"phoebus" poems
XXVII. TO ARTEMIS (22 lines)
(ll. 1-20) I sing of Artemis, whose shafts are of gold, who
cheers on the hounds, the pure maiden, shooter of stags, who
delights in archery, own sister to Apollo with the golden sword.
Over the shadowy hills and windy peaks she draws her golden bow,
rejoicing in the chase, and sends out grievous shafts. The tops
of the high mountains tremble and the tangled wood echoes
awesomely with the outcry of beasts: earthquakes and the sea also
where fishes shoal. But the goddess with a bold heart turns
every way destroying the race of wild beasts: and when she is
satisfied and has cheered her heart, this huntress who delights
in arrows slackens her supple bow and goes to the great house of
her dear brother Phoebus Apollo, to the rich land of Delphi,
there to order the lovely dance of the Muses and Graces. There
she hangs up her curved bow and her arrows, and heads and leads
the dances, gracefully arrayed, while all they utter their
heavenly voice, singing how neat-ankled Leto bare children
supreme among the immortals both in thought and in deed.
(ll. 21-22) Hail to you, children of Zeus and rich-haired Leto!
And now I will remember you and another song also.
21.3k
In vain to me the smiling mornings shine,
And redd’ning Phoebus lifts his golden fire:
The birds in vain their amorous descant join;
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire:
These ears, alas! for other notes repine,
A different object do these eyes require:
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine;
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire.
Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer,
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men:
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear;
To warm their little loves the birds complain:
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,
And weep the more, because I weep in vain.
5.3k
It was very hot. The day had gone just past its noon.
I'd stretched out on a couch to take a nap.
One of the window-shutters was open, one was closed.
The light was like you'd see deep in the woods,
or like the glow of dusk when Phoebus leaves the sky,
or when night pales, and day has not yet dawned,
- a perfect light for girls with too much modesty,
where anxious Shame can hope to hide away.
When, look! here comes Corinna in a loose ungirded gown,
her parted hair framing her gleaming throat,
like lovely Semiramis entering her boudoir,
or fabled Lais, loved by many men.
I tore her gown off - not that it mattered, being so sheer,
and yet she fought to keep that sheer gown on;
but since she fought with no great wish for victory,
she lost, betraying herself to the enemy.
And as she stood before me, her garment all thrown off,
I saw a body perfect in every inch:
What shoulders, what fine arms I looked on - and embraced!
What lovely ******* begging to be caressed!
How smooth and flat a belly under a compact waist!
And the side view - what a long and youthful thigh!
But why go into details? Each point deserved its praise.
I clasped her naked body close to mine.
You can fill in the rest. We both lay there, worn out.
May all my afternoons turn out this well.
5.4k
Hark! hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,
And Phoebus ‘gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise!
Arise, arise!
3.8k
O were my Love yon lilac fair,
Wi’ purple blossoms to the spring,
And I a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing;
How I *** mourn when it was torn
By autumn wild and winter rude!
But I *** sing on wanton wing
When youthfu’ May its bloom renew’d.
O gin my Love were yon red rose
That grows upon the castle wa’,
And I mysel a drap o’ dew,
Into her bonnie breast to fa’;
O there, beyond expression blest,
I’d feast on beauty a’ the night;
Seal’d on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley’d awa’ by Phoebus’ light.
3.4k
There is a bird in the poplars!
It is the sun!
The leaves are little yellow fish
swimming in the river.
The bird skims above them,
day is on his wings.
Phoebus!
It is he that is making
the great gleam among the poplars!
It is his singing
outshines the noise
of leaves clashing in the wind.
3.2k
There is a bird in the poplars!
It is the sun!
The leaves are little yellow fish
swimming in the river.
The bird skims above them,
day is on his wings.
Phoebus!
It is he that is making
the great gleam among the poplars!
It is his singing
outshines the noise
of leaves clashing in the wind.
3k
At Summer Solstice, the Sun is far
distant from the celestial equator
and that day is the longest of the year.
From Khufu’s Great Pyramid at Giza
the scarlet Phoenix with the golden crest
swoops silent and low across the Delta.
Only half a millennium of life
before it passes to the flames of fire
and is reborn again from charred ashes.
This yang bird, fiery and blood cardinal
a solar flare blazing incandescent
pumps joy from the igneous heart of earth
erupts red hot energy volcanic
exciting and swirling the power of Qi.
Sun’s light and heat brings universal life,
and worshipped as Samash, Mithras and Ra,
Aztec God Tezcatlipoca,
Greek Helios, Phoebus and Apollo.
Now comes the agile Phoenix, sunset-stained
Broad-winged and gliding in the cloudless skies
Certain source of abundance and plenty
Plump-rich each berry, mango, peach, pear, plum.
Squeeze juicy sweet and succulent to taste
Summer full blown, mature and glorious.
© M.L.Emmett
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
Donne, the delight of Phoebus and each Muse
Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse;
Whose every work of thy most early wit
Came forth example, and remains so yet;
Longer a-knowing than most wits do live;
And which no affection praise enough can give!
To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life,
Which might with half mankind maintain a strife.
All which I meant to praise, and yet I would;
But leave, because I cannot as I should!
2.2k
I.
Adieu, New-England’s smiling meads,
Adieu, the flow’ry plain:
I leave thine op’ning charms, O spring,
And tempt the roaring main.
II.
In vain for me the flow’rets rise,
And boast their gaudy pride,
While here beneath the northern skies
I mourn for health deny’d.
III.
Celestial maid of rosy hue,
O let me feel thy reign!
I languish till thy face I view,
Thy vanish’d joys regain.
IV.
Susanna mourns, nor can I bear
To see the crystal show’r,
Or mark the tender falling tear
At sad departure’s hour;
V.
Not unregarding can I see
Her soul with grief opprest:
But let no sighs, no groans for me,
Steal from her pensive breast.
VI.
In vain the feather’d warblers sing,
In vain the garden blooms,
And on the ***** of the spring
Breathes out her sweet perfumes.
VII.
While for Britannia’s distant shore
We sweep the liquid plain,
And with astonish’d eyes explore
The wide-extended main.
VIII.
Lo! Health appears! celestial dame!
Complacent and serene,
With Hebe’s mantle o’er her Frame,
With soul-delighting mein.
IX.
To mark the vale where London lies
With misty vapours crown’d,
Which cloud Aurora’s thousand dyes,
And veil her charms around.
X.
Why, Phoebus, moves thy car so slow?
So slow thy rising ray?
Give us the famous town to view,
Thou glorious king of day!
XI.
For thee, Britannia, I resign
New-England’s smiling fields;
To view again her charms divine,
What joy the prospect yields!
XII.
But thou! Temptation hence away,
With all thy fatal train,
Nor once ****** my soul away,
By thine enchanting strain.
XIII.
Thrice happy they, whose heav’nly shield
Secures their souls from harms,
And fell Temptation on the field
Of all its pow’r disarms!
2.1k
We trace the pow’r of Death from tomb to tomb,
And his are all the ages yet to come.
’Tis his to call the planets from on high,
To blacken Phoebus, and dissolve the sky;
His too, when all in his dark realms are hurl’d,
From its firm base to shake the solid world;
His fatal sceptre rules the spacious whole,
And trembling nature rocks from pole to pole.
Awful he moves, and wide his wings are spread:
Behold thy brother number’d with the dead!
From ******* freed, the exulting spirit flies
Beyond Olympus, and these starry skies.
Lost in our woe for thee, blest shade, we mourn
In vain; to earth thou never must return.
Thy sisters too, fair mourner, feel the dart
Of Death, and with fresh torture rend thine heart.
Weep not for them, and leave the world behind.
As a young plant by hurricanes up torn,
So near its parent lies the newly born—
But ’midst the bright ehtereal train behold
It shines superior on a throne of gold:
Then, mourner, cease; let hope thy tears restrain,
Smile on the tomb, and sooth the raging pain.
On yon blest regions fix thy longing view,
Mindless of sublunary scenes below;
Ascend the sacred mount, in thought arise,
And seek substantial and immortal joys;
Where hope receives, where faith to vision springs,
And raptur’d seraphs tune th’ immortal strings
To strains extatic. Thou the chorus join,
And to thy father tune the praise divine.
1.7k
XXI. TO APOLLO (5 lines)
(ll. 1-4) Phoebus, of you even the swan sings with clear voice to
the beating of his wings, as he alights upon the bank by the
eddying river Peneus; and of you the sweet-tongued minstrel,
holding his high-pitched lyre, always sings both first and last.
(l. 5) And so hail to you, lord! I seek your favour with my
song.
1.6k
I am the sad widower, dissolute;
The prince of Aquitaine, by luck deposed:
My glistening soul is dead; its jeweled flute
sings perturbed melodies until opposed!
In the darkness of tombs, I am consoled.
Return, Oh Pospillo and the seas which doze:
The flower which pleases my heart has been sold;
And vines grow thick without the tender rose....
Am I love or Phoebus? ... Lusignan or Byron?
Still, I'm made to blush from the queen's embrace;
Although I dream in Neptune's silent place.
I have crossed the Acheron twice before:
Upon the Orphic lyre I've played by turns—
Saintly sighs and the awful cries of yore.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
The crest of solemn ocean wave
So early breaks on windy beach
Where fairest Phoebus struggles sadly 'gainst
Triumphing clouds.
His horns, his blares to no avail:
Fall deaf on Egypt's Temple crushed to sand
To make this morning beach where sail
The looming gulls.
They hunger as they soar, their lonely cries
Are swept away by dawn's uncaring breeze.
That shore I wandered all alone,
Apart from you in restless dreams,
Disturbing sand-crab holes with stepping shoes
Sought lenses lost.
Possess'd of power to see without
Refinings of their frame, my need mere want,
I walked, a pool, and filled with doubt
That proud waves tossed.
Would sharpening vision truly help me find
That which I knew was only in my mind?
When then in heaven's light aloft
I spied a weightless patterned kite:
I called not to my glasses, but to Thoth
To aid my sight.
The soaring toy like silent hawk
Without the weight of sadness flew so light
Beneath the clouds now heard to talk
Instead of fight.
It seemed to catch a fleeting floating bliss
As pillars of the firmament it kissed.
The time was chill, the morning swift,
Where icy waves brow-beat the shore,
Impassioned blew the wind and kite did lift,
Yet hues endured.
What children tugged upon its string
Wishing to live capricious life, to soar,
Bemoaning birth neglecting wing
And all allure?
Yet came a haunting cry, in winds was clad,
Reminding me that still the seagull's sad.
I reach the crest of rocky fold
Beholding barnacles held fast,
Sea grasses over corals bare and cold,
And broken glass.
Sight has no sway of nature's spell:
I ponder Neptune's endless shoals
And whether glimpse of youths should tell
Me of their souls.
Can ever we catch sight of inner form
Reliant on the jelly of our eyes?
I turn to face my sandy steps,
Triumphant Phoebus clouds did rout,
I feel there's folly in my aided sight
So leave without.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 2:37 PM UTC
XIII
To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Aires.
Harry whose tuneful and well measur’d Song
First taught our English Musick how to span
Words with just note and accent, not to scan
With Midas Ears, committing short and long;
Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng,
With praise enough for Envy to look wan;
To after age thou shalt be writ the man,
That with smooth aire couldst humor best our tongue
Thou honour’st Verse, and Verse must send her wing
To honour thee, the Priest of Phoebus Quire
That tun’st their happiest lines in Hymn or Story
Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher
Then his Casella, whom he woo’d to sing
Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.
1.3k
The fountain shivers lightly in the rain,
The laurels drip, the fading roses fall,
The marble satyr plays a mournful strain
That leaves the rainy fragrance musical.
Oh dripping laurel, Phoebus sacred tree,
Would that swift Daphne’s lot might come to me,
Then would I still my soul and for an hour
Change to a laurel in the glancing shower.
1.3k
Cruisin' the highway of life
Nothing can get in my way
Radio up, tunes I adore
I couldn't ask for anything more
Suddenly, I start to swerve
Euphoric poison jostles my nerves
I'm losing control, and I can't feel
Somebody please take the wheel
It started as a bit of fun
The race unfinished I had won
Soon enough I'd sense false glory
Would I live to tell my story?
Somebody catch me, I'm falling
Harsh realities now appalling
Don't you know I could be bawling
Instead these words I'm duly scrawling
A million projects unfinished
Sense of time diminished
Sentiments overdue
Self-assuredness gone askew
Perhaps the most productive time
Still I would rather be just fine
Than pacing, racing, sleep deprived
Just glad I made it out alive
In the midst of all this rambling
I'm sure glad I'm not out gambling
Not for money, but survival
Bless my sanity's revival
First came the ocean's bottom
Next, the top of the world
Then, I was numb, dead
Now I am myself instead
At first it was a paradox
I couldn't understand
Drugs meant to resurrect me
Could render me so bland
But that was just a phase
The gilded Age was brief
Not long 'fore I could smell fresh air
Salt's not a stealthy thief
The seasons change
Friends come and go
But I outlast
And won't let go
To anyone who's in a bind
Keep fighting, see it through
There's sunshine once the clouds are gone
It's waiting there for you.
post nubila phoebus
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 2:57 PM UTC
Experiencing an alien place,
A place where Phoebus' face
Fails to face the winds
That blow with subtracting grace.
A large green field,
Surrounded by white topped peaks
And the green waters that adds on to the greenery
And hits you with the blows of mist and mystery.
The delight of so vibrant a sight,
Soaking you in the atmosphere so light.
The cold, dark, smokey breaths
That you breathe out of your shivering cold
Breathed out with a rather warmed up heart
Giving your life an entirely new start.
And the glacial fed rivers,
The perennial rivers up north
That freeze in the dark winter
To overpower your damp sweaters.
The snowfall and the nightfall,
The contrast of black and white,
Of darkness and brightness,
The soft fall on the hard grounds,
The gentle touch on the roughness,
And you ask yourself,
Is this the real life?
Life it is, indeed.
Your words freeze as you speak,
Your thoughts freeze as you think,
Immerse yourself in the foggy glory!
Weave yourself a new life story!
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
Look long and deep within
yourself and wake your
true potential.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC
O WERE my Love yon lilac fair,
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring,
And I a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing;
How I *** mourn when it was torn
By autumn wild and winter rude!
But I *** sing on wanton wing
When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.
O gin my Love were yon red rose
That grows upon the castle wa',
And I mysel a drap o' dew,
Into her bonnie breast to fa';
O there, beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With every thing that pretty is,
My lady, sweet, arise!
Arise, arise!
William Shakespeare
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
Deeply thrown to the maw of the earth
A gaze could own there all it’s worth
Never have extremes before been too depthless
And Transformed.
Light and darkness swallow one
As positivism is garbled and undone
Such a void of the ****** the saved
For neither have such slopes they braved
Or bedlam tamed.
Blesséd teeth of the darker cave
Lend me my voice, though starker, back
And echoed song sung,
Though lost in its ribs
Its to have in that chorus, black:
Harpish wings trickling bells and
Harmonious little sightless things
Loosed from dear Apollo’s light
Darkness scares Phoebus’ chariots
On which the fire-stallions ride.
In their flaming stead and ruthless might,
My frightful heels turned and taken flight.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:35 AM UTC
J'aime le souvenir de ces époques nues,
Dont Phoebus se plaisait à dorer les statues.
Alors l'homme et la femme en leur agilité
Jouissaient sans mensonge et sans anxiété,
Et, le ciel amoureux leur caressant l'échine,
Exerçaient la santé de leur noble machine.
Cybèle alors, fertile en produits généreux,
Ne trouvait point ses fils un poids trop onéreux,
Mais, louve au coeur gonflé de tendresses communes,
Abreuvait l'univers à ses tétines brunes.
L'homme, élégant, robuste et fort, avait le droit
D'être fier des beautés qui le nommaient leur roi ;
Fruits purs de tout outrage et vierges de gerçures,
Dont la chair lisse et ferme appelait les morsures !
Le Poète aujourd'hui, quand il veut concevoir
Ces natives grandeurs, aux lieux où se font voir
La nudité de l'homme et celle de la femme,
Sent un froid ténébreux envelopper son âme
Devant ce noir tableau plein d'épouvantement.
Ô monstruosités pleurant leur vêtement !
Ô ridicules troncs ! torses dignes des masques !
Ô pauvres corps tordus, maigres, ventrus ou flasques,
Que le dieu de l'Utile, implacable et serein,
Enfants, emmaillota dans ses langes d'airain !
Et vous, femmes, hélas ! pâles comme des cierges,
Que ronge et que nourrit la débauche, et vous, vierges,
Du vice maternel traînant l'hérédité
Et toutes les hideurs de la fécondité !
Nous avons, il est vrai, nations corrompues,
Aux peuples anciens des beautés inconnues :
Des visages rongés par les chancres du coeur,
Et comme qui dirait des beautés de langueur ;
Mais ces inventions de nos muses tardives
N'empêcheront jamais les races maladives
De rendre à la jeunesse un hommage profonde,
- A la sainte jeunesse, à l'air simple, au doux front,
A l'oeil limpide et clair ainsi qu'une eau courante,
Et qui va répandant sur tout, insouciante
Comme l'azur du ciel, les oiseaux et les fleurs,
Ses parfums, ses chansons et ses douces chaleurs !
698
O rich Heaven! The owner of earths! You already own the infinity!
Diamonds in the size of the mount Olympus, even vast,
Torches numberless, thousand times bigger than the phoebus,
Every departed soul from the past twinkles already on your lap large,
Seas without shores and the biggest of all ball floors,
Legends with roots so dense even light cannot probe, what's one more?
Of all combinations between the south and the north
O greedy Heaven! You lust for my love!
Don't rob this poor with such rich hands, I pray to you,
Even if I refrain others will rave and stain.
O don't pluck the apples of my eyes. Shame!
Had I been a beggar that blindness would have given me fame!
But living under your roof doesn't allow me to beg,
So, my sole request- let my loves throb in my rustic chest.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
The herald of the day
Began his march again
As he did yesterday and will tomorrow
Making someone gay, to other - bringing sorrow
Attention paying no to people’s prayers
Towing in accordance with eternal plan
Inexorably
as if In chariot across the sky
Starting in the east and westward strides to die, to sleep, no more, but just today,
To-morrow ‘gain unmooring from his bay
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 11:54 PM UTC