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"orestes" poems
NURSE Our mistress bids me with all speed to call Aegisthus to the strangers, that he come And hear more clearly, as a man from man, This newly brought report. Before her slaves, Under set eyes of melancholy cast, She hid her inner chuckle at the events That have been brought to pass--too well for her, But for this house and hearth most miserably,-- As in the tale the strangers clearly told. He, when he hears and learns the story's gist, Will joy, I trow, in heart. Ah, wretched me! How those old troubles, of all sorts made up, Most hard to bear, in Atreus's palace-halls Have made my heart full heavy in my breast! But never have I known a woe like this. For other ills I bore full patiently, But as for dear Orestes, my sweet charge, Whom from his mother I received and nursed . . . And then the shrill cries rousing me o' nights, And many and unprofitable toils For me who bore them. For one needs must rear The heedless infant like an animal, (How can it else be?) as his humor serve For while a child is yet in swaddling clothes, It speaketh not, if either hunger comes, Or passing thirst, or lower calls of need; And children's stomach works its own content. And I, though I foresaw this, call to mind, How I was cheated, washing swaddling clothes, And nurse and laundress did the selfsame work. I then with these my double handicrafts, Brought up Orestes for his father dear; And now, woe's me! I learn that he is dead, And go to fetch the man that mars this house; And gladly will he hear these words of mine.
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The Lament Of The Old Nurse
NURSE Our mistress bids me with all speed to call Aegisthus to the strangers, that he come And hear more clearly, as a man from man, This newly brought report. Before her slaves, Under set eyes of melancholy cast, She hid her inner chuckle at the events That have been brought to pass--too well for her, But for this house and hearth most miserably,-- As in the tale the strangers clearly told. He, when he hears and learns the story's gist, Will joy, I trow, in heart. Ah, wretched me! How those old troubles, of all sorts made up, Most hard to bear, in Atreus's palace-halls Have made my heart full heavy in my breast! But never have I known a woe like this. For other ills I bore full patiently, But as for dear Orestes, my sweet charge, Whom from his mother I received and nursed . . . And then the shrill cries rousing me o' nights, And many and unprofitable toils For me who bore them. For one needs must rear The heedless infant like an animal, (How can it else be?) as his humor serve For while a child is yet in swaddling clothes, It speaketh not, if either hunger comes, Or passing thirst, or lower calls of need; And children's stomach works its own content. And I, though I foresaw this, call to mind, How I was cheated, washing swaddling clothes, And nurse and laundress did the selfsame work. I then with these my double handicrafts, Brought up Orestes for his father dear; And now, woe's me! I learn that he is dead, And go to fetch the man that mars this house; And gladly will he hear these words of mine.
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I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o’er me from above; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold, soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, Like some old poet’s rhymes. From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drank repose; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,— From those deep cisterns flows. O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear What man has borne before! Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, And thy complain no more. Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! Descend, with broad-winged flight, The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, The best-beloved Night!
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Hymn To The Night
Like a ***** on a blood buzz That surrendered to the dragon Like Jupiter in a strange land Water colors and cannibals Like lemon world, minus candy And true promise and false let-downs Like McCandless or a Thoreau Down a river lacking mystic Like a soldier safe from harm's way Watching pen-pals throw big grenades Like echoes heard from a black hole Filled with demons and Madonna's Like an idea in a time warp Full of castles and time capsules Like a fire burning brightly By Eskimos throwing blankets Like Orestes punished greatly By loud sirens in double-bind Like a big world in alignment With a spindle made of chaos Like paisley love remaining still While new age brings adhesive hate Like a black swan, last unicorn Asleep during apocalypse Like kind vultures killing a beast Because his stripes were too crooked Like a family unforgiving Of an angel born of their blood Like a bad cough in a clear throat Of a drunk God with bronchitis
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May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
Untitled III
I stripped the gold from Agamemnon’s mask. I scoured Clytemnestra’s black heart. I wiped the blood from Orestes’ sword, and made Mycenae’s throne room my own. I promised Achilles no mortal man’s life, then I felled him at Troy by my hand. We gods turn out fickle; we heedlessly maim man’s fortunes, his women, his land. Do not trust us.
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Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
Apollo's Song
o yonic wonder tonic of my heart contrast to the ******* lust oedipus and electra Agamennon and jocasta cast away my iron heart rusty with the blood and oxygen released by a dart to them part Orestes slayed Clytemnestra and Aegisthus I'll slay Dissertation and a hibiscus
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Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
oh ******* vulvic art