"mythos" poems
In the cusp of closing night, I look into your weary eyes;
once outshining city lights. I see no way to realize
the healing of this blight - I venture to make a phoenix cry.
Remedy of such mythos might, might just prove unjust lies.
Chance restoring your ere vacant sight - fighting soul’s primal guide.
As any chance to restore my bride, binds our fractured lives.
...No words to describe affliction already decided.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
Here comes a fire burning, put it out with water and you'll save from drowning. Yes with all that indian pride, and ghostly tails beside. You're still just a wolf howling. Back at that mountain side, the gold down in the creek just waiting. Now it is the time!
Ideas just keep spinning, thoughts and feelings viewed like subliminal waves to the brain. the mythos enchanting, it all is believing. Now, taking up the arrows to steal a look at your master. Wishing harder. oh but your troubles are there, and your devotion unpared. So tell me, do you still want satisfaction? I could do without the bashing. Remember well the planet's storming cloud and know that you are found. The whisper you hear is showing, a dream of all your phoebos. The globe palmed and the stars your home.
Wait. Don't look anyfurther, all you need is laughter; fixing any disaster. They call it, silence. And it stole my brother. My friend, even the hot glow that once filled my soul. How could I not know that it mattered? Wait, do you hear that sound? It's louder than before! Am I normal? Of course not! I'm as unique as the space that falls between leaves! The universe is everything, Artemis hunting, Apollo flirting. Now do you see what I mean?
Your light is reflecting and I sink in the white moon. Oh Sirius the dog star of your master fallen. I know the pain of loving. Embodied with the essencee of apparent contradictions, I go on searching. The pack always watching. Life feeds on Life.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
Dealing so much with figurative language,
I cannot help but notice how many people
restrict themselves to either Mythos or Logos.
Myth or Logic. Symbol or Reason. Yin or Yang.
Firefox, by default, doesn't even recognize that Mythos is a word:
Mythos- The aspect of the mind concerning itself
with the figurative, the abstract;
implications, symbolism and interpretation.
Passive. 'Relative'. Yin.
Logos - The aspect of the mind concerning itself
with reason, proof, tangibility and fact.
Active. 'Absolute'. Yang.
It is of utmost importance to take both with a grain of salt.
It is of equal importance to ponder both for what they are worth.
Mythos seeks not to always be correct;
but to make one think what is right and true within one's self.
Logos seeks to be accurate.
To describe, define, calculate, forecast, and replicate the physical.
Most are biased towards one and away from the other;
it is impossible to have a balanced existence if you embrace one and deny the other:
If one fails to respect duality, duality will tear one in twain.
The path to salvation is comprised of both of these styles of thought:
To seek only one is to condemn oneself to
Autosegragationistic Social Darwinianism.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 4:04 AM UTC
spread-eagle at the summit
facing endless gusts of sandy billows,
mountain-backed vitruvian man,
i flail frustration at the outer
drips against, again in toes
forget the boots the pack
the bearbag full of snacks
the nylon thunder night-fret
flash of demon forking
shamefaced fear in throat
of shaken chest or weakness
soaking downy thermarest--
underfed it seemed so clear!
with only distant puffs within the blue
so here i lay despite the warnings hitherto--
the stakes have ripped electric
by the sky or sudden wind
as corners rock and threaten
rolling off into the gale--i sweat to add
a static vision sailing back alone,
a teardrop tent against the lightning caverns of the clouds
a skeleton of light suspended in the strike,
a sierra sign designedly godlike,
zapped nocturnal whisk i am
in awe now fearful grateful
mythos-understood of human
imagination's pawn still prone
with whining seams the poles still hold
within the whipping whites so loud
to tug my heels against the flying fabric
portal damp enstormed insomniac
to will the stony sand there once again
to sleep perhaps another dozen in
before the morning knuckles
pound the staff from off this mountaintop
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 5:59 PM UTC
*blink an eye and it will disappear
blink the other and you will cry
a thousand tears of joy
blink them both and watch
fireflies alight the azure sky
in suspenseful darkness the alabaster moon
croons its romantic breath over all those vineyards
angels taste the dryness of the grapes
and laugh at the waste of another year’s wine
move out of the way of human frailty
share your space with our immortal stakes
a slavery more terrible than any mankind has yet to try
the Goddess is our home
sower of seeds for those that fast internally
rise the quickest
and dance the hardest
seek the longest roads
give more than you’ve ever known
swallow whole this ocean filled
with the bones of your daughters
forsaken in trendy delicatessens
our heroes are just myths that drift
like derelicts in psyche’s mythos
i am pathos, eros and shadow
i am daylight’s twin brother
her-eyes-on the horizon
yet she could see through to his soul
her-eyes-on the horizon
if we are destined to find our way back home*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
Mythos anecdote
just on the brink of fiction
evening potion
Berry stained laughter
sipping slowly to savor
breath caught in the chest
Ah, yes, crystal gaze
Cards that fit the palm just so
A spark —brief luminescence
If there is a storm
There, too, are hands catching rain
and the green-eyed girl
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
Hecate,
When I was off and gone world weary
Weeping sorrowful in winter
I called on you to help and spare me sorrow.
Now that it is spring, it is now
My duty,
Sweet, sweet magical maiden fair
To grant you help in all you seek.
For you, master of magic, mistress of mythos
Can not fathom that which is the greatest magic,
The one within even mere mortals.
Love, Hecate. Love.
I know that I am one to talk,
Having broken free of the shackles that were formerly Hera’s,
But you, sweet Hecate, must not be mistaken as we are.
In your eyes sits the light of a thousand suns, burning with joy and potential to be,
You cannot subject yourself to these mortal pains, these mortal errors,
These wounds of the flesh as he does.
For he will lead you down a path rarely survived,
Rarely survived truly,
He will walk you into depths of sorrow,
Your own Hades, sweet Hecate.
He will lead you to question the very meaning of yourself,
The very essence of who it is that you are.
You are stronger than a mortal,
As any oracle will tell you,
As any of my court will attest.
He maintains such a level of power over you
That he makes fools of gods and spares no souls,
He has taken you for something silly and of that nature too.
But Hecate, you know this, a spell of love is just a spell
And so driven are you like Apollo before you, so driven with love
That you’ll cast it.
It is not yours to cast, that is Eros’ part and doing so would cause the world to shift out of balance.
But you will do it anyway, Hecate, for I know you well.
I shall leave you with this, and this truly,
Bad things happen to mortals who mess with gods.
-Persephone.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 6:56 PM UTC
All it takes
to be a Mystic
is to be willing
to take mental risks
for a chance at greater understanding;
All it takes
to be a Mystic
is to delve into the Void,
come back with some new thing
and share that thing with the World;
All it takes
to be a Mystic
is to be sensitive
to one's own Path
reminding others of theirs;
All it takes
to be a Mystic
is to not be afraid
to defy your Time, peers and Culture
to bring forth the Divinity inherent in everything;
All it takes
to be a Mystic
is not not be deterred
by what you are told, but instead
to be guided by what you feel truest in yourself;
All it takes
to be a Mystic
is to be able to interpret
and take things symbolically,
*Mythos and Logos*, synesthetically creating a new mutual Reality;
All it takes
to be a Mystic
is to be willing and able
to be a Prism for the Divine;
to purify the Mirror of your being;
All it takes
to be a Mystic
is to be Artistic; Creative and Imaginative,
not that the Mystic must be an Artist, or that any Artist is a Mystic,
but that the Mystic is most naturally expressed through the various Artistic mediums;
To be an example for the masses
of just how the many are One
as One is truly the many
and thus All is Divine:
How the Universe itself
and all it's inhabitants
are the expressions
reflections and
manifestations
of the Godself;
An illusion,
A Dream:
**Godself
and self
is One.**
--
All is a Chapel of Sacred Mirrors
divided by Mind
into Self and Other,
but all is truly Godself:
Collective Unconscious and Personal Conscious,
Brahman and Ātman,
Godself and Self;
One in the same.
Tat tvam asi.
All it takes
to be a Mystic
is to be willing and able
to look inward and learn:
Godself and Self;
One in the Same.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 3:21 AM UTC
Logos enters not
in matters of the Mythic,
yet they copulate.
Mythos is a realm
wholly separate from Logos
yet they interplay,
This dynamic play
in a mythicly tuned mind;
akin to wisdom.
Mythos and Logos
dancing cosmically onward
as if Yin and Yang.
To shun one and cling
zealously to the other
is tantamount to
fearing Death until
the day it's icy finger
points itself at you:
You miss out on all
the wondrous things in this life;
Enjoy here and now.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
I ask you to mother me greatly, memory.
I ask you to father me strongly, experience.
I ask to strengthen me gradually, time.
I ask you to hone and refine me, wisdom.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC
Messiahs and martyrs
And saviors
And saints
Sacrosanct
Sanctimonious
False idol feints
Behind gates,
Palace walls
Fortified in a lie
An elaborate,
Enduring
Mythos we contrive
And apply
To the lives
Of misguided lost souls
Filling holes
With the answers
Of what never knows
How to be of this world
Without more to assign
What is so picture perfectly
Flawed by design
Intertwined with
The years we spend
Spacing in time
Agonizingly trying
To find
Our own kind
Out among the expanse
Starry satellite trance
Higher intellects seek
And destroy
To advance
The agenda, to claim
A new age
Under orders
Anointed upon
The consent
Of the heaven-sent
Nuclear bomb
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
Another day, another night.
You say their debt outweighs their death.
Logic dispels the search through trash and mildewed lore.
Makeup runs and your choices stay.
Becoming much thinner now yes?
The air is unintelligible.
These things will last.
Abandoned not loved, the fate of your newest choice;
a most crystalline series of poor choices, calculated missteps and those carefree mistakes.
Like the smoke flown from your lungs over the roof of neon discotheque.
Either/or.
You smell of spoiled treasure.
Move past the decay, past perfumes and powders.
There is you, skeletal and shaking on a small bed in the middle of a dark place with a hint of light all around you, shadows form on the edge, the mythos surrounding your empty head, but never bending to enlighten you.
Stay still.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
spelling backwards through time,
stroke by blurry stroke
a maiden's coal-black hair regales
the flattery from her lips... and so the doom
-- and boon of a crimson warrior's arm --
was drawn from speech a flame,
and kindled mind to burn away for lust,
one speaker fed and doubly fraught
by goddess's
invention brought
to give away his name and trust,
for doppelgangers' games
and beauty
to consent~
that trollish abysm our aching selfhood
deems unworthy, war can celebrate:
iconic genius symbol may encourage,
it may remembrance windows of our history~
but only breath, and inner sight so keen
on solid strength of living fact
can triumph in the plain!
some semblance of an older wisdom
strains to orate still, and lust itself afar,
but brawn and tested fibrous body build
must turn the page of time;
and this, to know the truth withstood
that vision
of a perfect youth
forever,
one start and line without an end,
a floating dance of pulling under waves
that never waves as being surely does
like no ancient-honest country-prophet ever saw--
thus, remnants of the wisdom from a fallen mind;
and so he fell to her and had not her for long...
she had a wider window, immortal panes,
this temptress
suppleness of limb to shock
and shake the bones of foolish learning,
that thinks itself imbued with everlasting fame.
it was a mossy light
of eyelash shine
and sheen
to woo
the wisdom out,
electric sense to lure the hapless sap
into a brutish trap: to learn alone the
atheletes pathos, relearn the heart-race
from a chest of seemless vigour,
from lungs of endless winds
and legs of trunkish growth the
channels and the prism of an empty skull
instead of learned ships and foolish mimes of finer times--
he does the bidding of her will.
.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
No home, no front door to unlock,
a life of roams, tires burning rock.
With powders, pills, and subpar poisons,
I remember your childish face,
the reddish furl of your hair;
your spine-tingling body strut cascading into French heels.
No luck, no fat genie or 7 on the die,
rainy bucks, broken umbrella with sigh.
Like songbirds, sirens, and symptoms
gracefully disappear without a note of gloom,
your smile, the original resurrection,
slides from tangible memory -- into mythos -- into misery.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 12:28 AM UTC
This heart beats a miserable mythos
Daring death to bleed from my pried pithos
And you can still feel her aura
When the all-giving Pandora
Pulled out my chest and asked
How much of man is masked
Passed her teary eyed mist
She found this box with a list
Sand, clean, prep, and paint
This home with no complaint
Take care to love each other
Both your brothers and your mother
I am alone, so alone
In this prison of a home
Leave this layer to never dry
Just listen to my goodbye
Don’t look for blame
From an open flame
Left beside this pound of paint
Hoping to incinerate this taint
This is the end
For me my friend
Respect my choice
And please rejoice
Life is a wonderful adventure
Some, missing that sweet splendor
A burning ready for the blow
To put me out, to let me go
Despite all the talks, all the locks
She’s opened up Pandora’s Box
And let his evils out
Fear, shame, sorrow, and doubt
Their freedom found, they’re unconfined
Exposed a weakened man’s mind
No sun should have to see this depravity
Hidden captive in his heart’s dark cavity
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
Our future was built on revolution.
A mythos of courageously vanquishing the empire.
Such is the birthright of our citizens.
Our history created us in its image.
Villains seeking conciliation
must bear the title and charge
of treason.
Wielders of swords and rifles
stand immortalized in every town square.
Liberty or Death proclaims the stone and bronze
in which they are cast.
What will be the names of these great black men,
who crush the oppression of the old revolution?
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
The second power of the Sphinx
is Will.
"Motion is by mind alone." ⊙
Intelligence, armed with Wisdom,
fortified with Understanding,
self-realizes.
The will to power orchestrates
desire, giving flesh to dream.
(ripples in the waters of מ)
Who awakens, ceasing Motion,
becomes the Mover:
the omnipresent Point.
Will is the Artificer of Truth.
Truth embodied by Art
follows conception.
Existence produces mythos.
*"The Maze, the Maze that is the Secret,
loves Itself.
And in the love of Itself,
amazing things Become."* ⊾
To Will is to express:
to falsify the inestimable
and create by omission.
"The world-dream is a lie." Ω
*"Lo, for these words that stain the lips of the Anointed,
the Smeared Ones.
Smeared in the ashes of My blood
is the lie that is Our story."* ⊾
The cause of Action is narrative.
The effect of Action is narrative.
I speak the Word.
I hear the Word.
The Story begins.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
II.
To love pales in comparison of being loved,
but to love and be loved in turn?
Truly puissant, indeed.
III.
Though on the thread of life, the ink will spill
but never fades away. Now I see. If all I am
is to be nothing but a memory, the least
I can do is to make it a good one for the
future seeds.
Memory can slip and slide, but these words,
my words, that I have painted will remain.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 4:43 PM UTC
I feel like a rare creature
Too difficult to catch
Prancing just outside of awareness
Staring at baited traps
Independent and beautiful
A rose among dandelions
With sharp wit and tact
I feel like a rare creature
From mythos and legend past
For as much attention it brings me
When no one believes I exist.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
In good Time,
Self can escape Mind
as Shadow seeks Things;
words, *** Ego, and blame,
One's true Self seems to sleep.
The Universe is a vessel of, and temple to,
Godself.
Your Body is also vessel of, and temple to,
Godself.
Logos and Mythos
are as two color filters
applied to the process of Developing the film that is one's Perspective;
to intentionally only use one filter
is to restrict oneself and one's understanding
to only that portion of the image:
the image is infinitely Holistic.
Slow down;
let your Mind recollect
let your Self grow and reach for the stars.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
find less than arresting: stilted musings gem-set
in ardent verbiage.
recherché semantics, florid phrases facing a withering sun
or policing of metaphor –
until handcuffed: Italic jewel thief caught on surveillance
Sudden bewildering
spaces with odd punctuation; ? &
inward dithering semi-confessions in serpentine
verse. Badder (or worse) annoying line
breaks /
cloying internal half – rhymes,
overwrought. Over-edited;
over-thought until you want to see
what’s on TV instead. As if
the poet’s every random musing was so
essential. Reverential semi-precious mythos
(Siren’s distant waves echo, shipwrecked rocks: Ossifer, ossifer –
it’s only boring poetry…
I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it)
again.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
*the Goddess is our home
She is the sower of seeds
for all those that fast internally
rise the quickest
dance the hardest
seek the longest roads
and give more than you’ve ever known
She can swallow whole this ocean
filled with the bones of her daughters
forsaken in trendy delicatessens
our heroes are just myths that drift
like derelicts in psyche’s mythos
i am pathos, eros and shadow
i am daylight’s twin brother
her-eyes-on the horizon
yet she could see through to his soul
her-eyes-on the horizon
if we are destined to find our way home*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC