"tantalus" poems
buffalo head cloud
rawhide drums
saline rollers at tantalus cross
ominous light
forms a short mile away
head lice
and peckers
tap the metal track
shovel train pings
the night quiet
moonlight
shines in
geometric form
arches and skiddles
and skirting reflections
(a vast connection of
grand design)
7 horns
at the passing
(oh that cold metal joy!)
stirring the blades
and ground cover
you better not turn old friend
just nod,
and cut what you need
it’s a bitter run
on the winter line
(with the finest
of wheels
and runners)
hold tight
on the pulley
the canyon wires
are clipping
there’s a gateway
to the copper town
*with a key held
by coveted few*
you can spot the
riders in their
box cars
watching closely
at the chunnel’s
dark turn
we’d walk
the lines often
(and put an ear to the ground)
the mine town still
and barren
hidden treasures
and pocket *******
settled deep
in a tranquil, stolid place
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC
I pray thee leave, love me no more,
Call home the heart you gave me.
I but in vain that saint adore
That can, but will not, save me:
These poor half-kisses **** me quite;
Was ever man thus served?
Amidst an ocean of delight
For pleasure to be starved.
Show me no more those snowy *******
With azure riverets branched,
Where whilst mine eye with plenty feasts,
Yet is my thirst not stanched.
O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell,
By me thou art prevented:
'Tis nothing to be plagued in hell,
But thus in heaven tormented.
Clip me no more in those dear arms,
Nor thy life's comfort call me;
O, these are but too powerful charms,
And do but more enthral me.
But see how patient I am grown,
In all this coil about thee;
Come, nice thing, let my heart alone,
I cannot live without thee!
3.4k
I'll drag you to hades to dwell with me
In the garden of Persephone.
We'll dine on her fruit so we shall be
Lost in each other for eternity.
Elysium shall hold no sway with us
We'd rather watch the sufferings of Tantalus
Souls crossing Acheron will provide
Our music, a tortured lullaby
Their lamentations won't put us to sleep
Nor will their groanings cause us to weep
But they'll fill us with fury rooted in lust
We'll lie down on blood soaked fields the color of rust
Then we'll journey through Asphodel
As we travel back to our home in hell
I with you and you with me
In the garden of Persephone
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
Tantalus tartarus tortures through time tremendous
Amber ambition aback at arousal
Menacing mandibles munch my member
Eating eruptions eeriest ***********
Docile delusional damp dame do digest
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
There is a beetle on the high street,
pushing the sun along at a fraction-
0f-a-mile-per-hour. He is pondering
his plans for the summer.
Perhaps different venues?
Perhaps different dung?
But he knows it's all foolishness.
He never goes anywhere.
Then a god falls out of the sky.
Not a particularly large one,
a medium-sized god as far as
they go. Roughly human-
shaped. Not counting those
streaming banners of fire
that pour from his eyes.
Few humans have burning eyes.
A dagger drips from an open
wound and he clenches his
blood (it is his own blood) in his hand.
More are coming he realizes.
All of them. And he's quite
correct. Without trumpets or
lights or choruses or bowls or
scrolls, it starts to rain.
The beetle pauses in his
pilgrimage to survey the
man underneath the god's feet.
A hand in a crater of asphalt
with a keen, nigh-inaudible
wheeze of breath. A cough
and a choke.
And the beetle scuttles on.
They fall from clouds that aren't,
I mean, actually in the sky. They crush
buildings and businessmen, They
eat fountains. They descend into an
unthinkable and unthinking
age like a dizzied chorus that cannot
pick up on the beat. Purple sash
and green helm, They build mountains.
Teeth chip around the clay- the men
and women- like fireworks.
The gods' great works resolve
like a finished slider puzzle, like the
back of the sun. Mannequins watch
the moving marble for a moment.
But the Mutes eventually find a voice,
they shout, they run into the fray.
Tantalus' mouth fills with
wine. The beetle walks around his
head. Sisyphus' back was broken
by a boulder. The poor little fellow
descends into an inferno and
climbs the devil's back like a
Purgative mountaineer. Such struggle,
thinks he, to have to take a detour.
Sky sets fire to the shell pink
sun at night.
The liquid spheres engulf ideas
on a dry stretch of ocean.
Clouds splinter in a victor's hands,
are frozen shut.
and everything sinks back home
in the middle of a wor
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 2:32 PM UTC
Being near you again
after a long time
feels as if I am Tantalus;
a thirsty man surrounded by water
but unable to drink it.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
‘What a piece of work is a man!’
……… ………
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust’
From Shakespeare, through Hamlet
It rings down to generations
And falls heavily on my ears too
In vain, I attempt to probe into the mystery
Nay, the enigma called man
Both in the silence of my solitude
And in the learned circle of pundits
(Fool…..
Unable to find who you are
Can you venture to say who the other man is?)
Man is a jumble of contradictions,
I know….A hard nut to crack!
So unfathomable, so mysterious
At once a Satan and an angel
To the outer world I am someone
But in the well guarded cellars of my privacy
Aren’t I different?
Hiding my innards to light
As every other man
At times, I feel so proud
Excessively in love with my own image
Like Narcissus, the poor hunter boy
Fated by gods to languish
On the bank of a pond,
Over his own floating image!
However with all my strength within
Do I not feel as helpless as Prometheus bound?
Waiting for a Hercules to come
And save me from my plight
If Prometheus’ ******* was God willed
Mine is self willed…! Is the difference so very crucial?
Sometimes I feel I am Janus
Looking backward and forward
Into my past and my future
Never living in the present
Or am I more a Sisyphus
Eternally rolling a rock over to the hill
From where it keeps falling down
Sometimes I wonder
Amid the splendor, do I not starve?
Like Tantalus of Greece in the pool
Beneath the tree, with the low lying branches of fruits
Constantly eluding his grasp
And the water, ever receding before
He could take a drink!
As a poet how I wish I could
Equate myself with Calliope
Carving my mind on the wax tablet
With stylus, my pen and coloring it with my fancy
Or Orpheus, so skilled in music
That with my sad musings
I can make even Hades weep
And the rocks fall in line
I shudder to be a Medusa
Turning everyone to a stone
With my sinister glance!
Instead, I want to be one of the Graces
And never one among the Gorgons
Pitched in this gallery
Of queer mythological entities
I wonder how I appear to others
And whom I resemble more!
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC
Venus was back to her wicked tricks; I never planned for the way you stole the breath from my lungs, but kept me begging for more. Or what about the beauty in your words? The Goddess of love and beauty could never compare to the way you once made me feel.
I bet Zeus had never thrown a lightening bolt as shocking as the way it felt when you first held my hand. I bet every lover he ever had never quite made him feel as complete as you could make me feel.
But there you were, and like Hephaestus you built me a stable castle for every pulse of my heart. I never felt so safe in such a small room, but now the walls close in and even Vulcan's fire can't match the heat from your embrace.
You were also Mercury, and your quick feet made me trip far faster than I should have. I just wanted to keep up, but our messages must have been left behind and now Cupid's arrows don't quite work like they did when we were young.
I felt like Tantalus when you let the vulture of your mind rip apart my stomach and leave me in sections on the rug. You were the food held just out of my reach and you were the waters I drowned deeper and deeper into, day in and day out.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
fire me towards a career
or something
(any/or/either/neither)
because i haven’t been
playing music
and i’m starting to seem
the emaciate-pit peach on a too-tall
tree of plenty
just out of reach
of tantalus,
waist-deep in a river
of cornsilk braids too
rich for eyes, too coarse for tongue or teeth
garden of goddesses
wielding life-flow
geometry
keep the
hounds and
ghost-things
at bay.
undress a smoky corset,
tendrils, or turgid
rapids, swatting
ceases less
twining strands
than flies.
i wish it away,
woven comfort,
a web of fraying
calico and red tape,
bearing the weight
of an arachnid slew.
yet away with it
yields my downfall,
tumbling branch
to branch,
unfeeling, unthinking,
but for my parachute.
i lost a life
to watching
a mirror and
the marker in my hand,
but it could not stop
the leaves from drifting,
nor the water from taking the leaves,
nor those leaves from disintegrating.
simmer down,
shudder breath,
breathe deep
¢er
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
the sea grabbed bodies, theirs and mine flaming foaming tendrils
ahold of the drifting timber trying to keep gripping, hanging
holding high salt stripped throat shouting Unhand Me, Body-
You'll not have us tonight, but the sea made belly sounds,
bleeding even the pilot, head slipping to the murk my blood
the envy, finally fell out inside and I sank to the floor with the timber and rope-the final moments of vision the setting horison the eye and perhaps an illusion; not-blak sails drifting steady my head vapor shroud eating the sun I fell into the lap of my love, my Mathilda- royalty to seakelp and fog looking on both irises jupiter and mars and thanking the stars furyos vixens above and she stood and she smiled not-blak sails- I admired her silver linen train but a din like desperate men shouting loosed me from my vision; they had seen the sails and all surrounding the lot tantalus's envy the pilot's hands raving Not today! Not today! They feared hotel raft a permanent lodging, jumping, frightened, killing themselves their poor salt-seasoned hearts drifting again more than them no signal observing the sails flurrying trumpets it might see us-it might, it might!
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
Why do we always want what we can't have
Why is greed an essential part of the human mind
I can't help but
always seem to want what's not mine to have
I try my hardest to
resist because
it is in my reach
I've been spending countless hours
debating
but always come up with the same answer -
Leave it alone.
"but what if it's meant to be"
For all I know
I could be missing out on the one person who can make me the happiest
Instead
I settle for our friendship
It pains me to stay away
But I know it would hurt even more if I didn't
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
It’s pretty late
You’re standing across the room, talking to someone or something but I’m just here
These are your friends after all
But you look sad, like me
Like usual
Someone’s pouring me a drink and
I‘ve got that ichy feeling you get when you shouldn’t smoke your last cigarette
But you know you will
They say something to me and laugh
I’m sandwiched between a fantasy and crushing reality
like beautiful ideas that become **** when you write them down on paper
My feet are shaking, ready to move (anywhere)
I am the inches of terrible terrible air
Between the fruit on the tree and your fingertips
(you, tied to the ground, like me)
You can shout all you like, Tantalus
I know you
You’re just like me
We’ll never get anywhere
We’re frozen assets
We’re “get well soon” cards given out in the ******* cancer ward
We’re racecars stuck in the mud
But what do I know?
Why are we even here?
Do we have anywhere else to go?
I know it’s late
2:45 in the morning and raining
But I’ve got a third a tank of gas
and you’ve got that look in your eye
let’s get the **** out of here.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
i am that spark that ignites your desire
that which fuels your madness.
i am the explosion of your senses
the explicit insult to your feeble needs.
of mind and body, result or not.
i am the force within your planetary resolve
not gravity. nothing of the kind.
i am that which streaks in the sky
a dying star, i am not. to feeble, i think.
i am that which siphons your resistance
the strength of a thousand black holes, i have.
i am that which reasons with your soul
for your body is too weak.
i am that which is enthroned atop your passion
its master and commander.
i am the continuous peal of deafening thunder
that plagues your wild fantasies.
i am your fear
you are at my mercy, i come when i please.
i am the scandle of your life
you dare not whisper of my existance.
i am that unknown
which you seek with feverish want.
i am not yours to keep
not yours to have.
i am that which eludes you
the fruit above Tantalus'head, the water at his feet.
i am.........
that which i will never know, that which you cannot know.
for i am incomplete.
and i am just beginning.............
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
Dreams
Dreams of Grandmas house
Dreams of The Pond
of Nahla the golden dog
of Mohka the black dog
of Pablo the horse
of Abraham the donkey
and ********* if I can't remember the cats name.
I do remember how I would only see it around meal time and then only briefly; descending from the attic to eat Fancy Feast.
Cutting cold hot dogs to mix in with the dog food, taking a bite or two from each dog, hot dog that is.
Stacking
Stacking
and stacking more hay.
Then, slowly, one bail, split in two, half for the ******* mixed with Alfalfa the other half for the horse.
I was, maybe (I'm a little too drunk to remember), 7 or 8, when my sister and I captured a box full of tree frogs from The Pond. Excited with our new box of living toys, we brought them back to the red house/trailer Frankenstein. Sitting outside in the sun we attempted to count them, fruitless, but convince a couple of dirt stained, sun baked, white trash kids of that.
Yelling (always yelling, never brash, rarely angry, always loving yet, always yelling) our Grandma called us in for lunch, stouffers lasagna with Truckee Sourdough Company bread greased thickly with tube garlic butter.
We ate, drank our whole milk, did our best to avoid the tantalus sin of sunscreen, and scrambled back outside, no thought or worry for our frogs.
It must have been July or August. the famed drought of the Western United States, aided by childish disregard, had slaughtered our maybe two dozen tree frogs.
I'll tell ya, I don't remember when or how Grandma (a lover of all things living, besides Bush 1 or Bush 2 perhaps) found the frogs but I do remember her often and automatic exclaim of "Son of a gun!" was replaced with the real version, replaced and amplified and aimed.
I can't remember our punishment or if we received one, but, rest assured, Joslyn and I never jammed a plastic handheld aquarium full of tree frogs ever again.
Thank Grandma Vicki for that one.
Thanks Joslyn, for reminding me of the attic cats name: Poe
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 9:55 PM UTC
After his great dissent,
his body slipped under, breaking
the hem between sea and sky,
his fragile breath displaced by water.
He tread feverishly,
as the waves pulled at his cracked shoulders,
and urged him to greet the murky depths beneath,
but he thrashed against the tide's shackles,
and still would not succumb to human limit,
and still would not defer his dream,
aching like Tantalus,
arms outstretched towards the heavens.
In his final moments,
his head was cocked up at the sun,
a proud grin beaming on his face
as the ocean poured into his lungs,
and he sank.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
Through the seas i travel,
all my sins unraveled.
Lamenting across my shame,
Penthus is thy name.
As the waves they break me,
a thousand knifes upon thee.
Broken, scarred and lame,
Hippasus is thy name.
Beneath the waters that straiten,
in swathes of desolation.
The amaranth of my pain,
Prometheus is thy name.
This tomb, this grave, this shrine,
my fight, my struggle to climb.
A hopeless perpetual game,
Sisyphus is thy name.
Now darkness takes the light,
as day becomes the night.
Reaching in endless vain,
Tantalus is thy name.
No longer are the stars,
the minutes and the hours.
Nor feel the dancing rain,
to wash away the blame.
And never again the sunshine,
nor any of God's design.
No more will flicker this flame,
for nameless, is thy name.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 5:43 PM UTC
High upon a basalt cliff,
carpeted round with lily fields
and blanching poppys' lips,
high upon a basalt throne,
Persephone sits.
Frail as lily wands,
lithe as Syrinx songs upon a reed.
And there, below,
grim Sisyphus,
and there the Centaur-sire
spins upon a wheel of fire.
And there, Tantalus sits grinning
mumbling prayers of sin and sinning,
hunkered down to steal the peach
which quickly leaps beyond his reach.
Or there, a hundred weary sisters
with a hundred leaking jugs
and a cistern dry as bone.
High upon the basalt cliff,
still as infant breath upon the air,
Persphone, sits and stares.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 12:31 PM UTC
Drinking hollow words from a hollow cup
You call me a cynic though I’m not arguing whether the glass is half full
Just pointing out not all the contents happen to be water
Giving the sword hilt first to my shadow only triumphs in gutting myself
Feeling a tad bit like Tantalus constantly grasping at straws
Always coming up short but never able to go under
Venture that fruit tingles the tongue bitter-sweet
Going in blind’s my stumbling block speak first think last
Clumsily running into walls because what’s two inches behind my heels
Is far more important than five feet from my face
Crafting kingdoms out of rock slides just to watch them crumble
Trying to head away with the fairies but too painfully observant
To drift away with the clouds but too easily swept afoot
Blisteringly blunt my mouth knows nothing but forward stutter
Spitting venom’s second nature but it burns just as bad when swallowed
Agonizingly apologetic knowing what I mean can’t cut the haze
The pesky smokescreen that conceals the landmines scattered
Always two steps ahead one step back
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
Oh Tantalus!
How I understand you
Let this pool of water be a punishment
Let these low hanging branches be torture
Because you cannot drink
Cannot enjoy the fruit
A broken handle on a cauldron
It cannot be moved
The pheasant inside cannot be eaten
A transformation cannot be made
The rain stops
Aversion comes
Oh Tantalus!
As you sigh and weep your fate
Miserable and despairing
At what has been wrought upon you
I pray as the cauldron spills
You understand me
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
Standing in a pool of water
Dying of thirst
With the limb of a fruit bearing tree above my head
Dying of hunger
I am Tantalus
My suffering
An intricate plan
Designed by none others than the gods themselves
I reach up for the fruit
And my arms aren't long enough
I drop down to quench my thirst
And the water recedes
I am tantalus
My suffering
Is seeing what I need when it's always out of reach
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
I'd rather drown in the deep blue sea,
than let you shed a tear for me
I'd rather burn to ashes at the stake,
than be without you when I wake
Yet,like Tantalus I reach out for the sweet fruit of your affections
Only to realise it's beyond my grasp and above my apprehension
For my darling,your love is an elusive mystery,not an open book
I'd rather crumble into a heap of rubble,
than let you suffer alone when you're in trouble
I'd rather lose every once of my breath and suffocate,
than let my love for you dissipate
Yet,Like Sisyphus I'll bear this brunt on my own for all eternity
And tirelessly, continue the uphill battle of conquering your heart
From start to finish and finish to start
But I'll do it with a smile on my face
For my darling, your love is a slow passionate torture,not a race
I'd rather sip on some hemlockian potion,
than withhold my time and my devotion
But my sweet...would you do the same?
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
He was a demigod who tricked his dad, Zeus. When he got caught, he was killed and then cursed for an eternity; denied of food and drinks. He was made to stand in a stream of crystal water under apple trees. However, every time he were to reach for the fruit or bend down to drink, he'll be eternally denied.
To me, that's how it feels like loving you. You're right in front of me. Every thing I ever wanted but you're out of reach. All I could do is look at you in hunger of your touch and love. Longing fiercely to know what it feels like to have you in my grasp. Wanting a taste of you at least once. The question is; what did I do to **** off the gods for cursing me this way? Why does it feel like I'm eternally ******
-m.b
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 8:52 AM UTC
Tell Tantalus thine torments tougher
Western winds welling wants within
Effulgent everyone everything entity echos
Nothing nevermore niceness nigh
Thorns threading thrones
your yokels yell yoicks
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC