"tyrian" poems
A mock pack of sea dogs
Lay on the hot, white shore;
Their wrinkles said
They'd been too long
In the sea.
Next to them dozed a tyrian crab
Whose sleep in a foot-trace deep
Commenced to crumble
In the green rumble
Of a lecherous tide.
Then a dark, awkward sound
(Not too far from the drowsing crab)
Was heard.
He came forth from the mountain
To sun himself on the shore
And send the frightened rocks
Back to the deep.
(c) LazharBouazzi, 11 June, 2018
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
Translation From Anacreon
I wish to tune my quivering lyre,
To deeds of fame, and notes of fire;
To echo, from its rising swell,
How heroes fought and nations fell,
When Atreus’ sons advanc’d to war,
Or Tyrian Cadmus rov’d afar;
But still, to martial strains unknown,
My lyre recurs to Love alone.
Fir’d with the hope of future fame,
I seek some nobler Hero’s name;
The dying chords are strung anew,
To war, to war, my harp is due:
With glowing strings, the Epic strain
To Jove’s great son I raise again;
Alcides and his glorious deeds,
Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds;
All, all in vain; my wayward lyre
Wakes silver notes of soft Desire.
Adieu, ye Chiefs renown’d in arms!
Adieu the clang of War’s alarms!
To other deeds my soul is strung,
And sweeter notes shall now be sung;
My harp shall all its powers reveal,
To tell the tale my heart must feel;
Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim,
In songs of bliss and sighs of flame.
5k
’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.
Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?
Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between:
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to ev’ry wat’ry god
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A fav’rite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand’ring eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.
3.6k
140
An altered look about the hills—
A Tyrian light the village fills—
A wider sunrise in the morn—
A deeper twilight on the lawn—
A print of a vermillion foot—
A purple finger on the slope—
A flippant fly upon the pane—
A spider at his trade again—
An added strut in Chanticleer—
A flower expected everywhere—
An axe shrill singing in the woods—
Fern odors on untravelled roads—
All this and more I cannot tell—
A furtive look you know as well—
And Nicodemus’ Mystery
Receives its annual reply!
2.7k
442
God made a little Gentian—
It tried—to be a Rose—
And failed—and all the Summer laughed—
But just before the Snows
There rose a Purple Creature—
That ravished all the Hill—
And Summer hid her Forehead—
And Mockery—was still—
The Frosts were her condition—
The Tyrian would not come
Until the North—invoke it—
Creator—Shall I—bloom?
2.5k
we did not Dye in vain!
by michael r. burch
(from “songs of the sea snails”)
though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.
i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!
Originally published by The American Dissident
Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!
Keywords/Tags: royal, purple, imperial, Tyrian, Byzantium, porphyry, swaddling, clothes, porphyrogenitos, mollusks, sea snails, royalty, kings, lords, emperors, popes
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC
She first appeared from the vapors of Lake Tyrian
An apparition clad in azure mist
Shrouded in the sheerest veil of antique lace
Bands of burnished gold upon her wrists
She had wild champagne locks of untamed curls
Swirling down to her waist
Reaching out to caress gentle breezes
As if, to give pursuing chase
Her splendid feet completely bare of dress
Seemed to freely glide
Across the hazy vapors of Lake Tyrian
Her beauty held in pride
I felt no alarming fear inside my heart
Towards the lovely gliding maid
Until I saw slowly emerging from Lake Tyrian
A sword’s glistening blade
My gentle heart skipped a fleeting beat
Swiftly freezing in icy fear
So afraid the lovely maid of Lake Tyrian
Would see me standing there
Watching the sword rise up into her delicate hands
My heart stopped in dreadful fear
Yet, as she had first appeared in the hazy vapors
The maiden of Lake Tyrian, disappeared
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 12:37 PM UTC
The western wind is blowing fair
Across the dark AEgean sea,
And at the secret marble stair
My Tyrian galley waits for thee.
Come down! the purple sail is spread,
The watchman sleeps within the town,
O leave thy lily-flowered bed,
O Lady mine come down, come down!
She will not come, I know her well,
Of lover’s vows she hath no care,
And little good a man can tell
Of one so cruel and so fair.
True love is but a woman’s toy,
They never know the lover’s pain,
And I who loved as loves a boy
Must love in vain, must love in vain.
O noble pilot, tell me true,
Is that the sheen of golden hair?
Or is it but the tangled dew
That binds the passion-flowers there?
Good sailor come and tell me now
Is that my Lady’s lily hand?
Or is it but the gleaming prow,
Or is it but the silver sand?
No! no! ’tis not the tangled dew,
’Tis not the silver-fretted sand,
It is my own dear Lady true
With golden hair and lily hand!
O noble pilot, steer for Troy,
Good sailor, ply the labouring oar,
This is the Queen of life and joy
Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!
The waning sky grows faint and blue,
It wants an hour still of day,
Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,
O Lady mine, away! away!
O noble pilot, steer for Troy,
Good sailor, ply the labouring oar,
O loved as only loves a boy!
O loved for ever evermore!
1.7k
Love is a Phoenician breeze,
Purest abjad of Tyrian purple and royal blue,
Pillow bearer of golden consonance between kings.
Love is a Phoenician trader over deepest-sounded seas,
Far-blown nomad that still wants for the thunder of golden drums
And the rain that comes in rounded vowels of water.
Because love has no tribe but is the purest nomad.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:17 AM UTC
152
The Sun kept stooping—stooping—low!
The Hills to meet him rose!
On his side, what Transaction!
On their side, what Repose!
Deeper and deeper grew the stain
Upon the window pane—
Thicker and thicker stood the feet
Until the Tyrian
Was crowded dense with Armies—
So gay, so Brigadier—
That I felt martial stirrings
Who once the Cockade wore—
Charged from my chimney corner—
But Nobody was there!
1k
royal purple
around my eyes
cough out my lungs
***** my guts
rage
fills my heart
and I just want to disappear
fight my fear
social anxiety
don't leave me alone
somehow
my words repeat
themselves
and
my thoughts repeat
themselves
but that is just me and how I feel
I try and solve it but it is too hard
sometimes.
crosswords of words I could never free from the cage in my mouth
pigeons of peace
empty of hope
heartless
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
Merely
two turgid leaves
of purple—
more haiku
than sonnet.
Yet, like Caesar’s
Tyrian robe,
there is grandeur
in you.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
I'm here once more, but then again when was I not?
as if my eyes have ever shifted from my reflection. I'm sick of it.
I don't know how long I've been here; this dimly lit trap gives away no time.
all else melts around me, pools into ripples of my distorted reality.
I sit and I watch my face. I long for the familiarity of yesteryears that I cannot trace.
my skin yawns open, wills to consume itself - porous, velutinous, and brittle.
this is who I am, this is what I see:
tyrian purple flesh decomposing, falling inside my bones that split and splinter;
my mind climbing out of my head, fugitive from the skull's prison;
breaths, ribbons of grotesque, not deep enough to last and not shallow enough to be numbered.
everything without is human (decaying though it is), and everything within is dissimulation.
this molten, fragmented un-being doesn't escape my sight. these eyes have cried out for respite -
and yet they exist, the odd and sole constant in the mirror before them -
wistful for oblivion and feasting on fear. what's gone has kept me alive for longer than it appears.
this body doesn't even feel real. my fingertips burn at every touch.
what more shrapnel does this heart desire until it plays out its final beat?
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 2:04 PM UTC
And a sense of calm fell upon me as a towering vortex of cloud
filled my view of earthen dusk ..
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC