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IV. TO HERMES (582 lines)

(ll. 1-29) Muse, sing of Hermes, the son of Zeus and Maia, lord
of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, the luck-bringing
messenger of the immortals whom Maia bare, the rich-tressed
nymph, when she was joined in love with Zeus, -- a shy goddess,
for she avoided the company of the blessed gods, and lived within
a deep, shady cave.  There the son of Cronos used to lie with the
rich-tressed nymph, unseen by deathless gods and mortal men, at
dead of night while sweet sleep should hold white-armed Hera
fast.  And when the purpose of great Zeus was fixed in heaven,
she was delivered and a notable thing was come to pass.  For then
she bare a son, of many shifts, blandly cunning, a robber, a
cattle driver, a bringer of dreams, a watcher by night, a thief
at the gates, one who was soon to show forth wonderful deeds
among the deathless gods.  Born with the dawning, at mid-day he
played on the lyre, and in the evening he stole the cattle of
far-shooting Apollo on the fourth day of the month; for on that
day queenly Maia bare him.  So soon as he had leaped from his
mother's heavenly womb, he lay not long waiting in his holy
cradle, but he sprang up and sought the oxen of Apollo.  But as
he stepped over the threshold of the high-roofed cave, he found a
tortoise there and gained endless delight.  For it was Hermes who
first made the tortoise a singer.  The creature fell in his way
at the courtyard gate, where it was feeding on the rich grass
before the dwelling, waddling along.  When be saw it, the luck-
bringing son of Zeus laughed and said:

(ll. 30-38) 'An omen of great luck for me so soon!  I do not
slight it.  Hail, comrade of the feast, lovely in shape, sounding
at the dance!  With joy I meet you!  Where got you that rich gaud
for covering, that spangled shell -- a tortoise living in the
mountains?  But I will take and carry you within: you shall help
me and I will do you no disgrace, though first of all you must
profit me.  It is better to be at home: harm may come out of
doors.  Living, you shall be a spell against mischievous
witchcraft (13); but if you die, then you shall make sweetest
song.

(ll. 39-61) Thus speaking, he took up the tortoise in both hands
and went back into the house carrying his charming toy.  Then he
cut off its limbs and scooped out the marrow of the mountain-
tortoise with a scoop of grey iron.  As a swift thought darts
through the heart of a man when thronging cares haunt him, or as
bright glances flash from the eye, so glorious Hermes planned
both thought and deed at once.  He cut stalks of reed to measure
and fixed them, fastening their ends across the back and through
the shell of the tortoise, and then stretched ox hide all over it
by his skill.  Also he put in the horns and fitted a cross-piece
upon the two of them, and stretched seven strings of sheep-gut.
But when he had made it he proved each string in turn with the
key, as he held the lovely thing.  At the touch of his hand it
sounded marvellously; and, as he tried it, the god sang sweet
random snatches, even as youths bandy taunts at festivals.  He
sang of Zeus the son of Cronos and neat-shod Maia, the converse
which they had before in the comradeship of love, telling all the
glorious tale of his own begetting.  He celebrated, too, the
handmaids of the nymph, and her bright home, and the tripods all
about the house, and the abundant cauldrons.

(ll. 62-67) But while he was singing of all these, his heart was
bent on other matters.  And he took the hollow lyre and laid it
in his sacred cradle, and sprang from the sweet-smelling hall to
a watch-place, pondering sheet trickery in his heart -- deeds
such as knavish folk pursue in the dark night-time; for he longed
to taste flesh.

(ll. 68-86) The Sun was going down beneath the earth towards
Ocean with his horses and chariot when Hermes came hurrying to
the shadowy mountains of Pieria, where the divine cattle of the
blessed gods had their steads and grazed the pleasant, unmown
meadows.  Of these the Son of Maia, the sharp-eyed slayer of
Argus then cut off from the herd fifty loud-lowing kine, and
drove them straggling-wise across a sandy place, turning their
hoof-prints aside.  Also, he bethought him of a crafty ruse and
reversed the marks of their hoofs, making the front behind and
the hind before, while he himself walked the other way (14).
Then he wove sandals with wicker-work by the sand of the sea,
wonderful things, unthought of, unimagined; for he mixed together
tamarisk and myrtle-twigs, fastening together an armful of their
fresh, young wood, and tied them, leaves and all securely under
his feet as light sandals.  The brushwood the glorious Slayer of
Argus plucked in Pieria as he was preparing for his journey,
making shift (15) as one making haste for a long journey.

(ll. 87-89) But an old man tilling his flowering vineyard saw him
as he was hurrying down the plain through grassy Onchestus.  So
the Son of Maia began and said to him:

(ll. 90-93) 'Old man, digging about your vines with bowed
shoulders, surely you shall have much wine when all these bear
fruit, if you obey me and strictly remember not to have seen what
you have seen, and not to have heard what you have heard, and to
keep silent when nothing of your own is harmed.'

(ll. 94-114) When he had said this much, he hurried the strong
cattle on together: through many shadowy mountains and echoing
gorges and flowery plains glorious Hermes drove them.  And now
the divine night, his dark ally, was mostly passed, and dawn that
sets folk to work was quickly coming on, while bright Selene,
daughter of the lord Pallas, Megamedes' son, had just climbed her
watch-post, when the strong Son of Zeus drove the wide-browed
cattle of Phoebus Apollo to the river Alpheus.  And they came
unwearied to the high-roofed byres and the drinking-troughs that
were before the noble meadow.  Then, after he had well-fed the
loud-bellowing cattle with fodder and driven them into the byre,
close-packed and chewing lotus and began to seek the art of fire.

He chose a stout laurel branch and trimmed it with the knife....
((LACUNA)) (16)
....held firmly in his hand: and the hot smoke rose up.  For it
was Hermes who first invented fire-sticks and fire.  Next he took
many dried sticks and piled them thick and plenty in a sunken
trench: and flame began to glow, spreading afar the blast of
fierce-burning fire.

(ll. 115-137) And while the strength of glorious Hephaestus was
beginning to kindle the fire, he dragged out two lowing, horned
cows close to the fire; for great strength was with him.  He
threw them both panting upon their backs on the ground, and
rolled them on their sides, bending their necks over (17), and
pierced their vital chord.  Then he went on from task to task:
first he cut up the rich, fatted meat, and pierced it with wooden
spits, and roasted flesh and the honourable chine and the paunch
full of dark blood all together.  He laid them there upon the
ground, and spread out the hides on a rugged rock: and so they
are still there many ages afterwards, a long, long time after all
this, and are continually (18).  Next glad-hearted Hermes dragged
the rich meats he had prepared and put them on a smooth, flat
stone, and divided them into twelve portions distributed by lot,
making each portion wholly honourable.  Then glorious Hermes
longed for the sacrificial meat, for the sweet savour wearied
him, god though he was; nevertheless his proud heart was not
prevailed upon to devour the flesh, although he greatly desired
(19).  But he put away the fat and all the flesh in the high-
roofed byre, placing them high up to be a token of his youthful
theft.  And after that he gathered dry sticks and utterly
destroyed with fire all the hoofs and all the heads.

(ll. 138-154) And when the god had duly finished all, he threw
his sandals into deep-eddying Alpheus, and quenched the embers,
covering the black ashes with sand, and so spent the night while
Selene's soft light shone down.  Then the god went straight back
again at dawn to the bright crests of Cyllene, and no one met him
on the long journey either of the blessed gods or mortal men, nor
did any dog bark.  And luck-bringing Hermes, the son of Zeus,
passed edgeways through the key-hole of the hall like the autumn
breeze, even as mist: straight through the cave he went and came
to the rich inner chamber, walking softly, and making no noise as
one might upon the floor.  Then glorious Hermes went hurriedly to
his cradle, wrapping his swaddling clothes about his shoulders as
though he were a feeble babe, and lay playing with the covering
about his knees; but at his left hand he kept close his sweet
lyre.

(ll. 155-161) But the god did not pass unseen by the goddess his
mother; but she said to him: 'How now, you rogue!  Whence come
you back so at night-time, you that wear shamelessness as a
garment?  And now I surely believe the son of Leto will soon have
you forth out of doors with unbreakable cords about your ribs, or
you will live a rogue's life in the glens robbing by whiles.  Go
to, then; your father got you to be a great worry to mortal men
and deathless gods.'

(ll. 162-181) Then Hermes answered her with crafty words:
'Mother, why do you seek to frighten me like a feeble child whose
heart knows few words of blame, a fearful babe that fears its
mother's scolding?  Nay, but I will try whatever plan is best,
and so feed myself and you continually.  We will not be content
to remain here, as you bid, alone of all the gods unfee'd with
offerings and prayers.  Better to live in fellowship with the
deathless gods continually, rich, wealthy, and enjoying stories
of grain, than to sit always in a gloomy cave: and, as regards
honour, I too will enter upon the rite that Apollo has.  If my
father will not give it to me, I will seek -- and I am able -- to
be a prince of robbers.  And if Leto's most glorious son shall
seek me out, I think another and a greater loss will befall him.
For I will go to Pytho to break into his great house, and will
plunder therefrom splendid tripods, and cauldrons, and gold, and
plenty of bright iron, and much apparel; and you shall see it if
you will.'

(ll. 182-189) With such words they spoke together, the son of
Zeus who holds the aegis, and the lady Maia.  Now Eros the early
born was rising from deep-flowing Ocean, bringing light to men,
when Apollo, as he went, came to Onchestus, the lovely grove and
sacred place of the loud-roaring Holder of the Earth.  There he
found an old man grazing his beast along the pathway from his
court-yard fence, and the all-glorious Son of Leto began and said
to him.

(ll. 190-200) 'Old man, weeder (20) of grassy Onchestus, I am
come here from Pieria seeking cattle, cows all of them, all with
curving horns, from my herd.  The black bull was grazing alone
away from the rest, but fierce-eyed hounds followed the cows,
four of them, all of one mind, like men.  These were left behind,
the dogs and the bull -- which is great marvel; but the cows
strayed out of the soft meadow, away from the pasture when the
sun was just going down.  Now tell me this, old man born long
ago: have you seen one passing along behind those cows?'

(ll. 201-211) Then the old man answered him and said: 'My son, it
is hard to tell all that one's eyes see; for many wayfarers pass
to and fro this way, some bent on much evil, and some on good: it
is difficult to know each one.  However, I was digging about my
plot of vineyard all day long until the sun went down, and I
thought, good sir, but I do not know for certain, that I marked a
child, whoever the child was, that followed long-horned cattle --
an infant who had a staff and kept walking from side to side: he
was driving them backwards way, with their heads toward him.'

(ll. 212-218) So said the old man.  And when Apollo heard this
report, he went yet more quickly on his way, and presently,
seeing a long-winged bird, he knew at once by that omen that
thief was the child of Zeus the son of Cronos.  So the lord
Apollo, son of Zeus, hurried on to goodly Pylos seeking his
shambling oxen, and he had his broad shoulders covered with a
dark cloud.  But when the Far-Shooter perceived the tracks, he
cried:

(ll. 219-226) 'Oh, oh!  Truly this is a great marvel that my eyes
behold!  These are indeed the tracks of straight-horned oxen, but
they are turned backwards towards the flowery meadow.  But these
others are not the footprints of man or woman or grey wolves or
bears or lions, nor do I think they are the tracks of a rough-
maned Centaur -- whoever it be that with swift feet makes such
monstrous footprints; wonderful are the tracks on this side of
the way, but yet more wonderfully are those on that.'

(ll. 227-234) When he had so said, the lord Apollo, the Son of
Zeus hastened on and came to the forest-clad mountain of Cyllene
and the deep-shadowed cave in the rock where the divine nymph
brought forth the child of Zeus who is the son of Cronos.  A
sweet odour spread over the lovely hill, and many thin-shanked
sheep were grazing on the grass.  Then far-shooting Apollo
himself stepped down in haste over the stone threshold into the
dusky cave.

(ll. 235-253) Now when the Son of Zeus and Maia saw Apollo in a
rage about his cattle, he snuggled down in his fragrant
swaddling-clothes; and as wood-ash covers over the deep embers of
tree-stumps, so Hermes cuddled himself up when he saw the Far-
Shooter.  He squeezed head and hands and feet together in a small
space, like a new born child seeking sweet sleep, though in truth
he was wide awake, and he kept his lyre under his armpit.  But
the Son of Leto was aware and failed not to perceive the
beautiful mountain-nymph and her dear son, albeit a little child
and swathed so craftily.  He peered in ever corner of the great
dwelling and, taking a bright key, he opened three closets full
of nectar and lovely ambrosia.  And much gold and silver was
stored in them, and many garments of the nymph, some purple and
some silvery white, such as are kept in the sacred houses of the
blessed gods.  Then, after the Son of Leto had searched out the
recesses of the great house, he spake to glorious Hermes:

(ll. 254-259) 'Child, lying in the cradle, make haste and tell me
of my cattle, or we two will soon fall out angrily.  For I will
take and cast you into dusty Tartarus and awful hopeless
darkness, and neither your mother nor your father shall free you
or bring you up again to the light, but you will wander under the
earth and be the leader amongst little folk.' (21)

(ll. 260-277) Then Hermes answered him with crafty words: 'Son of
Leto, what harsh words are these you have spoken?  And is it
cattle of the field you are come here to seek?  I have not seen
them: I have not heard of them: no one has told me of them.  I
cannot give news of them, nor win the reward for news.  Am I like
a cattle-liter, a stalwart person?  This is no task for me:
rather I care for other things: I care for sleep, and milk of my
mother's breast, and wrappings round my shoulders, and warm
baths.  Let no one hear the cause of this dispute; for this would
be a great marvel indeed among the deathless gods, that a child
newly born should pass in through the forepart of the house with
cattle of the field: herein you speak extravagantly.  I was born
yesterday, and my feet are soft and the ground beneath is rough;
nevertheless, if you will have it so, I will swear a great oath
by my father's head and vow that neither am I guilty myself,
neither have I seen any other who stole your cows -- whatever
cows may be; for I
The snows are fled away, leaves on the shaws
   And grasses in the mead renew their birth,
The river to the river-bed withdraws,
   And altered is the fashion of the earth.

The Nymphs and Graces three put off their fear
   And unapparelled in the woodland play.
The swift hour and the brief prime of the year
   Say to the soul, Thou wast not born for aye.

Thaw follows frost; ******* the heel of spring
   Treads summer sure to die, for ******* hers
Comes autumn with his apples scattering;
   Then back to wintertide, when nothing stirs.

But oh, whate'er the sky-led seasons mar,
   Moon upon moon rebuilds it with her beams;
Come we where Tullus and where Ancus are
   And good Aeneas, we are dust and dreams.

Torquatus, if the gods in heaven shall add
   The morrow to the day, what tongue has told?
Feast then thy heart, for what thy heart has had
   The fingers of no heir will ever hold.

When thou descendest once the shades among,
   The stern assize and equal judgment o'er,
Not thy long lineage nor thy golden tongue,
   No, nor thy righteousness, shall friend thee more.

Night holds Hippolytus the pure of stain,
   Diana steads him nothing, he must stay;
And Theseus leaves Pirithous in the chain
   The love of comrades cannot take away.
I Alphonso live and learn,
Seeing nature go astern.
Things deteriorate in kind,
Lemons run to leaves and rind,
Meagre crop of figs and limes,
Shorter days and harder times.
Flowering April cools and dies
In the insufficient skies;
Imps at high Midsummer blot
Half the sun's disk with a spot;
'Twill not now avail to tan
Orange cheek, or skin of man:
Roses bleach, the goats are dry,
Lisbon quakes, the people cry.
Yon pale scrawny fisher fools,
Gaunt as bitterns in the pools,
Are no brothers of my blood,—
They discredit Adamhood.

Eyes of gods! ye must have seen,
O'er your ramparts as ye lean,
The general debility,
Of genius the sterility,
Mighty projects countermanded,
Rash ambition broken-handed,
Puny man and scentless rose
Tormenting Pan to double the dose.
Rebuild or ruin: either fill
Of vital force the wasted rill,
Or, tumble all again in heap
To weltering chaos, and to sleep.

Say, Seigneurs, are the old Niles dry,
Which fed the veins of earth and sky,
That mortals miss the loyal heats
Which drove them erst to social feats,
Now to a savage selfness grown,
Think nature barely serves for one;
With. science poorly mask their hurt,
And vex the gods with question pert,
Immensely curious whether you
Still are rulers, or Mildew.
Masters, I'm in pain with you;
Masters, I'll be plain with you.
In my palace of Castile,
I, a king, for kings can feel;
There my thoughts the matter roll,
And solve and oft resolve the whole,
And, for I'm styled Alphonse the Wise,
Ye shall not fail for sound advice,
Before ye want a drop of rain,
Hear the sentiment of Spain.

You have tried famine: no more try it;
Ply us now with a full diet;
Teach your pupils now with plenty,
For one sun supply us twenty:
I have thought it thoroughly over,
State of hermit, state of lover;
We must have society,
We cannot spare variety.
Hear you, then, celestial fellows!
Fits not to be over zealous;
Steads not to work on the clean jump,
Nor wine nor brains perpetual pump;

Men and gods are too extense,—
Could you slacken and condense?
Your rank overgrowths reduce,
Till your kinds abound with juice;
Earth crowded cries, "Too many men,"—
My counsel is, **** nine in ten,
And bestow the shares of all
On the remnant decimal.
Add their nine lives to this cat;
Stuff their nine brains in his hat;
Make his frame and forces square
With the labors he must dare;
Thatch his flesh, and even his years
With the marble which he rears;
There growing slowly old at ease,
No faster than his planted trees,
He may, by warrant of his age,
In schemes of broader scope engage:
So shall ye have a man of the sphere,
Fit to grace the solar year.
Poetic T Aug 2015
She was beauty personified, but in truth
She was a wish upon a star,
Like folk lore of times before,
Buttons blue,
Straw veined,
Cloth used from plague victims before, she was
Diseased,
Afflicted,
Unclean
Of mind and body that would bind a soul
Vilified by what was sewn in before,
She played her part well, A real girl,
But the toll on a father now frail and bone,
Two sisters not of blood
And a mother not her own,
A father pasted on midnights charm,
Was it cinders or the sisters?
No one knows.

"Sisters two. What time does mothers clock chime,

And for those words in the basement mother kept,
but old houses have space in walls,
And cinders spied on all,
The letter came of a dance at princes hall.

"We three shall dance the heart of the prince,
"My daughters two,
"One will be queen and we shall rule,

Cinderella anger spent, now just vengeance,
She called upon the one who brought her life,

"Fairy godmother,
"Entombed am I to the palace,
"I must dance,

"My child birthed from my wanton words,
"I will gift you freedom,

As a wand did flourish and skin was nicked,
Blood will birth your desire as arcane words were spoke,

"Let the rats be you steads as black as night,
"Eyes redder than blood moons night,
"The pumpkins out of season but will have to do,
What of a dress my mother of magic?

As barley cloth did hide modesties touch, I have
Suffered this indignity for far to long I need to be
As I was when flesh did grant upon my touch.

"A dress from the blues of your eyes,

As whispers and smoke descended
Out of tatters did beauty radiate,
A goddess seen in all men's eyes.

"Beware the time little one,
"At midnights moon,
"The Twelve chimes shall undo this magic's words,

Upon steeds and a carriage crimson orange
She travelled though ranchers wood,
And the kingdoms castle did reach upon the clouds

"Introducing,
Are you on the list,

Cinders  looked for witnesses at what was to perspire?
And blood specks did taint the floor,
As wiped was the shard, a heel diamond  
That cut like a  guillotine upon soft flesh.
In awe were those who saw her beauty,
A Princes attention taken from sisters two,

"My lady, pardon your name.

"Cinders kind sir,
"Would you like to partake in a dance,

The moments were gaining pace,
As midnight was about to grace, lips so near to touch.
Chimes counted down as Cinders ran,
A slipper did slip it fell.

"I will find you my beauty,

As steeds did squeak,
Pumpkin did fester and burst covering
Cinders now once again tattered clothes.

In the basement found tears did pour,

"Mother cinders is here filth and all,

Then the knock of authority did strike upon the door,
Unlocked,
Forgotten,
Released
Was cinders from her hell hole,
The prince did enter this home
Crystal slipper in his gentle hold.

My ladies please would you honour one with a foot,
As one did try then another,
Mother did try but size twelve was her foot.
Is there another to greet this glass as a whisper came
Though another door,
A shoe was passed through shy was she,
A farce to make the princes curiosity peek,
Mother and daughters rushed in and words did speak,
Then silence for moments,
Is in the room shard did cut upon flesh and
Mother,
Sisters,
Blood
Not of her own did spill, And into the basement limp
Bodies blooded fell.
As glass touched foot,upon the spell,
A dress did knit on her body well.

"Dear sir the shoe does fit a foot so well,

"Does your mother not to wish you farewell,

"No there just killing time in the basement,
"We said our goodbyes all is well,

Cinders now queen, but still tainted at the core,
Her festering unnoticed hidden from all and everyone,
If even a notion of thought she saw,
Then glass slipper was her weapon of choice.
Years did pass many vanished without a trace.
Then the news of Cinderella's upcoming birth,

"breath your majesty,

As new life to birth, with screams in the soundproof walls
A baby girl, of tainted cloth and rotting straw,
She had her mothers old eyes two blue buttons and cute nose,

"Fairy godmother,
"Make my child all new born as I am now,

As words of arcane gestures spoke,
Lightning graced upon ground,
Glancing others,
Flesh did cinder and smoke.
A new princess was now born,
But the prince now ending under lighting smoke,
Child and mother did rule in kind,
For now they festered in evils cloak, and the kingdom
Had an age of despair that had  never been seen or spoke.
David Hilburn Jun 2023
Rose redoubt
Rose few, in the hate we fed
Rose acts, when charisma is a pout
Rose timid, with a live for all ahead

Round eyes of decorum, vice in a wandering hope
Let to take, a tryst of potential...
Long if tooth, a wholesome day to arrive with our own
Here is my naivete, and a steads sulking breeze so beautiful...

When the world is rounder for a secret asking, to fulfil...
Promise me, a livid course, a golden truth
To the wanted more, when we are a soul of will
The tone of our voice, becomes the drama and decency of accepting youth?

Sophistication in a moment alone, with the weight of the world
Seemingly not, before the needs of others, worth is a means to amends...?
And the coltish example of the future, a repose of justness so early
That a miracle in the form of a wish, is a simplicity we lend?

Tales of the reach, the romance of curious senses
And the heart of essence, we know even will...
When boding hours are to be, the callous works of a world come to ends
With a handful of what miracles were, a common where to the liberty of silence, so real
What so wrong with a door knocked by a time with no bitterness; lies or lovers?
be blunter not, be no folly still:
this is our heartland's voice.

we are not this land's tenant,
nor are we the shadows that inhabit
  light — this is out highest meed,
we go on with nobler steads.

  languorous scraps of warfare
  and a ****** of metal heed the
  clarion call of our oneness yet when
   it rains all shall rend in rust
    as how our nation
    furiously drowns yet emerges
     victorious past the renegade of hours!

  in it and from it
shall rise the true meaning
    of our blood.
our large voices mellow down
   in our guts outdoing our smallness - there is a river of
   phantasmagoria yet its
   rustle is same in its breadth in
     our deep land. o, yelp never a lie!
  
consider truthfully brutal
   affording solace:
  it is our form reshaping our body.
  it is our wills carving our flesh.
  it is the dreams that are ensanguined
     in us that forge the arms of
      our fatherland: language!
ShuckFacedGirl Apr 2015
Bare feet dance
under the stars above
in a moonlit scene
where the stars travel closer
than the heavens above.
They come to sing
and dance
and create
a beautiful gown
to cover bare legs
and pure beauty.
Bare feet dance
and are followed
by golden locks,
but when silvery strands
fall into place,
they disappear.
Bare feet dance
in dew riddled race
where field mice roam,
only to grow 7 feet tall
and sprout silky manes
and tails,
and gallop away
on 4 hooves.
Bare feet dance
into a plentiful garden
where a single pumpkin
transforms
from orange and plumb
to mobile and magical.
Bare feet dance
away dressed in a gown
as blue as the ocean
into a silk lined coach
lead by elegant steads
Bare feet dance
right into a pair of glass slippers.
Inspired By Cinderella
Gears and gears alone can bring the motion that is everyday
Time shoos us forward as we fumble and trip into our subordinate routines
We blunder through space like old records
And discover ourselves in a smaller world every dawn

Disassembled by disapproval we submit to work
And our neighbors build their humble steads alongside us
Are days here for us or for others?
A question for the asking before we shuffle to work
Prabhu Iyer Sep 2014
Rock-still by the eroding river,
reed-still in the dance of the tide,
who eyes this world in mercy?
Shameful deeds now holy for
warriors of God. Outcast of ages
from steads by night, trek through
land where shadows upturned,
curses fain down from skies
in return for the homages in fire.
Emotion of the void that sighted
the exploding stars of hoary ages,
rock-still, reed-eyed friend of man
is there such a one indeed as this?
In this day, innocent men killed and women outraged in the name of religion. And we though the horrors of Jews were things of past. Our Gods are hollow, so are our scriptures full of hatred for infidels.
ConnectHook Jul 2021
Michael Wigglesworth (1631–1705)

STILL was the night, serene and bright,
  When all men sleeping lay;
Calm was the season, and carnal reason
  Thought so ’t would last for aye.
Soul, take thine ease, let sorrow cease,         5
  Much good thou hast in store:
This was their song, their cups among,
  The evening before.

Wallowing in all kind of sin,
  Vile wretches lay secure:         10
The best of men had scarcely then
  Their lamps kept in good ure.
Virgins unwise, who through disguise
  Amongst the best were number’d,
Had clos’d their eyes; yea, and the wise         15
  Through sloth and frailty slumber’d.

Like as of gold, when men grow bold
  God’s threat’nings to contemn,
Who stop their ear, and would not hear;
  When mercy warned them:         20
But took their course, without remorse,
  Till God began to pour
Destruction the world upon
  In a tempestuous shower.

They put away the evil day,         25
  And drown’d their care and fears,
Till drown’d were they, and swept away
  By vengeance unawares:
So at the last, whilst men sleep fast
  In their security,         30
Surpris’d they are in such a snare
  As cometh suddenly.

For at midnight break forth a light,
  Which turn’d the night to day,
And speedily an hideous cry         35
  Did all the world dismay.
Sinners awake, their hearts do ache,
  Trembling their ***** surpriseth;
Amaz’d with fear, by what they hear,
  Each one of them ariseth.         40

They rush from beds with giddy heads,
  And to their windows run,
Viewing this light, which shines more bright
  Than doth the noonday sun.
Straightway appears (they see ’t with tears,)         45
  The Son of God most dread;
Who with his train comes on amain
  To judge both quick and dead.

Before his face the heavens gave place,
  And skies are rent asunder,         50
With mighty voice, and hideous noise,
  More terrible than thunder.
His brightness damps heaven’s glorious lamps,
  And makes them hide their heads,
As if afraid and quite dismay’d,         55
  They quit their wonted steads.

Ye sons of men that durst contemn
  The threat’nings of God’s word,
How cheer you now? your hearts I trow,
  Are thrill’d as with a sword.         60
Now atheist blind, whose brutish mind
  A God could never see,
Dost thou perceive, dost now believe
  That Christ thy judge shalt be?

Stout courages, (whose hardiness         65
  Could death and hell outface,)
Are you as bold now you behold
  Your judge draw near apace?
They cry, “no, no: alas! and wo!
  Our courage is all gone:         70
Our hardiness (fool hardiness)
  Hath us undone, undone.”

No heart so bold, but now grows cold
  And almost dead with fear:
No eye so dry, but now can cry,         75
  And pour out many a tear.
Earth’s potentates and powerful states,
  Captains and men of might,
Are quite abash’d, their courage dash’d
  At this most dreadful sight.         80

Mean men lament, great men do rent
  Their robes, and tear their hair:
They do not spare their flesh to tear
  Through horrible despair.
All kindreds wail: all hearts do fail:         85
  Horror the world doth fill
With weeping eyes, and loud outcries,
  Yet knows not *******.

Some hide themselves in caves and delves
  In places under ground:         90
Some rashly leap into the deep,
  To ’scape by being drown’d:
Some to the rocks (O senseless blocks!)
  And woody mountains run,
That there they might this fearful sight,         95
  And dreaded presence shun.

In vain do they to mountains say,
  Fall on us and us hide
From judge’s ire, more hot than fire,
  For who may it abide?         100
No hiding place can from his face,
  Sinners at all conceal,
Whose flaming eye hid things doth spy,
  And darkest things reveal.

Then were brought in, and charg’d with sin.         105
  Another company,
Who by petition obtain’d permission,
  To make apology:
They argued, “We were misled,
  As is well known to thee,         110
By their example, that had more ample
  Abilities than we:

Such as profess’d they did detest
  And hate each wicked way:
Whose seeming grace whilst we did trace,         115
  Our souls were led astray.
When men of parts, learning and arts.
  Professing piety,
Did thus and thus, it seem’d to us
  We might take liberty.         120

The judge replies, “I gave you eyes,
  And light to see your way,
Which had you lov’d, and well improv’d,
  You had not gone astray.
My word was pure, the rule was sure,         125
  Why did you it forsake,
Or thereon trample, and men’s example,
  Your directory make?

This you well knew, that God is true,
  And that most men are liars,         130
In word professing holiness,
  In deed thereof deniers.
O simple fools! that having rules
  Your lives to regulate,
Would them refuse, and rather choose         135
  Vile men to imitate.”

“But Lord,” say they, “we went astray,
  And did more wickedly,
By means of those whom thou hast chose
  Salvation heirs to be.”         140
To whom the judge; “what you allege,
  Doth nothing help the case;
But makes appear how vile you were,
  And rendereth you more base.

You understood that what was good         145
  Was to be followed,
And that you ought that which was naught
  To have relinquished.
Contrary ways, it was your guise,
  Only to imitate         150
Good men’s defects, and their neglects
  That were regenerate.

But to express their holiness,
  Or imitate their grace,
You little car’d, nor once prepar’d         155
  Your hearts to seek my face.
They did repent, and truly rent
  Their hearts for all known sin:
You did offend, but not amend,
  To follow them therein.”         160

“We had thy word,” say some, “O Lord,
  But wiser men than we
Could never yet interpret it,
  But always disagree.
How could we fools be led by rules,         165
  So far beyond our ken,
Which to explain did so much pain,
  And puzzle wisest men.”

“Was all my word abstruse and hard?”
  The judge then answered:         170
“It did contain much truth so plain,
  You might have run and read.
But what was hard you never car’d
  To know nor studied.
And things that were most plain and clear         175
  You never practised.

The mystery of piety
  God unto babes reveals;
When to the wise he it denies,
  And from the world conceals.         180
If to fulfil God’s holy will
  Had seemed good to you
You would have sought light as you ought,
  And done the good you knew.”

Then at the bar arraigned are         185
  An impudenter sort,
Who to evade the guilt that’s laid
  Upon them thus retort;
“How could we cease thus to transgress?
  How could we hell avoid,         190
Whom God’s decree shut out from thee,
  And sign’d to be destroy’d?

Whom God ordains to endless pains,
  By law unalterable,
Repentance true, obedience new,         195
  To save such are unable:
Sorrow for sin, no good can win,
  To such as are rejected:
Nor can they grieve, nor yet believe,
  That never were elected.         200

Of man’s fall’n race who can true grace
  Or holiness obtain?
Who can convert or change his heart,
  If God withhold the same?
Had we applied ourselves and tried         205
  As much as who did most
God’s love to gain, our busy pain
  And labor had been lost.

Christ readily makes this reply;
  “I **** you not because         210
You are rejected or not elected,
  But you have broke my laws:
It is but vain your wits to strain
  The end and means to sever:
Men fondly seek to part or break         215
  What God hath link’d together.

Whom God will save such will he have
  The means of life to use:
Whom he ’ll pass by, shall choose to die,
  And ways of life refuse.         220
He that foresees, and foredecrees,
  In wisdom order’d has,
That man’s free will electing ill,
  Shall bring his will to pass.

High God’s decree, as it is free,         225
  So doth it none compel
Against their will to good or ill,
  It forceth none to hell.
They have their wish whose souls perish
  With torments in hell fire,         230
Who rather chose their souls to lose,
  Than leave a loose desire.

Then to the bar, all they drew near
  Who died in infancy,
And never had or good or bad         235
  Effected personally,
But from the womb unto the tomb
  Were straightway carried,
(Or at the last ere they transgress’d)
  Who thus began to plead:         240

“If for our own transgression,
  Or disobedience,
We here did stand at thy left hand,
  Just were the recompense:
But Adam’s guilt our souls hath spilt,         245
  His fault is charged on us;
And that alone hath overthrown,
  And utterly undone us.

Not we, but he ate of the tree,
  Whose fruit was interdicted:         250
Yet on us all of his sad fall,
  The punishment ’s inflicted.
How could we sin that had not been,
  Or how is his sin our
Without consent, which to prevent,         255
  We never had a power?

O great Creator, why was our nature
  Depraved and forlorn?
Why so defil’d, and made so vild
  Whilst we were yet unborn?         260
If it be just and needs we must
  Transgressors reckon’d be,
Thy mercy, Lord, to us afford,
  Which sinners hath set free.

Behold we see Adam set free,         265
  And sav’d from his trespass,
Whose sinful fall hath split us all,
  And brought us to this pass.
Canst thou deny us once to try,
  Or grace to us to tender,         270
When he finds grace before thy face,
  That was the chief offender?”

Then answered the judge most dread,
  “God doth such doom forbid,
That men should die eternally         275
  For what they never did.
But what you call old Adam’s fall,
  And only his trespass,
You call amiss to call it his,
  Both his and yours it was.         280

He was design’d of all mankind
  To be a public head,
A common root, whence all should shoot,
  And stood in all their stead.
He stood and fell, did ill or well,         285
  Not for himself alone,
But for you all, who now his fall
  And trespass would disown.

If he had stood, then all his brood
  Had been established         290
In God’s true love never to move,
  Nor once awry to tread:
Then all his race, my Father’s grace,
  Should have enjoy’d for ever,
And wicked sprites by subtle sleights         295
  Could then have harmed never.

Would you have griev’d to have receiv’d
  Through Adam so much good,
And had been your for evermore,
  If he at first had stood?         300
Would you have said, ‘we ne’er obey’d,
  Nor did thy laws regard;
It ill befits with benefits,
  Us, Lord, so to reward.’

Since then to share in his welfare,         305
  You could have been content,
You may with reason share in his treason,
  And in the punishment.
Hence you were born in state forlorn,
  With nature so deprav’d:         310
Death was your due, because that you
  Had thus yourselves behav’d.

You think, ‘if we had been as he,
  Whom God did so betrust,
We to our cost would ne’er have lost         315
  All for a paltry lust.’
Had you been made in Adam’s stead,
  You would like things have wrought,
And so into the selfsame wo,
  Yourselves and yours have brought.         320

I may deny you once to try,
  Or grace to you to tender,
Though he finds grace before my face,
  Who was the chief offender:
Else should my grace cease to be grace;         325
  For it should not be free,
If to release whom I should please,
  I have no liberty.

If upon one what’s due to none
  I frankly shall bestow,         330
And on the rest shall not think best,
  Compassion’s skirts to throw,
Whom injure I? will you envy,
  And grudge at others’ weal?
Or me accuse, who do refuse         335
  Yourselves to help and heal.

Am I alone for what’s my own,
  No master or no Lord?
O if I am, how can you claim
  What I to some afford?         340
Will you demand grace at my hand,
  And challenge what is mine?
Will you teach me whom to set free,
  And thus my grace confine?

You sinners are, and such a share         345
  As sinners may expect,
Such you shall have; for I do save
  None but my own elect.
Yet to compare your sin with their
  Who liv’d a longer time,         350
I do confess yours is much less,
  Though every sin’s a crime.

A crime it is, therefore in bliss
  You may not hope to dwell
But unto you I shall allow         355
  The easiest room in hell.”
The glorious king thus answering,
  They cease, and plead no longer:
Their consciences must needs confess
  His reasons are the stronger.         360

Thus all men’s pleas the judge with ease
  Doth answer and confute.
Until that all, both great and small,
  Are silenced and mute.
Vain hopes are crop’d, all mouths are stop’d,         365
  Sinners have nought to say,
But that ’tis just, and equal most
  They should be ****’d for aye.

Now what remains, but that to pains
  And everlasting smart,         370
Christ should condemn the sons of men,
  Which is their just desert;
Oh rueful plights of sinful wights!
  Oh wretches all forlorn:
’T had happy been they ne’er had seen         375
  The sun, or not been born.

The saints behold with courage bold,
  And thankful wonderment,
To see all those that were their foes
  Thus sent to punishment:         380
Then do they sing unto their king
  A song of endless praise:
They praise his name and do proclaim
  That just are all his ways.

Thus with great joy and melody         385
  To heaven they all ascend,
Him there to praise with sweetest lays,
  And hymns that never end.
Where with long rest they shall be blest,
  And nought shall them annoy:         390
Where they shall see as seen they be,
  And whom they love enjoy.
the mouths of the world
are served best
by cleaning in and around the
toothy nest

good oral hygeine can't
ever be beat
tis always great feeling
a brush's Colgate treat

each pearly white we've got in
our heads
habours plaque laden decaying  
steads  

if we look after our respective
sets of gnashers  
we won't need those ill fitting
denture thrashers
saige Apr 2018
for once, he blended in
albeit the crowds looked like
what you'd clear from a gutter
just dressed in sweaty colors and-
thoughts of her surged, swirled
as he passed another
vendor, cotton candy stand
she's just like these pink clouds
pretty, sweet
temptation on a stick
but once you bite right in-
only air
yet he's there
again and again and,
anyway...
a pocket starved and a sugarcoat on,
gawdy lights buzzed
as the sun cowered into a horizon of
jalopies
ferris wheel carts kept
swaying
carousel steads kept
spinning
twirling, popping
a gunshot swallowed in the
cacophony of
joy
crime rang through the carnival
giggles rushed to white noise
he chucked what was left of
that attic insulation treat
from sticky to itchy
he felt the oils on his skin
make him sick
slam the drum in his throat
to his core
smelled the popcorn as he ran
remembered
those duct-taped theater seats
silver screens of picture shows with
heroes
who always knew what to do
in moments like-
time to suit up, time to buckle down and
fly
so, busted sneakers burnt their soles against
gum-ridden asphalt
alas, he found the damsel, a boy
amidst seas of townfolk
between the funhouse and a
port-a-john
gangly teen, ball cap and braces and
bullet grazed his shoulder ****,
it seemed
"just breathe," he told the kid
because we all need air to live
cussing the rescue he couldn't be
smashing buttons until
that tinfoil voice on the line assured them
real help would roll up shortly
he left, knotted his tie around the boy's
bicep, kinda
then hurdled the gate to the whole shebang
because heroes, like her
can't wait
for bad guys to
get away...
Star BG Sep 2017
My corral of words-like steads
open in morning
where wind blows
and sun shines.

In day, where filly's are jumping
inside mind and onto page.

And me the writer,
will mount the stallions
from morning till night.

Scribing, as a poem
becomes their hoof prints
left to remember.
Onoma May 2022
as parks take very long walks

of their own, spring can't seem

to recover from Her confession.

way up there with an extremely

changeable blue, entangling Siamese

twin kites.

where she devours color--dragging

out fresh kills offering life.

what's plain sight of a clap of thunder--

over riled steads of land.

then comes the softest rain of be-fanged

Buddhas slipping from branches.

downed and open mouthed--keeling over,

to resemble what is Realized.
It was deep in her
she knew she did wrong
opened the gates
and let the rats come in

From war to war
we have beaten them all
at Hastings, we found out
they rode into Camelot

Oh how beauty can be so evil
how deceived you can be
by a Morgana
that evil witch

With my faithful, we ride west
to the temple of peace
we give our blessings and blood
we will not relinquish our swords

One knight a dear friend of mine
strikes his sword into some granite
his sword could not be retrieved
I gave him my spare and told him to leave the other in there

As we rode to Camelot
I told my friend
you know that sword was one of mine
and now you have one of my other ones

It is raining hard when we get to our Camelot
the portcullis is still open
we ride in with swords in hand
and there does Morgana stand

We alight our steads
some of us still do bleed
I tell her we will **** her
she laughs and say's she knows

Ten of my knights fall from her first spell
we that are left rush her
just like we did last time
but she moves to another timeline

I tell my brothers and sisters
I will follow her through time
and where she did stand
I stand and disappear with a magic rhyme


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Lou Aug 28
Brothers and sisters,
I sit warding cynical language to the illumination of my desktop.
Bartering darkness with small doses of snickering blank stares.
My pretention is strength.

Mediocre-core, I dub my passages.
Incomparable senseless steads I ride in stanzas
Through time, He was once a child warrior.
So masculine before now.
I wouldn’t call balance a chance but a imperfect standard.

All ball, no beam.
Steps are often not taking for balance.
I burden myself with Erie

Lake of which my family took refuge in supply
Something I wouldn’t understand
Traumatized by cold weather let alone starving.
Burnt tires in my nostrils in protest to movement  
I fund my own campaign of self deprecation
Laughing at my own actions,
unkindly ripping myself apart.

The smiles I paint on paper faces are bleeding ink
Smearing on my hands, red dripping from gums.
I am laughing.
That’s how he would of wanted me.
To see me smile.
So cynical and backwashed blood in my water.

He argued who should laugh at his jokes.
At his mishaps.
At his blunders.
At his failures.

He said it was “for him”.
"That’s what it is", belly juggled in hiccups of air.

“I am the man who laughs at himself.
If I can make myself laugh I am happy.
Not a jester for common cynics.
I AM Scaramouche in MY play.
The king is me.
The queen is too.
The crowd is amateurs looking for my intoxication.
I will give them tastes of beer but I drink from the tap.”

Thus bent over and *** crack smiles flatulence, hyena and exit.
Regular here, a Griffin in abuse to my sides.

My uncle.

I woke in shock vibrations from my screen.
Forensic analysis deduced irregularities as the time provided evidence.
This was not a humorous hour.
I spun in my current room
Dreading sheets over the sun.
Pulling lashes out of my eyes.
I lost the battle to the hour and checked the joke.

My sister said it wasn't funny.
He wasn’t laughing when he left us.
He did get the last laugh and on no ones terms.
I wonder if that was something he can remember
Chuckling excessively in waves of inhales.

No one laughed at his side rigorous.
Not a single smile in the room.
As 1200 miles of anxiety took me to his grave.
Waking in California sunshine and resting in Buffalo wind.

I wasn’t a funny person compared to my well rested uncle.
He unveiled a Irish swagger in a ballroom of stuffed necks.
My uncle broke the rules for Carpe Diem, pushing comfort aside.
One by one, family members dismissed my clown.
They were ashamed of themselves, they can't laugh.
They don’t know how to laugh.
Such seizures of breathe at his own voice.
You were in the ensemble yourself, seizures and grasping.
Your stiff neck with red anxiety,
feeling the palms and stares of relatives beating your face.

"**** 'em!"

As I lose sight of my surroundings
I imagined him for the last time explaining the world to me;

"Look at all of this limited moments
No TIME!
No REASON!
**** trying to be stiffed neck down to your *** crack!
You don't have an *** to begin with!"

My Uncle, the Meta-modernists first.
I doubt he even would care to know what that even means.
And I loved him for that raw innocence.
Sheila LaBeouf  could of learned what infamy really was;

One 12 pack,
A BBQ
Horse **** Country for suburbs.
And my uncles shadow.
With that he was never alone in blue skies or gray

Juggling blubbering soul, translating to joy.
I didn't hear sobs, just sobering up.
I feel so clueless now since I turn back on my chair,
Documenting my Uncles success in influence.
I picture shakes coming from his rest, hallow rest.
Uncertain to if it is the snores or alertness of his nephew, taking refuge in his teachings.

— The End —