"xerxes" poems
somebody knew Lincoln somebody Xerxes
this man:a narrow thudding timeshaped face
plus innocuous winking hands, carefully
inhabits number 1 on something street
Spring comes
the lean and definite houses
are troubled. A sharp blue day
fills with peacefully leaping air
the minute mind of the world.
The lean and
definite houses are
troubled.in the sunset their chimneys converse
angrily,their
roofs are nervous with the soft furious
light,and while fire-escapes and
roofs and chimneys and while roofs and fire-escapes and
chimeys and while chimneys and fire-escapes
and roofs are talking rapidly all together there happens
Something,and They
cease(and
one by one are turned suddenly and softly
into irresponsible toys.)
when this man with
the brittle legs winces
swiftly out of number 1 someThing
street and trickles carefully into the park
sits
Down. pigeons circle
around and around and around the
irresponsible toys
circle wildly in the slow-ly-in creasing fragility
—. Dogs
bark
children
play
-ing
Are
in the beautiful nonsense of twilight
and somebody Napoleon
6.4k
In the year 480 B.C., King Leonidas of Sparta lead 300 Spartan soldiers to the mountain pass of Thermopylae. They came face to face with over 200,000 Persians under King Xerxes of the great Persian Empire,
whose archers so multiple, their arrows blocked out the sun.
Bravely the Spartans fought, with no thought of surrender.
After three days of brutal fighting, tens of thousands of Persians lay dead,
yet the Spartans still remain. Then a local resident becomes a traitor, revealing to the Persians a mountain path that lead behind Greek lines. Surrounded, Leonidas sends Greek soldiers back to Sparta to tell of a great victory, that he knew would never be. Valiantly the Spartans stand by their king, and fight to the death. So today, even though the Greeks lost the battle, it is better known for the bravery of a Spartan king and his 300 soldiers.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
The battle was imminent.
The forces were joined.
No longer was time standing idle.
Outnumber and ******
by 100 to 1,
the Spartans stood fervid and vital.
The Greeks were united,
though the Spartans alone
were the ones charged with their protection.
At Thermopylae pass,
300 men stood
together in imperfect perfection.
"Surrender your arms"
King Xerxes demanded,
"Surrender, and let the Persians betake them."
Leonidas replied "Molon Labe!" my foe,
"If you want them, then you come and take them."
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 8:45 AM UTC
I AM an ancient reluctant conscript.
On the soup wagons of Xerxes I was a cleaner of pans.
On the march of Miltiades' phalanx I had a haft and head;
I had a bristling gleaming spear-handle.
Red-headed Caesar picked me for a teamster.
He said, "Go to work, you Tuscan *******
Rome calls for a man who can drive horses."
The units of conquest led by Charles the Twelfth,
The whirling whimsical Napoleonic columns:
They saw me one of the horseshoers.
I trimmed the feet of a white horse Bonaparte swept the night stars with.
Lincoln said, "Get into the game; your nation takes you."
And I drove a wagon and team and I had my arm shot off
At Spottsylvania Court House.
I am an ancient reluctant conscript.
2.1k
No spring nor summer Beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnall face.
Young beauties force our love, and that’s a ****
This doth but counsel, yet you cannot ’scape.
If ’twere a shame to love, here ’twere no shame,
Affection here takes Reverence’s name.
Were her first years the Golden Age; that’s true,
But now she’s gold oft tried, and ever new.
That was her torrid and inflaming time,
This is her tolerable Tropique clime.
Fair eyes, who asks more heat than comes from hence,
He in a fever wishes pestilence.
Call not these wrinkles, graves; if graves they were,
They were Love’s graves; for else he is no where.
Yet lies not Love dead here, but here doth sit
Vowed to this trench, like an Anachorit.
And here, till hers, which must be his death, come,
He doth not dig a grave, but build a tomb.
Here dwells he, though he sojourn ev’ry where,
In progress, yet his standing house is here.
Here, where still evening is; not noon, nor night;
Where no voluptuousness, yet all delight
In all her words, unto all hearers fit,
You may at revels, you at counsel, sit.
This is Love’s timber, youth his under-wood;
There he, as wine in June enrages blood,
Which then comes seasonabliest, when our taste
And appetite to other things is past.
Xerxes’ strange Lydian love, the Platane tree,
Was loved for age, none being so large as she,
Or else because, being young, nature did bless
Her youth with age’s glory, Barrenness.
If we love things long sought, Age is a thing
Which we are fifty years in compassing;
If transitory things, which soon decay,
Age must be loveliest at the latest day.
But name not winter-faces, whose skin’s slack;
Lank, as an unthrift’s purse; but a soul’s sack;
Whose eyes seek light within, for all here’s shade;
Whose mouths are holes, rather worn out than made;
Whose every tooth to a several place is gone,
To vex their souls at Resurrection;
Name not these living deaths-heads unto me,
For these, not ancient, but antique be.
I hate extremes; yet I had rather stay
With tombs than cradles, to wear out a day.
Since such love’s natural lation is, may still
My love descend, and journey down the hill,
Not panting after growing beauties so,
I shall ebb out with them, who homeward go.
1.5k
Zen. A quiet state which calms the mind.
Yawning, breathing, searching within.
Xerxes the King should have searched within,
which might have led to realizing he was
vain in his attempt to be a God.
Using Zen brings me a peace,
tomorrow I will benefit,
serving in a tranquil state of mind.
Reach for your toes, breathe.
Quietly pant, feeling the rhythm,
pulling the air in, pushing it out.
Overkill is not the object,
never feel tension,
make every movement relaxing.
Laugh with your body as a joy,
knuckle relaxing joy,surges.
Jasmine scented candles flickering
inside the window, like laughing spirits.
However long you wish to sit,
give yourself over for that time.
Forget about the work ahead,
eternal armistice can be anyone's.
Dauntless and disciplined are we,
countless one's who sit and feel.
Believe in the Zen, who calls her children,
Acquitting us with power, with understanding.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
A Zealot Beauty,
Young Cat,
Xerxes Dolts,
Witting Earnestly the Very Ulterior Feelings,
Truly God Signs Her Rights Into
Quacksalver
Just Pretending Killing Omnipotence Leads New Money
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC
Arthur or Uther,
the truth
somewhere out there,
let sleeping gods lie while
we wait here to die
and
the maddest dogs
howl at the moon.
Have you pried inside me and
found secrets that have tied me
to the Cartels?
All's fair in love and wishing wells
but
don't push your luck,
**** me
even Xerxes has broken the pact
he's in on the act
that's the dealbreaker
I take a
minute to digest this
kiss the cat goodnight
and head back
to Camelot.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
I met her there,
by the statue of Xerxes on waterdown square,
she looked fine,
dressed in the latest.
Tasting the time and the taste said she's mine
and we walked hand crossed hand to the bandstand where the pipers of Glenross were doing their best to impress,
we couldn't care less we were deaf to all sounds but our own and the beat of the drums bore us home.and
I met her there
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 4:12 AM UTC
how I know we will make love someday / primal2
whatever you think of overwhelming distance,
thick black lined international boundaries,
no Westerly wind, snow binding, winter blinding, can forbid
the innate desired connectivity, the eye locking messaging,
the shared shards of losses cumulative, that we alone can relieve/repair
I will travel by jetliner, car, to unpack you from snowdrifts,
write quatrains upon your eyes, elegies on your lips,
epic poems using every body space possess-able, asking for nothing
in return, for living is hard enough, no need for quid pro quo bargaining
do not ask what am I to you, resist classification, place me not,
no slot, no rowed field, under closed eyes remember, recall,
better the butter of love and loss, which I’ll take and also leave,
summer spreads and relishes kitchen canned for next year’s winter
did you know, of course not, my name is Mordecai,^ the same who,
was Vizier to Darius and Xerxes I, meaning pure myrrh and
master of languages, but this is not the time/place, my secrets two,
to give away, and yet forbear, you may ask questions that no sensible human answers**
honestly
but I have, and will do so again, against all odds, we will
compose original numbers, all prime, all natural occurring,
divisible, yes, but only by the number itself and the number 1,
1,
a number that answers:
the equation, the prime ideal,
why only 1 + 1 equals:
primal 2
~
it takes one to create two
Jan 27, 2020
Jan 27, 2020 at 9:34 PM UTC
The tyrant built his tower tall,
set straight to work a-cutting through
the golden threads that join us all
to hoard them in his mental zoo.
Its bricks were baked of stolen clay
in his kleptocratic kilns’ cracked moulds.
Their stench of sulfurous yellow stays
as mockery of our cords of gold.
He covets the gleaming ties we share
to gild the cavern in his tower.
The pit that’s fed with his charm’s snares
cannot be sated with this gold of ours.
His true name is as it ever stayed,
be it Xerxes, or Julius, or Wilhelm, or Don,
this ******* hybrid of hubris and hate,
who feeds on sycophantic fawns.
But despots have their own red thread,
a truth of iron wrought long before:
Each one will end encased in lead,
entombed beneath time’s deepening ****
The tower topples, his memory fades.
He takes his place with Hades’ shades.
Nov 12, 2024
Nov 12, 2024 at 9:20 AM UTC
There was a glorious mix
In 2006
When King Xerxes started ******* with Gerard Butler
By sending his empire’s army
Until that one dude threw a spear like Jay Cutler
Xerxes cheek he was harming
You want land and water? You better stop talking ****
Before Gerard Butler kicks you down the big *** pit
That’s in the middle of our city with no hand rails
Because we believe that caution is where man fails
Gerard Butler will beat all the *****
Of the Persian masses
In a narrow passage
They needed help
To protect themself
The Arcadians are total *******
But they make a fine mess of things
So they caught the immortals looking
For a Spartan death sting
There’s an obese guy with swords for arms
He doesn’t mean anything to the plot
His fellow soldiers are the only ones he harms
He’s just an interesting thought
Gerard Butler wouldn’t let that ugly ****** in his squad
Because he was so flawed
So he pulled a lever and his ties were severed
So the Persians would be better
May that ******* live forever
They proved a god king could bleed
And screenwriters don’t history read
Because that **** is for Athenians
Who like to focus on dreaminess
And not being badass
Or wearing dope masks
So thank you Zack Snyder
After blunt met black lighter
My eyes got smacked wider
In a land where abs are tighter
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC