"minotaur" poems
By David John Mowers
Oceanus, Acheron, Styx and Gyges, Phlegethon,
Phaeacians lament, mourn the loss, Scheria, dissolved in froths.
Virgil’s tale, found correct, a land too good, a nation wrecked,
Nausikaa, burn the ships; their minds released, cool airy nips,
Below the wave, watery grave, submerged to bottom, fathoms by stave,
Fathoms some more, until the whorl, descending to, another world.
Through Omphalos, to Land of Sleep, awaits a beast, where time has ceased,
Darkness here, underworld, cold and frigid, below the whirl,
In solemn grave, souls released, judged and counted, by the beast,
Deeper than, the deep itself, past drowning fairies and dying elves,
Who did mourn them? Those golden men, magic mariners, Mino's kin?
What wrong was seen? What vice not true? What awful sin? What did they do?
One thousand years, first black age, Two thousand more, to find the stage,
Cast off Aries and cast Orion, to find beginning, of Golden Lion.
Man of Heavens, Beast agrees, Bull of Sky, Ox of seas,
Land of Punt, Land of Éire, Ogyges blue, hearts on fire,
All the seashores, all the mines, Tribe of Dan, from ancient times,
Port of Sais, Port of Thera, Port of Lagash, bygone era,
Sailor’s horse, Minotaur, a lyre is crying, strummed guitar, nation dying, abattoir.
Ochre foams to sanguine depth, there they rested, where Kronos slept,
He’ll never answer, he doesn’t care, we’ll never know, if this was fair.
Our hearts in sadness, hands on the gates! I curse you Poseidon!
. . .and your Sea of Fates!
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
Dead in the center of her heart I found a minotaur.
Of all things a frigging minotaur.
I stood puzzled as we locked eyes.
When I stumbled upon him he was sleep with today's newspaper drenched across his lap.
He bounced up in full guard.
Me being me I asked him for simple directions.
Telling him that I thought I was lost.
I planned on seeing heart shapes maybe a butterfly or two.
A big bunny shape thing or two but you, just wow.
He grinned slightly and said yeah that's the first time I've heard that one.
One step further, I added.
I take it from the amount of drool on the side of your lip you've been sleep for quite a while.
Now I don't mean to intrude on your guarding the labyrinth thing but,
How about you let me *** a smoke and we'll talk about it at the nearest dinner.
After all who can be mad over breakfast
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 5:56 AM UTC
The mahogany table-top you smashed
Had been the broad plank top
Of my mother's heirloom sideboard-
Mapped with the scars of my whole life.
That came under the hammer.
That high stool you swung that day
Demented by my being
Twenty minutes late for baby-minding.
'Marvellous!' I shouted, 'Go on,
Smash it into kindling.
That's the stuff you're keeping out of your poems!'
And later, considered and calmer,
'Get that shoulder under your stanzas
And we'll be away.' Deep in the cave of your ear
The goblin snapped his fingers.
So what had I given him?
The ****** end of the skein
That unravelled your marriage,
Left your children echoing
Like tunnels in a labyrinth.
Left your mother a dead-end,
Brought you to the horned, bellowing
Grave of your risen father
And your own corpse in it.
6.3k
sweet Kali stands before us
an offering she holds
while all the skulls around her neck
sleep in a child's repose
there are many souls in limbo
they wander through our sight
seekers for salvation
seeking for the light
a universe lies waiting
a red planet full of stars
just beneath the lingham
that rests in Kali's arms
the dogs lie waiting patiently
while Ganesh begins to writhe
turning to a serpent
that writhes before our eyes
here's the minotaur from Jambu Dweep
wrapped in a golden fleece
telling stories in my head
the tales of ancient Greece
then Kali holds a severed head
cradled gently in her hand
while beneath the Shiva Lingham
someone lies upon the sand.....
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 4:33 AM UTC
unsuccessful potatoes & you found a tree in the ocean
i spent the afternoon digging, digging
my fingernails into my own fear of commitment
the fear of my own reputation
now the cat's in heat & richard nixon (the dog)
is teasing her with his trump card
she takes it
& squeezes it
very gently
then rips it open madly & snarls
& it oozes and drips out of her mouth
we all pick up a thousand pieces of a minute
i cremated my sister this morning & new spirits
arrived at my doorstep before noon
they sang to me of instinct,
whinnying about the antique zenith
up in cheyenne
"gimmie some secrets" she said
so i carved them
into my arm
into a minotaur's chest
into a giant looking glass
into a wooden boat
& i set sail for the sundial,
"there is no truth"
my eyes are wax & the ocean
means nasty filth
but everything is useless now
frogs carry high powered harmonicas
& walk into the spells of Poe
& into the hexagrams of Hamlet
i do not want to carry a pitchfork across
some godforsaken desert
i do not want to feel my own evaporation
while the real artists brood in the meantime
i want to waste away on a slushy evening
i will live in my armpit
& hate you
& never wear deodorant
"your mind is small--it is limited--why must you understand?"
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 9:11 PM UTC
"Speak,"
Said the Minotaur.
"Speak."
"For I am tired of silence and riddles."
Said the Minotaur.
"And I am tired of being wise."
"Come," he said.
"Come touch my horns."
"Feel my velvety nose."
"Come cradle my head,"
The Minotaur said.
"I am tired of being alone."
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 2:51 PM UTC
And our brother, too, the metal shaman
Reaches up, plucks knowledge from the stars
We chant, guttural grunts, primal urges
And fierce grinding teeth clenching and screeching
The shaman dances and
Reaches up, plucks knowledge from the stars
And we SCREAM shrill
Bare our necks and bring the knife across, ****
A sacrifice to the metal beast
The shaman stares straight up,
Plucks knowledge from the stars
And the blood leaves us
Hair turns grey
Daily exploits lost in deepening wrinkles
The macabre ritual culminates...
The Shaman, unappeased
Laughs like Hyena, cackling
REACHES UP AND PLUCKS KNOWLEDGE FROM THE STARS!
The existential cacophony diminishes
Din dimming
Beast is empty
Bits flow like blood
Ones and zeros in a jumbled pool
The shaman delivers
The family sits around the glowing box
A tribe in an ancient ritual
Flip the switch, change the channel
The children plucking out their eyes
Little blind Oedipus
Smashing faces through the tube
To the life on the other side
Celebrities, products, and reality shows
Forget thought
Present your mind
To the beast
A cinematic ****
Send Damsels to appease the Minotaur
Change the channel
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
Life is a maze.
Life is a phase
Life is a craze.
Life decays
Life can amaze
Life can be full of clichés
Life filled with schooldays, holidays, long delays.
Life is a labyrinth, with a Minotaur in the shades
Life is full of constraints
So leave the maze, untangle your hair and meet me in a different cabaret, I'll be there
I'll show you how life is just one big malaise, we need to fill the maze with a blaze of glory.
After all life is a story. The ending the same, we all die, but in between, we runaways from the maze can drop the chains and create our own tales of the maze.
And those tales can be quite amazing!
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
across the pond,
I lived off the diet of
some 55 year old bachelor
racing towards the past
only, I looked forward to
so much more than
my mother's improved health.
I would find books and read them
laying them vulnerable and bare
to my devouring mind. *(I swear
to god, there's an approachable
Minotaur among my grey matter.)*
I skipped Barcelona with an alcoholic
to research gay fascists and history's
slaughter benches. I hand-wrote that paper
just so I could feel something at work besides
strong coffee and false anxieties about projected moments.
I raised my hand, countless times
in foreign classes with tobacco residue
creased to my sheet paper. While others
slept or day-dreamed about the pigeon **** outside
*but I smiled at the professor, & mommy and daddy sent them
capitalist notes with the appearance of life.*
I met a girl, who got to know me through
all five senses, at once. Speaking more languages
than half this world is aware of, I danced til my flight
departed and I knew which city was my favorite, because
I knew nothing of it going in and having no expectations
opens me like an oyster whose made multiple pearls.
I lost my scarf there, in Italy,
a beautiful one with conversational brilliance
falling to disappearance on my final night, after the rains
of Tuscany had drenched away my need for movement
and the winds of Ventotene had me sailing with
men, I knew nothing of. *After I cried on the floor
over the beauty of Hegel and Marx and fell into
Nebulae of epiphanies.*
across the pond, my life had verve.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
I'm tired of twisting in my days
Looking for a thin straight line
The Minotaur looked at me
I could see the Theseus
there upon his mind
The labyrinth is not the same
It's turned into a maze
I have no more reasons now
I must be on my way
So the Minotaur made reservations
The Mediterranean
Is nice this time of year
He flew tourist class
With a herd of after Christmas deer
Minos called and made his request
Come back this instance
Was his plea
But the Minotaur was bullheaded about it
There's more to this than you , it's me
So the Minotaur stayed upon his beach
Never regretting making the call
Trapped inside our living labyrinth
Is one maze too tall
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC
My minotaur has mad cow's disease.
The FDA is rounding up each one
in a forty mile radius for slaughter.
They're incinerating the bodies
at the trash-to-steam factory. I hear
gunfire and wailing children. Sharon
next door is in shock. She's been
on her knees down on the lawn
mumbling, "please, please, please,"
for the last two hours. Crimson clouds
bleed into sunrise. How will we
escape the seepage?
I'll stop at the Getty for a car wash
before I pick you up. Have some
sandwiches packed.
O for the love of God,
the moos, the moos.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits,
The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates,
The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar,
Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar.
There stands the cunning workman, the crafty past all praise,
The man who chained the Minotaur, the man who built the Maze.
His young son is beside him and the boy's face is a light,
A light of dawn and wonder and of valor infinite.
Their great vans beat the cloven air, like eagles they mount up,
Motes in the wine of morning, specks in a crystal cup,
And lest his wings should melt apace old Daedalus flies low,
But Icarus beats up, beats up, he goes where lightnings go.
He cares no more for warnings, he rushes through the sky,
Braving the crags of ether, daring the gods on high,
Black 'gainst the crimson sunset, golden o'er cloudy snows,
With all Adventure in his heart the first winged man arose.
Dropping gold, dropping gold, where the mists of morning rolled,
On he kept his way undaunted, though his breaths were stabs of cold,
Through the mystery of dawning that no mortal may behold.
Now he shouts, now he sings in the rapture of his wings,
And his great heart burns intenser with the strength of his desire,
As he circles like a swallow, wheeling, flaming, gyre on gyre.
Gazing straight at the sun, half his pilgrimage is done,
And he staggers for a moment, hurries on, reels backward, swerves
In a rain of scattered feathers as he falls in broken curves.
Icarus, Icarus, though the end is piteous,
Yet forever, yea, forever we shall see thee rising thus,
See the first supernal glory, not the ruin hideous.
You were Man, you who ran farther than our eyes can scan,
Man absurd, gigantic, eager for impossible Romance,
Overthrowing all Hell's legions with one warped and broken lance.
On the highest steeps of Space he will have his dwelling-place,
In those far, terrific regions where the cold comes down like Death
Gleams the red glint of his pinions, smokes the vapor of his breath.
Floating downward, very clear, still the echoes reach the ear
Of a little tune he whistles and a little song he sings,
Mounting, mounting still, triumphant, on his torn and broken wings!
2.4k
Strike a mark on a sun kissed shrine
Cheek bones, dance within the sand's light -
Lambent spore sprig -Rot - beneath the mine
Lay the tourniquet fused, marble eyes.
Center stark stork - wracked to atomic bliss
Forked tongue minotaur, auric troubadour -
Machinations of bellowed amethyst,
Composed the flowered Aum, raising thy *********
Arachnid's webbing - strung of turquoise beads -
By what are the viscid lines severed clean
That they convolute binaural progeny,
And lure the soul to breathe?
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
Heathens -
in heaven's lobby
flock
to barter
for Magic 'Shrooms
with pop rocks... and pancakes
and leaf-green brownies.
new to the scene;
the Son of Man
holds a motley court,
then wanders off
to fetch Picasso - Lassoed
from his cups, his Love that must Love
his genius... doubtless,
cloud-scrawling
huge pendulous *******
in Elysium; for no one at all.
better Pablo
should tend bars that set mobs free
than one god's toddler, with long odds
against Bacchus - should ever
small-talk-speak
to the godless
or worse...
preach.
" Better Sins to love.. " The Spaniard once taught...
A Lover's Urge is born in forms of weakness.... adorned in all Might -
bathed in blessed contradiction,
a Lingam for a Yoni's dream of stiff drinks
and pliable men, with strong arms.
a blue fiction on Calvary -
nailed to the softest
cross.
Between thieves,
an honor, double
parked
with bucket seats brimming with moonlight,
and her knickers
tossed.
Picasso asks for absinthe
to be sent
post haste
and polished off -
by all
his better angels he had guillotined
with dull snails,
and fallen
harps
ones - he stole, to de-tune
a flat fifth of Cuttysark
for a deaf
**** [but no mute ]
a portrait, ****
and is soon
bought...
lust
sleeps then -
with both Eyes;
Locked on
One of
God's.
like a deer
in a Head-light's
Gospel...
now, a Minotaur on the
Autobahn -
stalking
it.
II
Heathens
in heaven's lobby
recite ' Howl '
as Ginsberg, walks over hot coals
and spicy psalms; glowing wanton
in white grass; with a very
cherry ****
And a wise throng, cobbles...
****** -
they rob
Peter of his toga,
leaving nothing wrong.
but no less ' On '
they laugh hard; and wake the dead
asking them for new songs
to set their false alarms
in lofty Tic' Tocks
of Eternity's
clock.
Bible on a snooze bar
for at least that long
or someone
knocks.
As if "Hello."
Spoke the Whole World into Being -
And " Goodbye."
misspoke, and
trailed
off...
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
With frenetic horns he gores
The limp woman
Nipple-aired
Draped on his bulging forearms
Undoubtedly bronzed
By Mediterranean suns
Or paled
By subterranean shadows
She is either praying or panting
Fainting or fawning
Framed
In an unimagined tense
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 10:48 PM UTC
Truth enamored of itself...based upon
the forever following.
Flow's entrails--the
seven circuit labyrinth pends the
recollection that yielded it.
Thus, the unsound voice pouring
voicelessness.
Minotaur's digestive sound bite.
Where Once, as only Once allotted
the victor of Truth.
As told, as held...now confounds
with a self-fabricating prophesier,
profaning all telling.
Disconsolate swipes of emotion
make and remake the barren.
Pray tell the lessening visage of thee,
where by and by shall deem thee
bygone.
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
Your eyes burn caverns in my soul
Your breath sears scars into my heart
Your horns rake spears across my free will.
You bind me for your life.
I sculpt your mind to ash.
I whittle your heart void.
I paint my own expressions across your face.
I fight you for my life.
In this dramatic scenario who is the enemy?
The fight begins
You lunge into my open arms
I trap you.
* +1 point for me*
Your fangs tear my skin
+1 point for you
My mind flies and whirls
Your eyes emulate.
I watch you.
I watch you writhe and offer my assistance.
My hand reaches out...
You grab my hand
-1 point for you
Upon the first touch your mine.
I feel it
This hypnotic state encloses you.
I whisper you commands.
I toy with your morals.
I complicate your values.
+3 points for me
You leave, according to orders.
The fight is over and I have won.
I rest.
In my sleep I dream.
I dream you.
-1 point for me
I thought the fight was over....
You control my dreams.
+1 point for you
You bind me in this nocturnal jail.
+1 point for you
You lock my words
+1 point for you
The dream is over and you have won.
We are back to where we started.
or are we?
I can't be certain.
You do the math.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 12:48 PM UTC
Furnished from the beginning with superlative demeanor,
You sway no haughty elbows,
And ****** all colours of mockery,
Refrain from staring down the bridge of your nose,
As well as the egocentric adults
That bear the sharpness of a minotaur horn.
Your own sanctuary
Is crafted from knife fissures and bullet nests,
The nightmare of cathedrals;
Though existence must be slain
In order to fashion birth, yet
existence is never slain for applause
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 4:53 PM UTC
My minotaur has mad cow's disease.
The FDA is rounding up each one
in a forty mile radius for slaughter.
They're incinerating the bodies
at the trash-to-steam factory. I hear
gunfire and wailing children. Sharon
next door is in shock. She's been
on her knees down on the lawn
mumbling, "please, please, please,"
for the last two hours. Crimson clouds
bleed into sunrise. How will we
escape the seepage?
I'll stop at the Getty for a car wash
before I pick you up. Have some
sandwiches packed.
O for the love of God,
the moos, the moos.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
Behind her back they call her cold,
But death has taken hold
And they whisper that she hasn't a soul,
But they can't see the huge gaping hole
Where her heart's supposed to be
She cut it out herself, she's tired of misery
She finally put her heart away
Saving her blood for a worthy day
Son, run as fast you can,
Because she isn't the one for you man
Her fire will burn you alive
Her words hurt worse then a knife
She walls are so **** high
Not even angels fly that high, don't sigh
She may cry herself to sleep at night,
But don't trust her, don't try to make it right
For the battle she fights is one inside
It's with her own demons she's trying so hard to hide
Not even the bravest can handle her at her worst
And fragile egos around her spontaneously burst
No one can ever find a way to her hidden heart
The Minotaur in the labyrinth always tears them apart
So high above the clouds, she only seldomly calls down
When she does they always trick her into coming to the ground
Where they cut into her chest trying to find her heart
Then the monster she becomes rips them all apart
For she's girl as well as a beast
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
I trip in darkness
Waiting for an idea
Waiting for the idea
I walk in a limited labyrinth
My deadline is set
And although I have traveled these dark corridors again and again
My path is always new
I am stronger than my maze.
If in need, I will break a wall, I will create a new path
This maze made for me
Is also made by me
The labyrinth is mine
I am its master
Coming the idea, I will seize to exist
Light will be spread to the maze
And the twirls and turns of its halls
Shall become a straight line
The journey
The intellect
The effort
Of the monster
Will merge with this idea
And few will be able to perceive
That before it
There was darkness
A labyrinth
And a monster
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
"Love is blind"
I wonder:
Is this a warning...Wisdom...
Dare I dream with my eyes open
Am brave enough
To allow your voice to guide me
When we both cannot see
What others see
When they look at us
Walking through the labyrinth
And who is lost
Who will lose
Who will come out
Who has the thread
Who's Love is wise?
Who's heart can stand
To embrace the Beast
To lose itself completely
Stepping into magnificent
Immortal, passionate Tango
Turning the Beast into Artist
Labyrinth into Castle
Where Love is just Love
Free to be as it is
However it feels
We'll never be lost
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
"Love is blind"
I wonder:
Is this a warning...Wisdom...
Dare I dream with my eyes open
Am brave enough
To allow your voice to guide me
When we both cannot see
What others see
When they look at us
Walking through the labyrinth
And who is lost
Who will lose
Who will come out
Who has the thread
Who's Love is wise?
Who's heart can stand
To embrace the Beast
To lose itself completely
Stepping into magnificent
Immortal, passionate Tango
Turning the Beast into Artist
Labyrinth into Castle
Where Love is just Love
Free to be as it is
However it feels
We'll never be lost
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
From the prompt: The End Of Monsters
“Nobody asks why the chimera needs killing.
It’s a lone thing – a wrongness,
a distortion wandering in from elsewhere
burning the straight plowed fields of us”
- E. Rose Sims (On Cartography and Dissection)
He took his vorpol sword in hand
and with it, slayed the last Jabberwock.
Claimed its head, and placed it on a mantel,
in between Grendel’s arm, and the Minotaur’s horn -
Trophies of his conquests.
He told himself that he was making the world safer.
Still, that didn’t stop the nightmares.
The memories of the screams let out by the faun
as he plunged his dagger into its neck.
The way the chimera begged to be spared,
in is best human accent, before he thought to cut out its tongue:
“Please, no **** Who will look for my family?”
“No mercy, not in this world.” He tells himself.
“Monsters need to be killed.”
He told himself that he was the great Dragonslayer.
The adventurer.
Eliminating the native threats
so that his people can safely claim the land.
Now that his deed is done,
the final monster, slain.
Our hero hangs his vorpol sword up on the wall.
Yet, he lies awake at night
unable to sleep,
he stares up at the stars.
He dwells on a bone chilling thought -
that maybe somewhere in a distant land
there is a map being made of his home town
and some undiscovered other
has labeled it -
“Here Be Monsters”.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC