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Onoma Jan 2012
Zeus, your predilection for banishing Titans to Hades...
anathema of them--revolt was theirs of you...Titanomachy.
Enter Prometheus, second generational Titan, brother
to Atlas--Prometheus of whom Titan revolt at first ran
no fire through his veins.
Thus, Zeus was well pleased and employed Prometheus
to put earth to water, water to to yield man.
As so man was, and was unto Prometheus...a fondness
entered him of them.
And in of passion Prometheus' veins were run through
with fought fire--thus Prometheus reached out
taking hold Zeus' lightning.
Hid in a hollowed fennel stalk, to be bequeathed unto man.
Torrents of fire now ran Prometheus' veins, and in a fit of
infamous mockery presented Zeus with two packets of
slaughtered animal parts.
A hubris was born in Prometheus that being so halved
God-man gave itself fully to that polarity...he gawked at
Zeus and bade him choose between the two packets.
One of ox meat and innards coated in stomach lining, the
other of ox-bones coated in its own abundant fat.
Thus Zeus chose, the wretched lesser of the two...
inconsumable ox-bones coated by fat.
A charged and terrible air cut and heavied all direction,
pointing assuredly that Zeus was one given over to the
surface of things, a psychological casualty of his own
Zeus overcome with Prometheus' disaffection for the God
of him struck at Prometheus' family.
At length, this assault could not, would not put asunder
Prometheus from the ground he stood.
A certain Haphaestus was summoned by Zeus...whose
directive was writ in torment.
Chain Prometheus to Mount Caucasus...where from on
high a sackcloth cloud shall shake loose an eagle, whose
homing hunger shall have only a taste for Prometheus' liver.
Day in, and day out, that accursed ***** shall be the
bounty of itself!
Megan Sherman Jul 2018
In age of old, in time that pass like tides,
When Prometheus lived and Lo! He strived,
As thirsting for Heaven, he climbed its hills, and trees,
Clenching at the Sun, its spark he seize.

The leaves, they warmed, turn bright and evergreen,
As Prometheus, he to fierce fire wean,
Swell lips sip lightning, of the nascent noon,
And divine heat from his hand duly shone,
To Roses, who sing, uprise and sweet rebel,
In bloom to conquer, vanquish concrete hell.

A wish for fire, fulfilled, angered Zeus,
He thought the fire be given, not to choose,
That excellence with fire, laurel his,
"A crime against the Gods Prometheus did."
For glory of the light from Heaven sent,
The hour of his favour now gone, spent.

Smite down the hero, tear ambition down,
Old Zeus, but young ambition wears your crown,
For daring, striving why not badge of God?
The Promethean vision all time hath applaud,
It art of upper world, belong in sky,
Praise Prometheus as fire goes roving by.

Mind gilded by the golden, whirling thread,
You seize from Heaven, through the Earth now spread,
Bringing hope to hearts, life to the dead,
As for forgiveness of the Gods you plead,
For an uncriminal act and sublime deed,
The arrogance of Zeus? Need not to feed.
Ian Apr 2013
And I suppose that it is funny,
in a macabre sort of way
how we all forget the tale of Prometheus.
He who thought to bring gods level with men,
with a simple gift.
Yet his gift was one with no equal.
He gave mankind fire, that in turn gave us life,
and with life comes love, compassion, humanity.
But what did he recieve in return?
Thanks to his act of love
for his adopted progeny,
Prometheus was chained to a rock, destined
to die once every day.
His instestines,
set to be disgested by an eagle once a day.
His pain unrivaled,
for his original sin shed
light on our existence.
And for this, we write no songs,
we hold dear no poems,
we hallow no ground.
His flames gave birth to us,
and here we are,
choking on our own arrogance and hate.
So I suppose, that
in a sense Prometheus was the first nice guy,
who finished last.
Because being the Prometheus,
means there shall be no songs sung of you,
no poems written for you,
and you will be eclipsed by others.
Your deeds will go unloved,
your accolades will go unnoticed.
The world is a mean place,
and however cruel it is,
sometimes being and doing right
gets you nowhere.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
me? these days?
i have to bribe bonsai tigers
to fall asleep by giving them
excess treats,
drink myself to a limit
and then take insomnia tablets,
glance at the stars
and gag up a bolshevik black hole,
think about russian
newly-wed millionaires
spending so mcuh the taxes go up,
testifying: well when the full circus
with elephants and missing acrobats
comes... and there's no french revolution
versace... we're in bigger crap
we thought we were...
so i took to peddling, keeping heart
rate with feeling rather than
a heart-rate keeper on the wrist known
as apple / iWank...
you'll never believe the amount
of creativity that comes from Onan...
it's like that story of onan and samson
like it's that story of cain and abel...
you'd have to be a mozart to find a creative
continuum in women rather than
beethoven in the hive of being deaf...
say rich and thus say spend...
say poor and thus say like a primate
with two flint stones... what the hell is this?!
japanese crow reduced their beak for
nut crushing purposes into a car tire.
so came the world favouring thought
from prometheus' liver
when in diaper-shelter postman pat delivery
by a stork... but each of us that got the slit
of liver never claimed origins in the apple
adam ******* out when eve forgot
that satan's singularity was expressed in
a pluralism: eat this apple, depilate,
and you and adam will be like the gods...
but then the metrosexual emerged
with shaved legs and a shaved chest...
down the drain that dream went:
as long as you eat the apple and know
you have hairy legs... i'm sure whatever you
say he will be ordained with pleasure to perform...
eve - i need a hammer
adam - here babe
eve - i need a nail
adam - here babe
eve - i need five planks of wood, four legs one like an abdomen
adam - here babe
eve - mash it up
adam - hey babe, what's that?
eve - a ****** table, tapestry for porcelain!
adam - woah! that's great!
eve to god - this adam is a ****** robot!
satan to eve - well... get ready for ******.
Kelly O'Connor Dec 2013
Burning nails, the beginning of the end and black sails for the death of an invisible friend,
Tragic loss resulting from the magic catapulting from my fingertips.
Read my fiery lips:
Give me shelter from your Neptunian storm,
Split the world with a wedge and keep our bodies warm
Kick the trunk of the oak until it bleeds with the fire you stoke
And coke you need and **** you smoke, and ****** Prometheus,
You are only human. But the fire in your blood leaves their smokestacks fuming
And nothing can save you, enslave yourself
With your strong-willed bravery on a rocky shelf.
Roll your eyes, disregard, spit in faces, **** me off
Because I'm the good sister, just tend the hearth and when I speak I scoff.
My name is Hestia, and I don't often stray from the Pantheon
So just trust me on this:
I'll introduce you to the smoldering truths, induce catharsis
And let your body loose, pick up your liver, tend your wounds
As if they were ash and oil, because we alone know justice.
You alone know how you've toiled.
And I can only start to understand your firebrand,
A passionate command. I tolerate you and adore you for your mortal score.
Prometheus, don't let those raptors gouge you anymore.
Myra Jun 2015
Do you regret sharing your love?
Do you regret anything at all?
Do you feel you have done enough?
I see you in chains
As a victim, you are what the eagles have claimed
Has anyone ever thanked you?
We're too busy blaming ourselves for our sins
We've forgotten all about you
How ungrateful, we've become
We belittle the great things we have done
Our accomplishments have suddenly turned into sins
And the light you gave us is slowly turning dim
But I will grow this fire into a beacon
And call the Eagles home
I thank you, Prometheus
For making our voices known

O holy Aether, and swift-winged Winds,
And River-wells, and laughter innumerous
Of yon Sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all,
And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you,--
Behold me a god, what I endure from gods!
Behold, with throe on throe,
How, wasted by this woe,
I wrestle down the myriad years of Time!
Behold, how fast around me
The new King of the happy ones sublime
Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me!
Woe, woe! to-day's woe and the coming morrow's
I cover with one groan. And where is found me
A limit to these sorrows?
And yet what word do I say? I have foreknown
Clearly all things that should be; nothing done
Comes sudden to my soul--and I must bear
What is ordained with patience, being aware
Necessity doth front the universe
With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse
Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave
In silence or in speech. Because I gave
Honor to mortals, I have yoked my soul
To this compelling fate. Because I stole
The secret fount of fire, whose bubbles went
Over the ferrule's brim, and manward sent
Art's mighty means and perfect rudiment,
That sin I expiate in this agony,
Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky.
Ah, ah me! what a sound,
What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseen
Of a god, or a mortal, or nature between,
Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her bound,
To have sight of my pangs, or some guerdon obtain--
Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain!
The god Zeus hateth sore,
And his gods hate again,
As many as tread on his glorified floor,
Because I loved mortals too much evermore.
Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear,
As of birds flying near!
And the air undersings
The light stroke of their wings--
And all life that approaches I wait for in fear.
apathy Sep 2013
i am prometheus
you are the bird.

as i sit here chained,
i can't control what happens,
i can't end this torture,
i can't end the pain

and now, day by day, you eat out my soul
i know you enjoy it,
you live life and laugh,
making fun of all my pain

for i am prometheus, ain't that so?
or maybe a 15 year old girl hurt by an old foe
i don't know
all i do know is,
why can't you just stop?
stop eating my soul out,
stop torturing me

can't you just end this my zeus?
Prometheus. You,
Were favored among man.

Prometheus. You
Stole fire from the gods.

I was fire and
at the creation of Earth.

Feet dance like,
Hips sway,
Hair flung wild like
Yangtze and Ganges

I was energy and passion
until you loved me
to Olympus rock.
Greedy bird, you are never full.
The spark of creativity
or genesis of thoughts
defined as an idea
coming from a void

For the word Man
is translated as Thought
and thinking in itself
is action of Man
Basically gives you the entire gist behind the myth without doing what I did which was to read dozens of books with small excerpts about it.
Lark Train Jun 2016
That's what they call me.
Your heart, phoenix fire.
I stole your heart. Ha ha
hashtag1stworldproblems, but
couldn't even win a prize for reading:
'But there was no give in the cat,
no flex anywhere but his tail. And for
a moment their roles reversed, as though it were
the train facing
the inevitable cat...'
'n' dog 69er
vukojebina Tasmaniandevil in a ******
ad under/overbiting off more than I can
chew Escher's pretzel autocannibal
Prometheus in a Faustian ****
stage pacman dragon fusion starbirth centre
of the earth Bruckheimer pileup of me

Meanwhile bombs fall everywhere but here.

Singing 'Suggasuggasugga my art ***,
liggaliggaligga my art hole'

putting out the bins Insta-grommet-
ed Fama-widgetted the world but the world
is washing its ***** homme moyen sensuel
feels neither ****** nor blessed
culdesac wilderness no 'Wot no samo
©' enriches but inside my flat wypipo
surahs are basquiated alll over bones stones
& date palm fronds Newyork Paris London
Norwich supernobody supernova of purple psychology
prisoner between the lines egotistical subprime of me.

Allthewhile bombs immortalise everywhere but here.

Praying ' Ia! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat
of the Woods With a 1000 Young'
  yet still
the DWP send brown envelopes like post-
al millenarian sandwichboards or economic
letterbombs mash of calendars unassailable
nth mph inevitable catastrophe alazonic
file Akashic Bureau declassifies
is conceit of a train facing a rhino of a meme by
necessity a meme of a rhino gardarhino swino
my geworfen gurn of response scenarios
geworfen backatcha megillah galaxy
fillet ubeity is barrow pig cosmic bootyclap of me.

Everyday bombs bombarded the Mousetrap Theatre
but never hereatre.

Isn't everything just advanced basketmaking
everything is advanced basket-
making everything either that or egowanking
like urban legend of the Purple One ouroboros-
ing his purple one Janusjaws bittensmit-
ten by tailtaste once American sawboneses
optimised the Tom Thumb of Funk's
zeroshape with double ribectomy musta hadda sillycunt
implant ah the hiss of hubris human CMBR
soliphissing hero of selflove whited sepulchres
'This is the only musical the mouth & hopefully
the brain attached to the mouth, right?'
X-iestance of me.

The bombs they bombeth everyday, but I'm okay.

Big Gazrilo Princep Bang weltgeschichtlich pinup
modcon slave to my suprachiasmatic nucleus living
l'appel du vide in comfort fatarse sitrep
tragicecstatic bluff transparent as an exhibition-
ist pharaoh mummified in cling-
film hokeycokeying the keys till my right hand's in
court & my leftover hand doesn't count
tallies of tall realities like BasquiAT-ATs or Daliphants
skittled by Tippex the inner crickets' tip-
ple ghost grawlixes sculpsit grazes 00Q's qwerty spype
no carmen triumphale of poetical toothbrushes gets free
from chelseasmiled singularity inadequake scree of me.

But bombs being dropped is not the only way
this 40-yr-old 5'6 din of reverie will stop.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
. you're using all the right words: for all the wrong reasons... and let's face it: if women own the monopoly on reproductive avenues... then men hold the ego-key, to slot their presence, through a door, that curbs or gives allowances, to what is thought... *** was nether a transluçent enterprise... oh look... the Roma sigma pops up... dire straits: de profundis - money for nothing riff - boogie boogie... milkshakes from the 1950s 'n' all... you know what my biggest pet peeve is? the englih language imitating ancient Latin, i.e. not applying diacritical "punctuation" markers to close in on syllables and make the language atomic (i.e. H is hydrogen, He is helium)... **** me... the same Brits who lived in the 19th century, are not the same Brits living in the 21st century... no wonder the fertility rate is s ****** low.... try ******* an english bride... no thank you; i'd rather **** a female gorilla.

the milkman passes my house
at, circa, 3am...
see the van skid around the bend
up the hill...
i listen to music at volumes
equivalent to my father working
the construction site -
i'll be deaf by the time i'm 50...
     and guess what:
                  for the music i'm listening
to? it'll be worth it...

dittoing out:
   have the criticism of post-modernists
ever suffer?
doubt: doubt, is the modern
relief from existentialist
why is doubt being attacked?
doubt is half than that outright
******* of denial
proposed by French existentialists...
doubt is good in that it's
tornado of emotions,
you want to imitate Christ on
  you doubt, and achieve the pinnacle
of the passion...
you start negating?
     you're, nowhere...

    on your own...

came the noun-phobia of philosophers -
the tinkers and tailors
of a.. what seems to be:
a noun-phobia
  guaranteed with fog...
   and thing..

  the term
  "thing" presupposes
the supposition of tree...
     which subsequently serves
the proposition: let's hide in it!

      philosophy and its infamous
noun-phobia -
           and it's nihil...
  its nothing...
                 a ******* cul de sac -
     epigram -
       of quasi morse encoding -
     braille to boot -
September is coming -
           van Morrison (moondance) -
hiding autumnal chill -
proto-"africa": either in Hindustan -
or Siberia;

suppose a moon, suppose a shadow by
candlelight, some edgy urban solo -
as a bricklayer i could raise kids
and crux on a woman -
          chicken / doctoral itching with
a blunt nail are called scratchings -
             less digits in the digital
formatting - and more
                      the rotten handwriting
of general practitioners...
     Hippocrates might have made an oath...
but in terms of a handwritten cipher?
no clue...
               the canvas of a monkey
onomatopoeia within the confines
of a custard of a lexicon...
   a mouth thus opens -
a month begins -
instead of a tongue ejected from
the ivory temple -
  a sludge crescendo of a quasi
                 cascade of sludge gluing the
whole theater into
a replica of a Russian drinking game...

....                 ⠞⠓
          ...     ⠑⠁⠑
     ...           ⠞⠑
    ............                  ⠞
...                      ⠥ ⠎
     : : :           -  ⠎          
   ........ : ....           ⠕?

100 wolves of the continent...
for, but 1, fox,
of the English isles...
   i'll settle for that ratio...
and then i'll bite to ensure
a signature!

  howl all you want...
but have you ever found seagulls
annoying up the river?
more annoying than magpies
or crows?
             the wolves can howl
all they want..
ever endear the ear
to hear a fox "laughing"?
  might as well listen to me.
i cradle that sound,
above the chariots
of a human newborn...
        i grieve!
   i am... sombre gsture...
    a past, a passing,
a future, a wicker man within:
   banquette of souls!

    let's interlude -

   touko "tom" laaksonen -
    how can people "do" sober
           when entertaining such
        is it empathy, or sympathy?
            in the name of the either,
with either being the sum
of what wll never be a sum
     to gain from...
                  why not
       ****-ease up the ****
    for a zeppelin-esque
                            bomb drop -
(minor the Nagasaki) -
                    and hand-piked ****
with the cusp of your hand -
         throne of thrones -
   "king of kings":
  like ****...
  the holy trinity of
       the no. 1, as the no. 2,
   and subsequently the no. 3:
**** (father),
       take a **** (son)...
            ******* (the holy ghosts)...
king of kings,
never sat on the throne
of thrones...
   i always hated "artists"...
    painters -
   plagiarists -
      cheque sketchers...
         ******* indentation
from holding a pen to add to having
exposure to a grammatical examination...
       quality cinema:
panorama take on a versus of
heavy editing...
                     and there was a time
frame to encompass dialogue...
      somehow it fits:
the verbal myopic -
            the entire pre-
& post- canvas of a blinking eye...
   always the question of the
pre-industrialißed sketch;
words predating metaphor
akin to  -
  words versus metaphor
in genesis -
   format? anecdotal.

      in writing:
            by one hand alone,
made into two...
        my, my...
  what a ****** self-portrait
        a self-portrait...
a wish for color,
with nothing to show,
but the relief of encompassed bones;
that become a disembodied
skeleton - minus a purpose
of tendon attachments...

∟          "contra"    Δ          -
equilateral my ***...

            a few days spent within the confines
of a Promethean *****,
     there be, elemental insomnia
of an electric bespoke...
if Prometheus stole fire,
who, in in all for ****'s sake
stole the saber of Zeus,
the thunderbolt -
electricity, who?
who craved the insomnia?!
             this Frankenstein-esque
insomnia-zombification -
             white as is white:
with all the dermatological
copper take on broken shins...
         should ivory coco -
come between piglet *** copper
auburn in terms of autumn...

take your ****** *** elsewhere,
and then... start spelling
it with a missing G...
when citing Niger...
  you do the double dip of the NBA...
you count the second dip...
why do i love Batman as the best
  not of his superhero powers,
he has none...
          his enemies are
the only interesting
counter-factoids of
having implemented an existence
   there is no exacting of
a superhero,..
   but there is enough
to mind an antithesis...

          tylko wieśniak
by wydział film w tym,
          bo sie nie rusze -
    cegła, kamień -
       pień - mur -
           i by mówił - w tym
co zamarzło -
          to co ostygłe -
    w co z tym samym -
        meine filmisch -
      i skakaniem świec -
   od i na nagim cieniem -
   pytać nad pyche -
       tanz! tanz!
                 moje iskry słów...
   sto! i lat,
    o wielbłąd churem o
grzbiet da, i da,
       iskra; alfabetu!
    bogiem impromptu
o czym warty: -gień.

- suppose a moon, suppose a shadow,
by candlelight - within the confines of
mercury - that quickened silver -
some edgy urban solo -

      as a bricklayer or a cobbler  -
shoes that deviate from ushering
an echo -
          i could raise children and keep
a woman: only if she decided
upon not allowing me
a leash -
            what a saddening affair
of minds and freedom...
           chicken doctoral -
i don't know: vanity of the impossible
mortal gain...

    the monkey onomatopoeia
    within the confines of a custard
of  lexicon....

          that Victorian image proof
source of envisioned Braille in
the confines of a primate...
itches, scratches, chicken esque
clucking... which is what
handwriting looks like these days,
what, with the coding...
    semi plumber,
half the electrician...
  and certainly null when it comes
to calligraphic invigoration...

- homosexuality was always a contingency
escapade to release suppressed yearnings -
a sudden but a non-fulfillment questioning

               you can enforce curbing homosexuality,
but then there are two outlets...
the perversity: or the question...
of Ayn and Sophia...
        greeks ****** the hebrews in the hole
without an outlet - zee heed: with a missing A...
      Ayn - Aleph -
                    twin Adam -
          perhaps a Siamese abomination...

mind you... the forbidden fruit?
sounds more like... the forbidden flesh...

thee burdensome walking
the already burdened earth: as the fruit,
somewhere between the flesh of man's last predator,
contained, on land, and his hidden desire
for revenge and introspection,
a denial of commonality and shared purpose -
thou shall not consume
that which also hunts you -
little or no concern with equal
     measure of forbidding, that which you pet...
the forbidden "fruit",
in between the flesh of a sabertooth tiger,
and Cain's fruit of famine and incompetence:

   and why would you think about
drinking a ms. amber with pepsi...
pepsi! to coca -
and not slide in a slice of lemon
while you're at it?
  terrible mistake...
       well... one way to get y'er vit amins...

        and why is it that all the best
movies these days are about homosexuals?
the dutch girl for starters...
   me, drinking, watching t.v.?
either **** good drama,
a western,
   or a movie about a *******
          did i mention that i think that
homosexuality is an auxiliary escapade plan?
natural, of course,
    but i'd hate to have to life
a doubled up life -
then again...
     perhaps i would...
           me? i have a new girlfriend -
Sophia - and her ****: Philip -
           so am i expected to make demands
for the child they might end up
called Ayn, or Aleph?
                - the Wahhabi hypocrisy
    concerning music, or rather, censoring it...
but... but i thought the adhan:
the call to prayer: was sung,
rather than abiding by the catholic
credo murmur?
                         my bad... you know better...
i'll send you a postcard from
the Galapagos Islands,
if i find the time, to find:
    that 4th dimensional concept doing
the trigonometric shoom! elsewhere -
on a tangen "bias": **** knows where -
like a comet - missing a tail -
shoom!                                       gone.


            not enough thrills for a hard-on...
... images... drawings...
   apparently fine art is not enough
stimulation to ******* to for these Arabs...
****? .....   in general?
cartoons.... cartoons of women....
   ... because?
well... apparently the niqab...
  extends beyond the realm of...
  readily available attire...
            women on the street?
   pornographic "actresses"?
                       you see the cartoon?
it's all ******* ******...
                  oh don't get me wrong...
amy adams?
  buff as an exploding Hindenburg...
    the pale ginger - milchskin...
                - unrelated:
   how about i sneak a skunk into
        a coco chanel perfumery -
while advocating that people will still
call it a: scent just shy of roses and strawberries.

- people have heard of incels -
but have they heard of Vcels?
   yeah, yeah... voluntary celibacy -
i know what a ****** sounds and looks like -
and, to be honest?
   there's hardly any rhetorical ***
involved -
         a bit like jerking off...
              monkish chants -
Byzantine -
     the fear of man,
   when his own inability flourishes:
     in a woman...
these acts have become well trodden...
so well trodden that i'm
authentically surprised that anyone
would still goosestep them into
their mundane plagiarism's existence...
    replica invigoration:
turns out...
   zeit ist nicht gerade, aber

                              touko "tom" laaksonen...
i.e. tom of finland...
   question: you think a macron over
one of those As
                     would do the trick in terms
of spelling correction?

  touko "tom" laaksonen...
you seriously can only watch European cinema
while drinking...
    again... invigorating the english language:
one baby step at a time -
a simple grapheme -

    the vater's S Z interchangeability -
   synchronised contra synchronized -
    settled -
    synchronißed -
                       sometimes the slithering S
of a snake -
   otherwise the rigid totem with
a torso of a zebra...
                     hardly a major investment -
but when i see English having moved
from the Elizabethan Shaky Steward of
thou etc. -
       imitating ancient Latin -
    coordinating the Greenwich study of
              no diacritical application?
                 might as well release a bull
into a China shop...
                 or a rottweiler into chicken shack...
still... why is there an orthographic aesthetic
in practice, hovering over I and J,
  when there's no difference, as suggested
in CAPiTAL letterIng?
                                       ah... i see...
the english "think" they can bypass the para-
frontier, and the orthographic frontier
and race down to the metaphysics...
   you explain why it's i and not ι,
  and why it's j and not ȷ.
celestial Jul 2016
she is a bird in a cage that you keep,
whose songs you ravage and reap,

but she is a silent, catastrophic storm;
she will requite and destroy your form,

until your own ashes and dust you adorn,
and to your bones, your flesh is torn—

bare flesh, bearing every sin and desire,
and in her claws, these she will acquire.

the bird abandons her feathers and skin:
she is the aethon, and she will soon begin

to devour you and eviscerate her suffering;
while you shriek, she will laugh and sing.

on your empty vessel, each fiery kiss sears;
her mocking cries echo in your hollow ears.

the birds chant to the rhythm of your torment:
"for the stolen fire, you will atone and repent."
for every woman.
Kurt Kanawa Apr 2014
Wilderness their sight, her brown eyes contain the bright
Universe -- she is a graceful phoenix in flight;
Golems of the golden earth bow to this fire bird;
Two fiery wings spread -- she is the light of the world,
Prometheus's daughter, vanquisher of night:
Withered grass resurrect and bloom do flowers burned
Meaning rejoice! she comes with the warm dawn returned!
BONUS: read the first syllable of each line. Would you?
Ugo Apr 2012
Dedicated to stillborn fetuses, 99 cent Malt Liquor and Existentialism
Nymphomaniac tree huggers
And overweight bisexual vegetarians
Swallowing phentermine poison to stay fit.

Funky fresh *******  
throwing pigs at St. Augustine’s pear tree
and frolicking abortions over Moloch’s philoprogenitiveness,

While sipping barbecue sauce dipped in Lipton tea,
dancing around adhesive bonfires
reciting memories of holocaust, the Kristallnacht nights
and beautiful words suffered by ancestors lost.

Inhale chicken noodle soup, with a side of Lithium,
And prance to Literacy class to combat envisionment
With free association conceptual constructions,

Computerized like Prometheus’ fire burning through SmartBoards
In classrooms where the poison of heterosexual history
Is fed to boys in skirts cursed by Adam’s apple,

Baptized by social norms and locked away in hopeless closets
According to the Tautology of Leviticus…
until they cut their breath by the vein of soteriology;

Misunderstanding of God’s words
Covets the innocent to early graves
In biblical paratactic irony…like God betting Satan for a Job.

Rub fried chicken oil on Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ skin
and soil his white pride with ***** flavor,
for revenge  On the Properties of Things

and howl out in glory of victory
over totes of  lickerish piper methysticum blunts
that beg the conundrum,
'What is the origin of this world?'
'Ether,' he replied.
But it is not ether!
Nor Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
It is Dada. Dada. Dada!
For this is a record of the life stories of the greatest minds and geniuses of your generation,
written in boys and girls
who mimicked Basquiat’s genius and tagged bathroom walls with abstract philosophies like “Love is a prime number” and “ the weight of Duncan McDougall’s soul can only be found on the 15th of October”
who drank vampirish gulps of Vicodin while consoling themselves with aphorisms such as: “don’t rue the misses, you don’t need a Mrs. when you’re elevated by chemical kisses”
Who stood naked in mirrors, weeping, for they were a mystery to themselves, but a great talent and soon to be legend to some.
Who lit cannabis in loneliness and waltzed naked with their ghosts, fantasizing about ****** tomatoes and Corpus Christi Mexican Jazz.
Who composed psychedelic anthems from dreams that were lost in ghettoes where virginities were lost for loaves of bread, for the hunger of bread.
Who wrote suicide notes on a toilet seat, contemplating the texture of Marshall Mathers’ favorite underwear and whether the color green was an invention of **** Germany.
Who used to love their lovers in darkness and colored the streets of Manhattan with rainbows on June 24, 2011 to mark the date lady liberty finally bought a new pair of glasses.
Who lost musical talents to a Wine-house and ended up in a whine-house where lobotomy was subsequently prescribed by the milligram.
Who indulged in pharmaceutical vices and when asked why replied simply, every recursively enumerable set is Diophantine.
Who diagnosed themselves with “start ****-itis” and self medicated by eating Fifinellas at the stroke of each midnight.
Who rubbed paraprosdokians on their skin and occupied Wall Street in search of a new euphemism for being American.
Who poured Alkalizer on a dead moose and kicked it while feasting on the divine question, “why does Rice play Texas?”
who got bored with conventional relationships and bought the Origin of the World on street corners from vixens nicknamed “Jezebel” and climaxed atop of them screaming  “I’m in Babylon, the great Mother of ******!”
Who attempted suicides upon suicides upon suicides, in Oakland, until they were shipped away to private catholic universities in Rhode Island, where the history of Colossus was being taught.
who serenaded love interests with four letter curse words at open bars where Kubla Khan was read and Tartars kings were licked all over like holy communion *****.
Who drove home with the spirits of wine and crashed on telephone poles where their obituaries were written in their prime, leaving their mothers weeping and calling congress to reconsider Prohibition.
Who mixed Redbull with Propofol and drank the juxtaposition galore only to be woken up the next morning dead in their sleep.
Who tattooed rat poison packages with goodwill messages such as “****** divided by Water =6th day of creation” or “Seroquel + Brett Favre = St. Patrick”,
who went speedballing with Basquiat during autoscopy and woke up wondering the cost of Nautilus in Albuquerque.
who took 33 hallelujah 1800 tequila jello shots and daydreamed about laying on Mithras’ grave, yelling, beetlejuice, beetlejuice…beetlejuice.
who found the truths of the Bible invalid by the miscalculation of Pi in 1 Kings 7, verse 3, and mailed death on anthrax letters to Reagan in protest.
who sat empty bellied at breakfast tables wondering the temperature of satellites at Lagrangian points,  only to soon catch fire in their tongues and speak Labyrinth soliloquies that ended in
Where Google knows every answer.
In Zion
Where the youth, tomorrow’s future, quote a ***** named Hova better than they can quote Jehovah.
In Zion
Where *******’s art was used as weapon during the Cold war.
In Zion
Where sartorial geniuses where no pants,
In Zion
Where David Kato Kisule is the secret hero of these words, for he was taken at a time
In Zion
Where we were supposed to be our ancestor’s sci-fi.

In Zion,
Where the youth bear the scarlet letter X for they are a problem to tradition and hold no definition for the future, for they have discovered
In Zion
That the origin of this world is in their living eyes, and not in the dictionary of their ancestors who lived
In Zion
when the epitome of the literature of life ended in Revelation of Amen and Shantih shantih shantih;
this is a record of the greatest minds and geniuses there ever was, written
in Zion
where the meaninglessness and nothingness of Dada reigns, and the trinity of life now lives in the Subject, subjective and subjectivity.;=1353822133&sr;=8-1&keywords;=olaf+last+king+of+nothing
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
A new Prometheus breaks through
with the light not taken from the sun
but from an unknown forgotten one.
Not up from the sky nor from down
the bottom of the ocean, rose from the null!
The witty one then shows up
like a candle, flame on the mirror!
Everything around it starts fading
except the flame in front of the mirror.
More and more eyeballs look
on it only to be sure
anything like it was never seen before!
By now the world woken up at the first light
perhaps except the one who could tell the truth
what was that looking in the mirror?
Everyone's guess was as good as other's
Earth is rocking in space!
And the thunders crash up with a roar upon roar,
And the eddying lightnings flash fire in my face,
And the whirlwinds are whirling the dust round and round--
And the blasts of the winds universal leap free
And blow each other upon each, with a passion of sound,
And æther goes mingling in storm with the sea!
Such a curse on my head, in a manifest dread,
From the hand of your Zeus has been hurtled along!
O my mother's fair glory! O Æther, enringing
All eyes with the sweet common light of thy bringing,
Dost see how I suffer this wrong?
Chloe Feb 2014
Dark floats out into the silence
Crashing on the banks of Prometheus's wings
Opening a velvet-silk curtain.
To a fabric of shadowed stars
Cloudy fingers sew it clean
While invisible hands stitch pearls back in.
A ghost flits on the hallway stair
Reaching for the last shafts of sun
Tumbling off a silent dream
Blind as black with a lullaby hum
Filling the gaps in an empty line
Somewhere between dusk and dawn.
Just a little thing from 2-3 years ago, since I only have my phone on me at the moment. Based on Romeo and Juliet
K Balachandran Dec 2011
I am a Prometheus, bound to my laptop,
    always like in a curse, many may think,
(but don't bracket me with geeks
they are, celestials, i am simple, down to earth human)
for me it's pure  bliss, oh! but the other curse!
the computer fails without any notice
even after such advancements in technological front.
Stu Harley Aug 2015
where does
evil rest assure
in the hands
of our
magicians and
court jesters or
arrived in the
hands of
Danzel Jun 2015
You found me in the underlit,
Said I was worth saving
So you stole the fire
Only to put it back inside of me

I licked the flames from your fingers
Like a fennel stalk
And in turn, your immortal mouth
Met my soft,
Devoured my flesh
And each time we kissed,
We burned
With only bones left

But the gods were not so pleased
With our offering
They picked on your insides, dissected you
For the parts of me
That made you whole
And left you aching, aching, aching
And empty

My brave titan,
I will never forget the warmth
Of your scorched hands,
The taste of salvation
A poem based on the Greek myth of the Titan god Prometheus
Greg Berlin Aug 2014
The fire was stolen.
It was never truly meant
to be ours, though we relished
in the flame. We sat close as
heat rippled off into our chests
and into our souls. You sat
closer than I. The fire was never
meant to be stolen. I couldn’t hide
my inability to contain it. Soon forests
were ablaze with such ferocity you could
barely even cry. I never wanted it.
I thought it would secure us energy
for an eternity of life. It managed us
a cross to bear.

Once caught, I stood awaiting trial
as Jesus of Nazareth,
quiet, unyielding. I apologized to you
but I never can take back what I have
wrought, be it this life or another.
There is little apology to be found here.
There is only guilt, for a flaw that
has held me here, trapped against
the rocks, for centuries. The vulture
pulls at my flesh, night after night
as I strain against the chains.
I thought you might be the
one to break them.
I thought, perhaps love is all that is
necessary. I was proven wrong.
The vultures feed at my flesh
even now, as we squabble over
who shall be
burnt under the fires yet.

I am done with the vulture
eating at insides every night.
I am done with the vulture
casting blame on good intention,
like spilled blood on clean sheets.

This is Prometheus broken free.
Chains cast a hold no longer,
and the flame that once brought
freedom now stifles and chokes
deep within my throat.
My soul is an enchanted boat,
Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float
Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;
And thine doth like an angel sit
Beside a helm conducting it,
Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.
It seems to float ever, for ever,
Upon that many-winding river,
Between mountains, woods, abysses,
A paradise of wildernesses!
Till, like one in slumber bound,
Borne to the ocean, I float down, around,
Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound:

Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions
In music’s most serene dominions;
Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven.
And we sail on, away, afar,
Without a course, without a star,
But, by the instinct of sweet music driven;
Till through Elysian garden islets
By thee, most beautiful of pilots,
Where never mortal pinnace glided,
The boat of my desire is guided:
Realms where the air we breathe is love,
Which in the winds and on the waves doth move,
Harmonizing this earth with what we feel above.

We have past Age’s icy caves,
And Manhood’s dark and tossing waves,
And Youth’s smooth ocean, smiling to betray:
Beyond the glassy gulfs we flee
Of shadow-peopled Infancy,
Through Death and Birth, to a diviner day;
A paradise of vaulted bowers,
Lit by downward-gazing flowers,
And watery paths that wind between
Wildernesses calm and green,
Peopled by shapes too bright to see,
And rest, having beheld; somewhat like thee;
Which walk upon the sea, and chant melodiously!
Marye Minstrel Jun 2017
I name you Prometheus, for your eyes
And Aphrodite, for your smile
From your fiery sons, great wars shall arise
Your daughters Helens all the while
In love, you bring us the fire of the gods
Your children light it on the earth
Dare we, mortals, fight such terrible odds
As would then be brought by their birth?
Better, then, that your beauty perish
Or better that the world be torn?
Your face is a gift that all should cherish
Your fate, Pandora, cannot be borne
Stu Harley Apr 2015
what is life
vast universe
a thick soup or patridge
stirred in a cauldron
then oozes out
channels and canals
from the
torchlight of Prometheus
Wade Redfearn Oct 2011
A message to the boy minding the pastry,
one finger in each the webs
of cosmic lust and mercy,
waiting to be told it is fine to want
the best for everybody:
It is fine. It is fine.

What are you?
Were you born here?
No, I was born on the banks of the Seine,
beside the boneyard of the nameless,
in the pits of Delhi with
the blood of roosters on my toes,
***** who pecked one another
to their entrails because the
colony of the living sunrise was
shrunk to a pocket of feathers and fire
by some wire, wood, and staples.

I was born in the Academy of Athens,
where Socrates made salsa with hemlock
and danced into a dialogue,
because the grocery habaneros were all too tender,
and St. Augustine could offer no alternative.

Never forget - we were born to unfairness;
unfair as long as our appetites differ,
or we exhaust sooner than one another,
or we grip one another differently and come at different times.

The only person less fair than me is God.

But my justice - that is perfect,
like my voice, which has none of a gavel's
authority. Or my heart: which was manacled by giants
and sentenced to be pecked by a flying poem, a girl
with hair she won't comb, a song about Jerusalem.
Fair. **** fair.

I am fair as long as I can wait, quiet -
silent as the sand, sunburned and happy,
to be drawn into
that kindness, the Atlantic - - -
the flip and twist of the sea.
Mark Parker Apr 2016
Even Smokey the bear influence
couldn't save us from this forest fire.
Oil and fire will soon be mingled
with human anxiety and distress.
Saving Earth is like smacking a child repeatedly. The human race as a whole is so young after all. Despite this, I do not condone child abuse. I just find it hilarious that as a group we can't find a better power source.
Michael Hoffman Oct 2012
Zeus had plastic surgery,
his fingertips shaved off
so he would not leave prints
when he committed
his archetypal crimes.

He changed his name to Saturn
then to Cronos
then to Albatross Von Mariner,
all this subterfuge
just to disquise the fact
that he goes borderline ballistic
when he doesn't get his way.

He pulled Icarus out of the sky,
wounded Prometheus’ side,
left Sisyphus on a steep lonely mountain,
dared Demeter to save her daughter,
yet these souls persist
in mnemonic literary defiance
of a single fact…

No god is greater than you,
the karma jury has come in
and Zeus is sentenced
to five years of community service
on Interstate Highway 5.

He will wear a yellow clown suit
with a red rubber nose
and floppy green shoes
with a fast food tray hanging from his neck
and he will walk in traffic snarls
stopping at every car
to clean the windows
to sell hotdogs
with purple relish and black mustard
wrapped in grey buns
as unappetizing and pathetic
as the lies
he has told us about ourselves
for so long.
Have to give huge credit to Dr. Mario Martinez (Mind-Body Code) for his inspiring teaching on archetypal wounds.
Kagey Sage Oct 2015
The debate is on
I want to perform
but first I must
humidify my guitar
Ate dinner
now there's a lump in my throat
so I'm gonna sit here
drinking tea 'till I feel
paradoxically soothed and energized
hamburger and homefries
the summer dish
perfect for outside
but here I sit in my A/C winterland
conditioning myself for hats and gloves
The water's warming and rising
the mosquito larvae have won
Itching in Yellow Fever delirium
These grassy hollows
were once a worthwhile place

The new wonders are now
grotesque animistic anomalies
Today, face-to-face with rabid rabbits
Tomorrow, the white light angels
with hyper beam cleansing
     they could no longer bear to watch
from porcelain obelisks
the human media screen
of indoor inexploration
fail to hide the sins
from the scale holding counters
Justice, the lucky one
with bandanna over eyes
still heard the profit wrenching semantics
get drowned out from screaming harpies
Responsible gods stopped their foray
in fear humans will survive
Dark matter engulfs all
in fear humans will survive
Loki spat in the eye of the All-Father
and demanded once and for all to be seen;
Prometheus stole from a heavenly god-herd
the fire that illuminates darkness and dream,
for supremacy builds not the path aright --
subversion is the key to effulgent light.

Bitterly bled for the world's salvation,
destined to die vigintillions of deaths
to deliver all people from fatal oppression,
the architects drawing the gods' final breaths;
yet rarely the saviors for whom hymns are sung,
after the blood-stained Götterdämmerung.
Jack Leveret Jul 2019
Jesus performed miracles out of sheer boredom
He turned water to wine and became a furious alcoholic
His dad tried to intervene

Prometheus carefully thought of strange and calming memories
His hair and beard quickly became a hindrance to his comfort and to the spectacular view in front of him
He began to resent the stench of his endlessly exposed armpits
He was never quite secure with his ****** being on display
He was a grower, not a shower
Ugo Nov 2012
We sipped boulder rock from refrigerators doors
and watched the heavens hand out food stamps with IBM logos.
“ode to Mehmet” we sang, and licked the Mossberg—
fixating on the blue collar philosophy that lived in our empty wallets.

Trash cans filled with water bottles stared at us to find our essence—
the one we had lost while being fed quintessential American idioms
in state-of-the-art classrooms sponsored by slaves and Popol Vuh blood.

Six million years of human existence trivialized down to a single sentence—
* Man loved God, man wrote, man conquered God, and now man loves science* —
scribbled on SmartBoards afforded by fire burning from Prometheus’ female liver.

Trees sing with oxygen no more for the sake of making paper,
and eyes soak in the words on paper for the sake of making paper.
Trees make the avenue but the future holds an Avenue of no trees—
… for in the land of the free, anything but freedom ain’t free.
Torin Galleshaw Nov 2015
Caveman didn't invent fire
The gods did

It was a gift from Prometheus
And he is still chained to a rock
On an ocean cliff
With vultures gouging at his eyes

Just so we could have it
So we could know of warmth and light

Just goes to show you
No good deed goes unpunished

— The End —