"polyphemus" poems
Duck Dynasty has been replaced
by the folks at “A” & “E”.
we’re “GLAAD” to hear they lost their spot
to Zeus and company.
It’s felt the morals of Zeus ‘clan
Reflect the zeitgeist better.
Zeus is fond of little boys,
Swans, and shapely heifers.
Hera, his wife, of all her kids,
loves Artemis the most.
Apollo and Athena
Leave no room for the “Holy ghost”
Dionysus will do well
while hawking wine and beer.
Though Polyphemus freaks me out
Fans say he is a dear.
So tune in for the Sausage fest
And watch the hunt for ******
The role of Ganymede has been cast-
He’s played by Justin Bieber.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
here is something that
mother told me
about god complexes:
“everyone believes themselves
to be gods among men:
even that hideous monster from your
half-remembered Hellenistic dreams
will retreat back to
his craggy hideaway and continue
with his hedonistic ways.
the poor creature:
he will don a halo,
iconize himself in caricatures
pretending that if for a moment
his veins flow ichorous that
Icarus may have envied when his wings
beat in tandem with the footfalls of
the sun chariots’ horses.
“the sun shines upon
hallowed ground, though Polyphemus
will avoid Helios’s scornful gaze.
he herds sheep––his only acolytes––
an unabashed king in his realm,
like a god plays war, or as a child
would play house,
humming hallelujah,
veins running gold-blooded.
when moon rises,
he will hang his weary
shadow at his door and retreat
to his fire-pit. perhaps this will be
the closest he will be to the gods,
basking in the heat of Hestia’s
humble hearth.
“in the end,” mother said,
“Nobody will end up deified.
Icarus may have rained down wax and
feathers in godlike fury
before tilting his head to Helios once more;
Polyphemus waded into the sea,
eyes clouded in godlike fury
before resigning himself to fate, head bowed.”
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Will you become the wall and stay silent listening to my wails today?
I count every drop that wets your edifice brick by brick in this rain:
This day of prayer, the festival that comes only once in many years.
Today I stand kneeling before the skies that fumed in thunders
I have weathered life to walk up to this shore where you stand,
Your watery eyes the lighthouse that guided me lost in the sea-storm.
Polyphemus could not stop me, nor the Sirens, not even Calypso.
Here I come, your pilgrim in my hood, I who accepted war over love
The war in which I lost everything: friends, comrades and mates.
O Athene, have my sacrifices been in vain, will you not bring her to
speak? She who has gone silent like a wall, wet in this wailing rain.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:53 AM UTC
I am in love with Nobody
And Nobody loves me,
When I roll over in my bed
It’s Nobody I see;
Nobody cares enough to stay
And hold me when I weep,
And Nobody will dry my tears
To soothe me back to sleep;
Nobody is a friend to me
When I am feeling down,
And Nobody knows what to do
To get rid of my frown.
As I go through my average day
Nobody’s by my side,
Offering his company or
proffering his guide.
Nobody is my only friend
Sent from the gods above,
But now it seems that fate has tried
To meddle with our love.
Tomorrow night, my Nobody
Heads back to his old home;
He has a wife and child, he says,
Who know not where he roams;
Nobody has been travelling
For years from shore to shore,
Traversing through Ionia
After the Trojan War.
Oh, I will miss my Nobody
With all my giant heart,
I cannot bear to dwell on thoughts
Of us being apart.
Nobody holds my hand and says,
“Polyphemus, don’t cry,”
But I can’t stop the massive tears
From welling in my eye.
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 7:37 PM UTC
I’m doing so well.
I offered you to Charybdis in exchange for my sanity.
Scylla too, at first, but she seemed too great an evil and I’m over it, I promise.
I’d rather watch you disappear into the maelstrom of my memory than
have to pick six pieces of your body from the crags in my head.
I’m doing so well.
I warned you of the Lotus Eaters
and took ten deep breaths when you peeked inside the bag of winds and blew our love astray.
I told a blind Polyphemus you were sorry for his loss.
He said Nobody is sorry, and I knew that he was right.
I’m doing so well.
I amble through Phoenicia on sidewalks that remember all the stories you told.
I bump into Nausikaa. She asks if I am Circe, and I tell her my name.
She drops her gaze to the pavement before admitting that you never mentioned me.
I’m doing so well.
I don’t spite the olives that dare to grow without our bodies entwined beneath them.
And I don’t mind when Antinous calls me ahead, begging me to finish our shroud - to leave the loom,
and us, behind.
I’m doing so well.
I buried all my anger in Kalypso’s wet sand
And as it followed you out to sea with the tide she came up and commiserated;
You left her once, too.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
i.
In the archaic agora
Stayed apothecaries, money changers, and tradesmen;
Governor's with grape stained sin's
Himation throw over's, as for women a chiton, white garb glint.
ii.
Betwixt the sea human being multitude
Were the many different Greek's, and the Grecian Jew's;
This locale was vibrant, a theatre nearby where the soldier's couldst escape from the war, whilst fighting made market new's.
iii.
A poet I was, listening to homer, and the philosopher Plato
Whilst Aristotle read marvelous novel's, whilst Aristophanes gaveth me a laugh; and Hippocrates showed me doctor's notes for the generation's to cometh and pass, Sophocles to giveth fun task.
iv.
Off in the distance was a lass not from around mine Greek land
Her skin a little darker, her eye's **** wick's, ablazed, her sheath Asiatic tan; she hadst no brand, she was not formed by any human creator, her tropical hair, swayed to the Mediterranean.
v.
She was struggling, fighting for her life from the cyclops Polyphemus, I ran quickly to her rescue, pulling out mine xiphos;
She passed out from the trauma, her pupils rolled back timeful
As I woketh her with mine poetic Lip's, giving her life, greek kiss.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl jane nagley dedication
©Lonesome poets poetry
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
Grizzled-brown sound of tuba walking,
In the way of circles you wobble step, inverse,
As does a broken waltz, bearly graceful.
You sniff your way a crush alpine meadows
And making sense for you are lowly berries,
Rude as any intruder might be in the foothills
Of the Gods. 'More wine for the great Polyphemus,'
Say the drunk brambles, brighty doomed sailors
All a wash by behemothing jaws which hang
Them over. Yet Ursa, if in minor you must play
By the cosmos' stilted view, great major, it is they
Who glare more distant, as if you really cared.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
Grizzled-brown sound of tuba walking,
In the way of circles you wobble step, inverse,
As does a broken waltz, bearly graceful.
You sniff your way a crush alpine meadows
And making sense for you are lowly berries,
Rude as any intruder might be in the foothills
Of the Gods. 'More wine for the great Polyphemus,'
Say the drunk brambles, brighty doomed sailors
All a wash by behemothing jaws which hang
Them over. Yet Ursa, if in minor you must play
By the cosmos' stilted view, great major, it is they
Who glare more distant, as if you really cared.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
Grizzled-brown sound of tuba walking,
In the way of circles you wobble step, inverse,
As does a broken waltz, bearly graceful.
You sniff your way a crush alpine meadows
And making sense for you are lowly berries,
Rude as any intruder might be in the foothills
Of the Gods. 'More wine for the great Polyphemus,'
Say the drunk brambles, brighty doomed sailors
All a wash by behemothing jaws which hang
Them over. Yet Ursa, if in minor you must play
By the cosmos' stilted view, great major, it is they
Who glare more distant, as if you really cared.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
From Publius to Livia
Livia, I write to renounce your fields,
My sweat no longer yours to claim.
My harvests fed the eternal city,
Yet you see only Gaius and his shadow, Marcus.
...
Blind to the furrows I plowed,
The terraces I raised, the grapes I nurtured,
I tamed wild Ceres before you came,
Turning forest to field, field to farm.
...
Then you arrived, trailing discord’s hound,
Gorging on Gaius’s hollow praise,
Stealing credit for my toil,
Casting me as a shade on your wall.
...
I prayed to the Capitoline Triad,
Offered a white bull to Jupiter, king,
Begging radiant Sol to burn through your guise,
And bless my path with brighter horizons.
...
To Juno, I burned frankincense and myrrh,
Pleading ****** to sweep you astray,
Your pets adrift on Sicilian shores,
Left to Polyphemus’s wrathful gaze.
...
To Minerva, I poured my own wine,
Urging her to unmask your arachnid soul,
Your arrogance a web of self-woven lies,
Dagger-tipped legs stained with stolen blood.
...
The gods have heard, Livia. Your weave unravels.
My fields await under noonday sun,
While yours wither in my absence,
Your perfection a fading, frail deceit.
Signed, PERTINAX
Jul 7, 2024
Jul 7, 2024 at 10:44 AM UTC
Grizzled-brown sound of tuba walking,
In the way of circles you wobble step, inverse,
As does a broken waltz, bearly graceful.
You sniff your way a crush alpine meadows
And making sense for you are lowly berries,
Rude as any intruder might be in the foothills
Of the Gods. 'More wine for the great Polyphemus,'
Say the drunk brambles, brighty doomed sailors
All a wash by behemothing jaws which hang
Them over. Yet Ursa, if in minor you must play
By the cosmos' stilted view, great major, it is they
Who glare more distant, as if you really cared.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
Spiders all around me,
Crawling everywhere.
Spiders all above me,
Hanging in the air.
Worms are in my body,
Killing me from inside.
Worms are biting at my flesh,
Eating me alive.
Nobody’s there to save me.
They can’t see a thing.
I don’t want help from Nobody.
Nobody lies within.
Trembling and scratching,
With spiders in my hair.
The worms have finished eating.
Only the bones are left here.
Now my ghost remains
Outside my hollowed husk.
But I no longer tremble.
The day has turned to dusk.
At night Nobody’s there again,
This time a welcome guest.
They come to claim what Nobody deserves.
Indeed, I’ve lost their bet.
I am calm through the night,
With Nobody there to hold me.
With dawn, my world repeats, again,
The same unrelenting story:
Spiders, Worms, Nobody, Nobody
Spiders, Worms, Nobody, Nobody
Spiders, Worms, Nobody, Nobody
Spiders, Worms, Nobody, Nobody
What if, One evening I left this world
At the same time my soul left my body?
Who would be there to say goodbye?
Spiders? Worms? Nobody? Nobody.
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 12:01 PM UTC
Blind Polyphemus
shepherds his dull flock of sheep.
Ulysses long gone.
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
I walked into a room
Peopled
Their confluence a paisley print
Impeccably placed
Cheek to cheek
Eye to *****
Auras pulled and taught,
Twisted,
Moored and strained,
Frayed on the brink -
Begging, pleading to sail,
To be borne onto nature’s ways.
I walked into a room
Vacant of life
Shoulder to breast creatures
Spoke to No One and, only
Thought of distant barren shores.
Trill and fussy, surrendered
Invincibility was ripped asunder.
The waves licked the rocks
While singing of
Disasters looming.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:01 PM UTC
unlike man with a petition: i prefer to hunch myself to craft a shadow like a crow: rather than kneel... because my "prayer" constitutes a ? rather than an question... i rather stand tall and hunch to inquire, as any inquisitor might... kneeling? worthy of a nation of eagle-worshiping and peasants; bogus-deity-scaffolders; typically with the genesis ex: egypt. i craft a shadow from a strong frame, bowing... i bow before god, rather than kneel, rather than takbir, al-qiyyam, ruku, sujud, julus: is there anyone actually listening to learn? called the "lesser" hand-shake.
make a cameo of me on
the part:
where i don't have
to film it; mmm'kay?
i'm a cyclops,
but i have a third eye that's
missing...
i'm looking,
and i'm looking:
but there's the persistent
third party:
sources.
if only modern technology
didn't give birth
to man's artificial third eye...
people are spotted all around
with their third eyes..
who the **** is going
to blink twice when
the person having blinked...
has blinked?!
i'm happy with two...
keep the third;
i can only be so bothered
to enter the cyclops dimension.
seriously? seriously?!
the ******* sirens singing
chopped your 'ed off or
something?
******* tea-bag worth
of intellect... munchkin
Barabbas.
these days it ought to be
called mathias vs. polyphemus
rather than david vs. goliath...
and to think: the drunk me sees
more clearly than my sober
contemporaries...
that's ******* sad...
sad as sad can be:
without an urn worth of sand
to call crematory ash.
this world is not worth being
attached to, even with the remains of
Roo-m'é.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
I'm going to tell you an story:
At first
There was only
Fractals
And mysterious forces
That they wove them
On the delicate canvas
From the void.
Galactic Star Beings
Whose fingers and limbs
They danced in a swing
Dictated by the music of heaven
And there, in the middle of the fire of creation
Cosmic little seed, sigh
Hidden in the subsequent emulsion
From the juices of god
Spilling over
Free humanity
That barely light
Runs
Perpetual
Between the shelves of time
Drawing footsteps of all sizes
In all hemispheres,
distributed
Through latitudes, sown at the tip of Oz and the sword
Of a complex zoology
That of the human animal
Fire thief
Polyphonic heron of storms
Seabird that augurs stars
Because we are built
With feathers
That threw the phoenix and the albatross
On the holy land.
And bloom right in the middle
At the beginning of the war
When everything succumbs
And the ruin falls to pieces.
Little rainbow seed, your serpent tongue
Invoke the circular prayer of your abdomen
A sacred energy
Possessed in the word
You undress
Oracle of ******
Emitting a little moan
Barely cat
And overshadowed the man in his misery
Contemplate gods that understand nothing
Rejoice in tumultuous ecstasy
Of his exacerbated human games
Oh for the being of creation
The whole cosmos!
Sanctus and lux aeternam, in paradisum
No requiem bears your name, no bullet
Plus all my poems
No grave my epitaph
And i have died
More than a thousand times
Shake is to infinite prison of bones
The sacred words of the alseid
And the naiad of moisture
How jubilant
He gave his most beautiful flower to Priapus
And you who did not want to lose yourself
In the labyrinth of the Minotaur
When you offer
Your blood on lotus leaves
Worshiping Polyphemus, the lotus eaters
And to the cyclops in the same way
And me sitting in the middle of the odyssey
With headphones on
And the lost look
Thinking
When will the war happen?
When will the war happen?
When will the war happen?
R.
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 3:02 PM UTC