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Brave Menelaus son of Atreus now came to know that Patroclus had
fallen, and made his way through the front ranks clad in full armour
to bestride him. As a cow stands lowing over her first calf, even so
did yellow-haired Menelaus bestride Patroclus. He held his round
shield and his spear in front of him, resolute to **** any who
should dare face him. But the son of Panthous had also noted the body,
and came up to Menelaus saying, “Menelaus, son of Atreus, draw back,
leave the body, and let the bloodstained spoils be. I was first of the
Trojans and their brave allies to drive my spear into Patroclus, let
me, therefore, have my full glory among the Trojans, or I will take
aim and **** you.”
  To this Menelaus answered in great anger “By father Jove, boasting
is an ill thing. The pard is not more bold, nor the lion nor savage
wild-boar, which is fiercest and most dauntless of all creatures, than
are the proud sons of Panthous. Yet Hyperenor did not see out the days
of his youth when he made light of me and withstood me, deeming me the
meanest soldier among the Danaans. His own feet never bore him back to
gladden his wife and parents. Even so shall I make an end of you
too, if you withstand me; get you back into the crowd and do not
face me, or it shall be worse for you. Even a fool may be wise after
the event.”
  Euphorbus would not listen, and said, “Now indeed, Menelaus, shall
you pay for the death of my brother over whom you vaunted, and whose
wife you widowed in her bridal chamber, while you brought grief
unspeakable on his parents. I shall comfort these poor people if I
bring your head and armour and place them in the hands of Panthous and
noble Phrontis. The time is come when this matter shall be fought
out and settled, for me or against me.”
  As he spoke he struck Menelaus full on the shield, but the spear did
not go through, for the shield turned its point. Menelaus then took
aim, praying to father Jove as he did so; Euphorbus was drawing
back, and Menelaus struck him about the roots of his throat, leaning
his whole weight on the spear, so as to drive it home. The point
went clean through his neck, and his armour rang rattling round him as
he fell heavily to the ground. His hair which was like that of the
Graces, and his locks so deftly bound in bands of silver and gold,
were all bedrabbled with blood. As one who has grown a fine young
olive tree in a clear space where there is abundance of water—the
plant is full of promise, and though the winds beat upon it from every
quarter it puts forth its white blossoms till the blasts of some
fierce hurricane sweep down upon it and level it with the ground—even
so did Menelaus strip the fair youth Euphorbus of his armour after
he had slain him. Or as some fierce lion upon the mountains in the
pride of his strength fastens on the finest heifer in a herd as it
is feeding—first he breaks her neck with his strong jaws, and then
gorges on her blood and entrails; dogs and shepherds raise a hue and
cry against him, but they stand aloof and will not come close to
him, for they are pale with fear—even so no one had the courage to
face valiant Menelaus. The son of Atreus would have then carried off
the armour of the son of Panthous with ease, had not Phoebus Apollo
been angry, and in the guise of Mentes chief of the Cicons incited
Hector to attack him. “Hector,” said he, “you are now going after
the horses of the noble son of Aeacus, but you will not take them;
they cannot be kept in hand and driven by mortal man, save only by
Achilles, who is son to an immortal mother. Meanwhile Menelaus son
of Atreus has bestridden the body of Patroclus and killed the
noblest of the Trojans, Euphorbus son of Panthous, so that he can
fight no more.”
  The god then went back into the toil and turmoil, but the soul of
Hector was darkened with a cloud of grief; he looked along the ranks
and saw Euphorbus lying on the ground with the blood still flowing
from his wound, and Menelaus stripping him of his armour. On this he
made his way to the front like a flame of fire, clad in his gleaming
armour, and crying with a loud voice. When the son of Atreus heard
him, he said to himself in his dismay, “Alas! what shall I do? I may
not let the Trojans take the armour of Patroclus who has fallen
fighting on my behalf, lest some Danaan who sees me should cry shame
upon me. Still if for my honour’s sake I fight Hector and the
Trojans single-handed, they will prove too many for me, for Hector
is bringing them up in force. Why, however, should I thus hesitate?
When a man fights in despite of heaven with one whom a god
befriends, he will soon rue it. Let no Danaan think ill of me if I
give place to Hector, for the hand of heaven is with him. Yet, if I
could find Ajax, the two of us would fight Hector and heaven too, if
we might only save the body of Patroclus for Achilles son of Peleus.
This, of many evils would be the least.”
  While he was thus in two minds, the Trojans came up to him with
Hector at their head; he therefore drew back and left the body,
turning about like some bearded lion who is being chased by dogs and
men from a stockyard with spears and hue and cry, whereon he is
daunted and slinks sulkily off—even so did Menelaus son of Atreus
turn and leave the body of Patroclus. When among the body of his
men, he looked around for mighty Ajax son of Telamon, and presently
saw him on the extreme left of the fight, cheering on his men and
exhorting them to keep on fighting, for Phoebus Apollo had spread a
great panic among them. He ran up to him and said, “Ajax, my good
friend, come with me at once to dead Patroclus, if so be that we may
take the body to Achilles—as for his armour, Hector already has it.”
  These words stirred the heart of Ajax, and he made his way among the
front ranks, Menelaus going with him. Hector had stripped Patroclus of
his armour, and was dragging him away to cut off his head and take the
body to fling before the dogs of Troy. But Ajax came up with his
shield like wall before him, on which Hector withdrew under shelter of
his men, and sprang on to his chariot, giving the armour over to the
Trojans to take to the city, as a great trophy for himself; Ajax,
therefore, covered the body of Patroclus with his broad shield and
bestrode him; as a lion stands over his whelps if hunters have come
upon him in a forest when he is with his little ones—in the pride and
fierceness of his strength he draws his knit brows down till they
cover his eyes—even so did Ajax bestride the body of Patroclus, and
by his side stood Menelaus son of Atreus, nursing great sorrow in
his heart.
  Then Glaucus son of Hippolochus looked fiercely at Hector and
rebuked him sternly. “Hector,” said he, “you make a brave show, but in
fight you are sadly wanting. A runaway like yourself has no claim to
so great a reputation. Think how you may now save your town and
citadel by the hands of your own people born in Ilius; for you will
get no Lycians to fight for you, seeing what thanks they have had
for their incessant hardships. Are you likely, sir, to do anything
to help a man of less note, after leaving Sarpedon, who was at once
your guest and comrade in arms, to be the spoil and prey of the
Danaans? So long as he lived he did good service both to your city and
yourself; yet you had no stomach to save his body from the dogs. If
the Lycians will listen to me, they will go home and leave Troy to its
fate. If the Trojans had any of that daring fearless spirit which lays
hold of men who are fighting for their country and harassing those who
would attack it, we should soon bear off Patroclus into Ilius. Could
we get this dead man away and bring him into the city of Priam, the
Argives would readily give up the armour of Sarpedon, and we should
get his body to boot. For he whose squire has been now killed is the
foremost man at the ships of the Achaeans—he and his close-fighting
followers. Nevertheless you dared not make a stand against Ajax, nor
face him, eye to eye, with battle all round you, for he is a braver
man than you are.”
  Hector scowled at him and answered, “Glaucus, you should know
better. I have held you so far as a man of more understanding than any
in all Lycia, but now I despise you for saying that I am afraid of
Ajax. I fear neither battle nor the din of chariots, but Jove’s will
is stronger than ours; Jove at one time makes even a strong man draw
back and snatches victory from his grasp, while at another he will set
him on to fight. Come hither then, my friend, stand by me and see
indeed whether I shall play the coward the whole day through as you
say, or whether I shall not stay some even of the boldest Danaans from
fighting round the body of Patroclus.”
  As he spoke he called loudly on the Trojans saying, “Trojans,
Lycians, and Dardanians, fighters in close combat, be men, my friends,
and fight might and main, while I put on the goodly armour of
Achilles, which I took when I killed Patroclus.”
  With this Hector left the fight, and ran full speed after his men
who were taking the armour of Achilles to Troy, but had not yet got
far. Standing for a while apart from the woeful fight, he changed
his armour. His own he sent to the strong city of Ilius and to the
Trojans, while he put on the immortal armour of the son of Peleus,
which the gods had given to Peleus, who in his age gave it to his son;
but the son did not grow old in his father’s armour.
  When Jove, lord of the storm-cloud, saw Hector standing aloof and
arming himself in the armour of the son of Peleus, he wagged his
head and muttered to himself saying, “A! poor wretch, you arm in the
armour of a hero, before whom many another trembles, and you reck
nothing of the doom that is already close upon you. You have killed
his comrade so brave and strong, but it was not well that you should
strip the armour from his head and shoulders. I do indeed endow you
with great might now, but as against this you shall not return from
battle to lay the armour of the son of Peleus before Andromache.”
  The son of Saturn bowed his portentous brows, and Hector fitted
the armour to his body, while terrible Mars entered into him, and
filled his whole body with might and valour. With a shout he strode in
among the allies, and his armour flashed about him so that he seemed
to all of them like the great son of Peleus himself. He went about
among them and cheered them on—Mesthles, Glaucus, Medon,
Thersilochus, Asteropaeus, Deisenor and Hippothous, Phorcys,
Chromius and Ennomus the augur. All these did he exhort saying,
“Hear me, allies from other cities who are here in your thousands,
it was not in order to have a crowd about me that I called you
hither each from his several city, but that with heart and soul you
might defend the wives and little ones of the Trojans from the
fierce Achaeans. For this do I oppress my people with your food and
the presents that make you rich. Therefore turn, and charge at the
foe, to stand or fall as is the game of war; whoever shall bring
Patroclus, dead though he be, into the hands of the Trojans, and shall
make Ajax give way before him, I will give him one half of the
spoils while I keep the other. He will thus share like honour with
myself.”
  When he had thus spoken they charged full weight upon the Danaans
with their spears held out before them, and the hopes of each ran high
that he should force Ajax son of Telamon to yield up the body—fools
that they were, for he was about to take the lives of many. Then
Ajax said to Menelaus, “My good friend Menelaus, you and I shall
hardly come out of this fight alive. I am less concerned for the
body of Patroclus, who will shortly become meat for the dogs and
vultures of Troy, than for the safety of my own head and yours. Hector
has wrapped us round in a storm of battle from every quarter, and
our destruction seems now certain. Call then upon the princes of the
Danaans if there is any who can hear us.”
  Menelaus did as he said, and shouted to the Danaans for help at
the top of his voice. “My friends,” he cried, “princes and counsellors
of the Argives, all you who with Agamemnon and Menelaus drink at the
public cost, and give orders each to his own people as Jove vouchsafes
him power and glory, the fight is so thick about me that I cannot
distinguish you severally; come on, therefore, every man unbidden, and
think it shame that Patroclus should become meat and morsel for Trojan
hounds.”
  Fleet Ajax son of Oileus heard him and was first to force his way
through the fight and run to help him. Next came Idomeneus and
Meriones his esquire, peer of murderous Mars. As for the others that
came into the fight after these, who of his own self could name them?
  The Trojans with Hector at their head charged in a body. As a
great wave that comes thundering in at the mouth of some heaven-born
river, and the rocks that jut into the sea ring with the roar of the
breakers that beat and buffet them—even with such a roar did the
Trojans come on; but the Achaeans in singleness of heart stood firm
about the son of Menoetius, and fenced him with their bronze
shields. Jove, moreover, hid the brightness of their helmets in a
thick cloud, for he had borne no grudge against the son of Menoetius
while he was still alive and squire to the descendant of Aeacus;
therefore he was loth to let him fall a prey to the dogs of his foes
the Trojans, and urged his comrades on to defend him.
  At first the Trojans drove the Achaeans back, and they withdrew from
the dead man daunted. The Trojans did not succeed in killing any
one, nevertheless they drew the body away. But the Achaeans did not
lose it long, for Ajax, foremost of all the Danaans after the son of
Peleus alike in stature and prowess, quickly rallied them and made
towards the front like a wild boar upon the mountains when he stands
at bay in the forest glades and routs the hounds and ***** youths that
have attacked him—even so did Ajax son of Telamon passing easily in
among the phalanxes of the Trojans, disperse those who had
bestridden Patroclus and were most bent on winning glory by dragging
him off to their city. At this moment Hippothous brave son of the
Pelasgian Lethus, in his zeal for Hector and the Trojans, was dragging
the body off by the foot through the press of the fight, having
bound a strap round the sinews near the ancle; but a mischief soon
befell him from which none of those could save him who would have
gladly done so, for the son of Telamon sprang forward and smote him on
his bronze-cheeked helmet. The plumed headpiece broke about the
point of the weapon, struck at once by the spear and by the strong
hand of Ajax, so that the ****** brain came oozing out through the
crest-socket. His strength then failed him and he let Patroclus’
foot drop from his hand, as he fell full length dead upon the body;
thus he died far from the fertile land of Larissa, and never repaid
his parents the cost of bringing him up, for his life was cut short
early by the spear of mighty Ajax. Hector then took aim at Ajax with a
spear, but he saw it coming and just managed to avoid it; the spear
passed on and struck Schedius son of noble Iphitus, captain of the
Phoceans, who dwelt in famed Panopeus and reigned over much people; it
struck him under the middle of the collar-bone the bronze point went
right through him, coming out at the bottom of his shoulder-blade, and
his armour rang rattling round him as he fell heavily to the ground.
Ajax in his turn struck noble Phorcys son of Phaenops in the middle of
the belly as he was bestriding Hippothous, and broke the plate of
his cuirass; whereon the spear tore out his entrails and he clutched
the ground in his palm as he fell to earth. Hector and those who
were in the front rank then gave ground, while the Argives raised a
loud cry of triumph, and drew off the bodies of Phorcys and Hippothous
which they stripped presently of their armour.
  The Trojans would now have been worsted by the brave Achaeans and
driven back to Ilius through their own cowardice, while the Argives,
so great was their courage and endurance, would have achieved a
triumph even against the will of Jove, if Apollo had not roused
Aeneas, in the lik
Christian zeal Jan 2014
Dream after dream and there's a lot,
Please after please until he got up and ran out...

Ever sense that day my feet been free of old routs,
Old shouts and too much of digging except climbing out.

Oh I loved how the chains became my mouth and the dirt was the best way to sleep with dead things that never would speak out.

They blow trees now just get away
Without even running somewhere to make there demons shake,
I have broken the curse and every way of baracade I break like I'm the gate!
Whoever needs to just leave there's always an escape...
I open the door to a new place when I fall down stop what I'm doing and PRAY.

Hope somebody will listen to me....>.>


You can stay here
Runaway
Leave from town
Runaway
You can hold on
Runaway
Stand your ground
Runaway
If you don't take your chances there's no way you'll never know..
Lightbulb Martin Nov 2014
Ha ha doesn't do it.
Ha ha can't be it.
Nothing like Nihilism
Enlists the whole lament.
Slack relief in disbelief
mine of God
I just figured
No halo
finished
Time

Next line no using
phones please and no
cursing please think
that's going to ****
off the young,
when all they read
How mellow
Now trees?

So you think getting
pregnant tired driving 40
on the night they drove
old Dixie down it
couldn't rain enough for
me I wanted to see
their Wagonwheel slats
stuck up to their humps
in dreams. It's easy to
get a palm trimming.
actually think they
read anywhere
can write some
One.

At least I have a
******* palm
yes I'm lying
in bed now get some
sleep it's who
they all say you're *******
my recording girl
you took my
only lighter.
Because
what God
touts God
Routs and tryouts
buy shouts
yet still
Doubts if
She is really out.
Ha ha! Nihilists won't expound.
RILEY Jul 2013
Why can't I be a pair of scissors?
Cutting my way through unneeded pieces of paper
Creating shapes of something I hide inside
And even if I don’t pick the colors of my forms
I form a voice of the colors shaping my opinionated margins
yes
my margins are opinionated because if the side lines weren't there
The court would not exist would it?
And if the benches didn't exist
Well you wouldn't have a team would you??

Why can't I be the voice of truth
Roaming around people
Perpetrating through human voices
And righteous leaders now fail to exist…
And existence would be simple
And simple would not be impossible
For your complexity drives me through alleys of doubt
And routs
I take for a mistake
I'll never love you as much as I do now…
Look at me
He says to the slightly misguided princess
Now rubbing the dirt of her red converse
Conversing here and there,
Diverse attitudes thrown upon her face;
Like she's delightly unpleased with you
And jovially laughing upon her anger
And angry as I be, I cannot but look into those eyes
On phone screens
And wallpapers
Creating walls of papers
For my heart shaped scissors to cut through
And create a notion of change ill never arrange
But what would be the master conductor of it all
Is my deranged heart

Why can't I be just another teenager
A stranger
So as to say she would never get to know me
And I will just be feeling the exact same thing I am feeling now
Why can't I be just another teenager that is fooled by politicians?
Consumes the blooms of colerly glooms in rooms
Posters and fumes of dark metal flumes
Like the night wasn't enough to empty rage reflecting upon stars

The product of man
The lifelong process of spending money to get money
Call this the circle of life, the cycle of human beings
Creating asylums and cages and pentagons
To get out of their own
I build my empire upon your thrown
I breathe the last exhaled strokes of oxygen you have thrown
I conclude whatever you hypothesized
And size doesn’t matter
For matter scatters when the seed is not firm
A seed becomes a tree
And a tree becomes me
And I become this land
And this land is not free
Farmers affirming formulas upon frightened fortune tellers
Fortune was never destiny
Fortune was the future fought for
Lets fight ow man…ow trees
Lets fight

Why can't I just be her eye lashes?
So I could stare into her honesty all day
Prepare myself to contract and kneel to protect her delicacy from dust
Open widely as I represent a sense of her pleasure
And shut when my heart shatters on her melancholy
As my tender touches console her frail eyes

I don’t want to be just another majd
Another shidiac of the family tree
Those existential moments embellished with a thought of her smile
Sponsored by a scent on my hands
I hand out the clarity she hands out to me
I unknot the ties you created with a simple smile
The grins are so thin with the upper lip of nonexistence
Yet the content descent upon thee
Like the holy rain that has never been experienced by the uninvolved
We humans do not experience
We humans create experiences
Expressions show upon our faces as we agree upon our work
Or decide to disregard
Disagree with the outcome of thoughtless days of planning
I plan to be something more than what I am
I plan to be something she wants me to be
And go passed that to something bigger
I plan to be the savior of my earth
Yet be the only earth that could give water to her smiles
I plan to be the director of revolutionary wars
Yet the warrior under the flag of her eyes
I want to be whatever she wants me to be
In twine with what I plan to be
And a bit more than that…
And a bit more than that…
mEb Dec 2010
Farouche people cast lethal ephemeralities, they are skittish howitzers' foreseeing
Tamper and muck around with us
Proceed please, gain potency
Address prowess, then once you've coward in a corner, strain to flee


Michka was languid sáwol (OE)
The bullied ******* not teeming by any means
Always a vexed mind, full of pillage grim
Every day the same prediction
Once the bruises turned healing yellow, they'd regain their blue gray
He walked the plank and served the steak
He dilapidated himself in vile rain
Gained no aplomb confidence
Only verbal abuse that strayed persistent
Only mental and physical wounds surfaced


Strolling down the broken sidewalk of crumbled concrete
A noticement of condemned buildings
6235 Mirnerva LN
Visions he had entering, visions he had slaying
Of the civil and socialble
Torture to the dependable
He walked inside to leaks and floor holes
Ancient 1920 furniture and stoves
More than one stove that could hold coal
To burn  bodies of evidence made him feel like gold
He had a place of his own
He mirrored himself as a transfixing carver
Despersing of the bully fools
No more drubbing routs' after school
Eslam Dabank Apr 2022
Sirens, ballads of anguish are singing, ears are ringing, 
     Our nightingale is shrieking, and children are clinging.
Our Kalyna is red, but wrapped in blood now, not love, 
     From the massacres aeroplanes bring from far above.

My uncle, enters the now upside-down house of his, 
     “Welcome”, with a phoney grin, and wariness he says. 
The house holding memories is now clogged rubble, 
    In the land that shall never greet occupiers or trouble.

His daughter's dreams shattered, for the reverie of filth, 
     It matters not; the nation of his deserves blood spilth, 
We deserve not peace, but the delusions of a hag pass, 
     May he rest in peace, along with the delusion he has.

My mother may never hear the raindrops fall again;
     Missiles seal ears with noise, and the death of men. 
The men, women and children, who will lead us all, 
     Through scorched fields with whispers old and small.

She is a hairdresser, she might braid hair for the fun, 
     But other mothers, braid the hairs of daughters gone, 
They keep them safe under a pillow where they smell, 
     The warmth of days before the dictator's missiles fell.

Red and black are the only colours they pervaded here, 
    They wish for our colours to diminish and spring adhere, 
But beauty routs the devil of ugliness and his conceit;
    Our colours saturate our resistance, painting your defeat.

They shall not sprout in our fields, like poisonous herbs, 
     They "rescue" us, but the gunshots my brother disturbs, 
We did one day exchange our dreams for a pistol facing - 
     Facing the bear who is destruction, within embracing. 

Blood accumulated in heaps on the sleeves of killers, 
    Like a marvel detested in a chapter of stained thrillers.  
But thriller this is not, it is lives of the innocent lost;
    He plays chess in reality, after a coin he has tossed. 
      
Mothers, daughters, sons and fathers are everyday slain, 
     but spring soars today, prevails tomorrow - in Ukraine.
This poem was inspired by a video I recieved from my uncle, who entered his house for the first time after fleeing it to join the Ukrainian army with a fake smile, saying "welcome! Welcome, Oh God!" - the Oh God was a reaction to the rubble and the wreckage he found. His family had to flee to another region as well.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2014
1431
poems in ye old inbox,
genteel knocking,
whispering thru stolid front door
love me a little lot,
little lot, love me?

this is not mere work product,
collegial-laid upon me for gentle shared, for pre-review,
Nottingham Forest arrowed, bow shaped
pithy comments,

these are the holy-of-the-holies
attention-me-crystal-cries,
prayers, wry observations, nature collations,
me and thee adorations, heart rendering
screams of need,
these are the moments in your life
raw-roughened gifted or threaded smooth cursed,
but tendered unto my caring.

(an aside:
perhaps you understand better now
why woman-in-the-moon imagery,
red bowed, grapefruit tasting hearts,
all the lovelies, word shape shifts a/k/a
Imagery
language delights!
but time-using, confusingly confuses,
and has been erased from my own poetry frame)

gnawing doubt me routs,
god gave me humans,
and gave them speech,
to bring me
closer to him
thru them.

somewhere in those 1431 essays of labor,
dashed off, handcrafted, pithy or poor,
just might be the one
justification for my opening my eyes
this poetry someday Sunday sun-day.

put the cofe on
(saving letters, saving time,
deleting unnecessary e's
from my life till when I am dying on
all-on-that desperate
e-n-ee-dy day).

loaded my shotgun heart with
loves and likes,
yellow thunderbolt bullets firing,
and considered yourself
notified
I'm a-coming over,
shoes on the cofe table,
breaking taboo's
gonna read 1431
and when dining done,

gonna pay attention to my muse,
my woman, cause she is the
original e,
that provides the raw materials,
in ye old nat-box,
that lets me love ever one of them,
she is the e
in me

and me will be in you,
starting now.
Away from home in academia
***, philosophy and religion
I’ve been skeptic about all these years
revels  of hell in lost memories

couldn’t be a new dialect for spring
turn **** with refreshing ******

I still wander in my mind with fire
but  no heat or light, sterile emotion
routs the spirit to live making
all presences dark and absence

fears are no bread from heaven
nor unfilled emptiness any sky

yet the eagle flies with wide eyes
nose opened to stinking patches
the mud-  and ghostscapes that yield
mandate for dreams wrapped in nightmares:

I live preying for liberation
and decay with divinity


--R.K.Singh
Christian zeal Jan 2014
Seem so easy to call you savior...
Not close enough to call you God.


Open field of crushed flowers,
She goes and picks for Daddy's hands are never  wired..
...to the "sweet life of California's cheerleader anthems.
Good kush and alcohol the best song she's done since she's the captain of her own life.
What's right if Gods people ain't tight like skinny jeans she wore that night ?!
Burning questions and she puts it out by people's opinions.
Old routs start to show as she gets close to answers..

"Seem so easy to call you savior,not close enough to call you God."

But...one day she will trust him and learn how to see him,
Someday he will call her and she will come runnin and fall in his arms and the tears will fall down and she will pray:

"I want to fall in love with you".



Seem so hard to hold my faith here,
But Close enough to see he's right..
Lucy Oct 2013
We walk in straight lines
expecting to see nothing new
but narrow.
We think in straight lines also,
believing in spirituality as
up.
If you watch her crooked dog
travel
he will wag and curve in
reason.
He will show
such a leaf
on the ground
and bock at the burrowing owl
- still burrowing.
Their owners are called 'owners'
and we'll pull their curved routs straight!

I guess this all makes sense, really
considering the
*****
is straight
as well,
and we are animals of power
after all.
24
Siren wails
One stranger about to take his final breath
Eyes gazing at familiar faces
Piercing through souls
Melancholia reverberates
I can’t save him…

Raising flags
Amid the morning dew
Inquisitive minds of the youth
Along the misty garden of roses
Wisdom routs ignorance
I can’t teach them…

Pompous buildings rise
Along the busy traffic of the north
Breathtaking visions realized
Through pens and grids
Gasping folks looking up and passing by
I can’t build them…

Splattered blood
In the streets of darkness
One innocent life forsaken
One fatherless son
Can justice be given?
I can’t defend him…

Who am I?
Why am I here?
What does living mean?
Is life naturally chaotic? Empty?
A whirlwind of doubts
Blocked the future they envisioned

I couldn’t save him.
I couldn’t teach them.
I couldn’t build them.
I couldn’t defend him.
This life swims in the pool of regrets
Where this aimless mind drowns in oblivion

And there in the midst of nothingness,
I found myself...
Written when I was at the height of my existential crisis...
Joe Black Jan 2017
....
Heart, calmed for time being by Mind and hidden into box of rest and dimensionality of Earth. It has hidden it's fire of Love, closed by lock of rationality and smartness of body.

The less fire burns in Heart, the less it wants to look out into window and spectate life.
But all of sudden it sees familiar shape, or there was a glimpse of flower, same flower which someone gave to you, familiar sounds of favorite melody, which you were listening, when you were in Love, or...

And roused Heart, and forget all those, what Mind been teaching in numberless repetitions and orders. That Mind, that build the wall from pain and suffering, to divide Heart, to divide dreams, to divide Love. It has build tall fence from pain, and forbid to look into sky full of stars, and listen to SKY.

But the spark, fleshed by memory of Love, broke chains of Mind, and burned them down in a moment. Pierced straight into heart, awakening feelings and desires. And now, fading fire of Love in it erupted with new strength and brightness, taking all wishes and dreams along to the Sky.

Awaken heart from sleep, lulled by Mind. It's mighty bright fire got ignited again, which burned down all reasons and proofs. Burned down in a moment, all rational paths, and all calculated by Mind route, of Life path, which was build by pragmatic Mind.

It has forgotten of promised convenience and comfort of preplanned routs, forgot and doesn't want to recall, Earthly life comforts. It took off to Sky, illuminating by it's fire World around, and stars began to illuminate the Heart and fill up with Hope.

It doesn't want to ride in a train of life, convenient and comfortable, with certain beginning and end. It wishes to be free, in it's Love and live, to burn, to wish, to love. And freely fly in vast space of life

It filled up with fire, warmth, Love. Doesn't want quietly die in a train of life, where there is no Love fire, and desire to Live. It doesn't want to choke without Love, as a spectator looking into window of life without it.

It wishes to stand still, suffer, take off with Happiness, and land down with Sadness. It wishes to fill with tears of Love, but love in a way to enjoy these Sadness, these Life, these deepness of it's Love. To raise up to Sky, high to the stars, where stars will be filled by it's Sadness. Which will cause Shooting Stars illumination of vast space of Sky.

For it, important, the process, filled with deepness, with sensitive bliss, fulfilling elevation. Cause for it, for alive Heart, this is Life, way, path and meaning, that place, where it heads, entangled to it Soul, filled with desire that Heart. It wants to be free, dream, and fly and LIVE!

....
Kashif Riaz Nov 2016
Its time, tick tick monster
and me like a lazy pigeon
There're worries inside outside
and me like who's care
Its fear, everywhere
and me like no where
There're hurries up to date
and me like out of date
Its fate, controlling me
and me like out of control
There're doubts polluting mind
and me like I'm determined
Its late, in every hove
and me like still in move
There're routs facing silence
and only me with hue and cry
#me #abnormality #monster #mind
Mr Xelle May 2014
Lock myself in the music.
Hope my fears can't see this.
Man my mind so clueless!
When It comes to this I'm Dangerous...

...is it Bad that...
I lost the key,
I love this  place,
I eat my dreams.

I know the top is the bottom
And the bottom is the top.

To stop my legs from wondering,
I cut some old routs off my block.

Just to get threw the thundering,
I played with twinks in woodstock.

But now  is it Bad that this is why i keep the door locked?
If anyone gets me please share
Joe Black Jan 2017
#1
Heart enforced by power of Soul, cause Heart is connected to it, gets warmth of Soul through Love. Pure Love. Without expectations. Love fulfills it with strength which lifts up above Earth to fill up with spiritual desires.

Sometimes, Heart is trying to explain to Mind,
What attracts it to these or that human, situation, animal,
Any other object or activity...
Why it get hooked by these or that situation, why it want to do particular things.

But not always, it is able to translate to Mind language, something that doesn't fit to it's dimension, something that doesn't belong to Earth believes or laws. It's hard to push in to shape of Earth something, that much greater, deeper, brighter filled by Cosmic Universe power.
If these shape was not stretched by Love.

If these shape doesn't want to change and grow, preferring old rules and dimensions, not always it happen to tell with words, how your Heart feels, how feels Heart of another person. It's hard to convey by words movement of Soul.

Sometimes, Heart lacking those Earthly words and expressions, which could explain, why it get still when you meet someone, whom Mind wouldn't ever choose. Why it's attracted towards him or her so hard, while trying to forget of it by Mind.

Why it doesn't want to listen to all sound reasons, and beats, and feels in it's own way. Why it is attracted somewhere where Mind has no power.

It, these Heart, like, lives by it's own laws and doesn't want to bend to practicality and rationality of Earth, doesn't want to settle in safe place somewhere in warm box of bricks and woods. But all the time eager to go high to the sky, clouds and stars, to get some warmth there, through it's dreams and feelings.

Mind constantly trying to teach Heart, which step by step, point by point, explains WHAT you have to love, HOW you should feel and ABOUT WHAT you have to dream.

He, Earthly Mind, is extremely practical and doesn't want to loose energy which it can direct to it's benefit in present space of Earth. It builds plans and routs, selects right words and expressions, paints comfortable conditions for Soul livelihood, and tries to pack all Her feelings in strict order, shelf by shelf.

For some time, Heart gets quite, it calms and agrees with it, comfortable for body and life reasoning of Mind. Soul takes seat and listens to all reasons, sheepishly agreeing with all it says. Then it goes hiding deep inside, getting quite in sadness.

And even, Soul tries to settle in seat of steadily moving train, and observe in window, how life is passing by.. Without any move, without any expression, diligently following all rules and regulations of Mind.

The train of life is going straight, Mind drives it. Heart with it's Love, seats quite and looks into window, how life flows behind it, steadily and intense. It seats quite, rarely shudder with any interest, simply observing what happens behind window, of it's life.


....
Denis Barter Jun 2018
Lo!  Behold the morning with such beauteous delight.
See diaphanous filaments bestrewn with beads of dew,
sparkling their display of every shade of prismatic hue,
exalting the spider’s art, woven throughout the night!

Lo!  See the wraiths of mist, slowly rising from the river bed,
whilst apparent rootless reeds, seen on either bank,
stand like ephemeral ghosts!  The air though heavy and dank
becomes alive with a myriad of creatures.  For the night has fled!

Lo!  Hear the clear crystal sounds which bid the new day awaken.
The crowing ****, the raucous cawing crow, the mourning dove,
all borne upon the breeze, which routs reluctant clouds above.
Once again with the breaking dawn perceived, darkness is overtaken!

Lo!  Give thanks for the wakening of sleeping souls once more,
for having survived the unknown perils of the past night.
Arising to witness another day graced by Dawn’s early light,
we are aware that the awaiting day invites us to come; explore!


Rhymer.  June 27th, 2018.
Denis Barter Feb 2018
Lo!  Behold the morning with such beauteous delight.
See diaphanous filaments bestrewn with beads of dew,
sparkling their display of every shade of prismatic hue,
exalting the spider’s art, woven throughout the night!

Lo!  See the wraiths of mist, slowly rising from the river bed,
whilst apparent rootless reeds, seen on either bank,
stand like ephemeral ghosts!  The air though heavy and dank
becomes alive with a myriad of creatures.  For the night has fled!

Lo!  Hear the clear crystal sounds which bid the new day awaken.
The crowing ****, the raucous cawing crow, the mourning dove,
all borne upon the breeze, which routs reluctant clouds above.
Once again with the breaking dawn perceived, darkness is overtaken!

Lo!  Give thanks for the wakening of sleeping souls once more,
for having survived the unknown perils of the past night.
Arising to witness another day graced by Dawn’s early light,
we are aware that the awaiting day invites us to come; explore!

Rhymer.  February 11th, 2018
sage eugene zumr Oct 2023
crank ghosts elate my roses
Tupe frozen lakes of change
hosts casket lasso fragrance
my ace spokes lamest pose
predatory vain closed rain
snakes cope with chains as
open gashes claim me omen

bring class vouch
to the noose ouch
loose gripe Favour
my insight slouched
as cringe i arouse
into slickest of routs
anger house likely
queen slips despite

fetch through ghastly
burrowed as mead
drunken slurs of happy
firth relaxed ink
church becomes acne
marsh intact enact
like an acrobatic bat
Kurt Philip Behm Jan 2022
What is the value
of faith without doubt
Love without hatred,
peace without routs

What is the meaning
of joy without pain
Words without silence,
sun without rain

Into the middle
both sides fall within
Dimension redundant,
all endings begin

The yin and the yang
the long and the short
When hands clasp together
—right left to import

(The New Room: December, 2021)

— The End —