, and always hating,
I realise my thoughts are fading,
Fading away like Charlotte May.
But I remain here, quite unchanging,
The scenes around me rearranging,
My days filled up with hoping, praying,
Until I reach the final day,
And I return to Charlotte May.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
Wish if I were Minerva's owl,
riding dusk departure off my toe.
By Hegel's drifted thoughts a halt,
amid sparkles of ideas in awe.
Riding this ever-ascending firework show,
as high as seven heavens go.
Endowed with flame from Sol,
diving and burning through the thousands of my foe.
Behold,
I'm Icarus who cheated old.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC