All That Was Sparta
Our lusty voice was in the tramp of narrow, winding,
Scree-littered, deep-rutted roads;
Ravens, uttering guttural croaks, slow-wheeling above
Vast, resonating, steeply plunging gorges;
Ever watchful: ragged wings as spread fingers splayed;
Stretched out below: the flat, purple skies.
Men, when heartened by that which might be cherished unto
Cold marble stone,
Following the bearers sacred light; those brightly
Lit torches
And blazing campfires preserved by a flame Spartans
Believed could not ever die...
But, tragically, in this, for fierce Sparta...we
Were wrong.
Now all that remains of Sparta's defiant spirit is in
Half-forgotten song...
I hear them in troubling dreams; a sadness manifest in
My every slowed exhalation of the inexplicable, involuntary sigh!
Obscured shrouds of clammy scarlet in the greyed-misting's;
Dampening's in dew-soaked morns. Hitched-up unfurling
Reinforcing, what was already, the grim personification,
That dreadful assuredness, of certain death.
Those hammering alloys: when they moved -- the very
Mountainside shook!
Resolute camaraderie amidst awakening comrades; rising in
Oceanus, radiant Helios prepares to drive; the curling
Of morning's chill vapours upon the shortened, steaming,
Laboring breath.
I, for one, have always passionately loved the rising
Dawn....the old sl*t took
Yet another prince for her pleasure no doubt. In each
New dawning
Each man, in that fenced-off section of his undisclosed
Mind, ashamedly forming
Anxious thoughts; hands attentive to boastful wounds
Where keen metal had struck!
Yes, insatiable Eos, undeniably, has a beauty that alone
Is only hers;
She, rose-tinged Goddess, whose drab chariot paces
Gently over
A far-slung, shrunken horizon, is, be it only just at this
Moment...quite beautiful.
How I did'st always welcome an ushering-in of another
Newly made day; and birds,
Re-empowered at morning call, flagrantly answering from
Tree to tree; swooping plovers,
Mewing over thin marsh grasses, plunging and swerving
Until,
Or so it seemed -- they should outrun the swift wind
Itself! But we who were set
To destruction did put away all such idle thoughts.
We, they who had kept
Faith with Spartan ideals, then roused us up, mixed
Wine with flour; drank libations for the fickle Gods goodwill.
The months rolled up as one; the blurring of Springtime
Sneaking into Summer.
Pouring into the warming air, odours from barley, onions,
Cheeses and salted meats;
Straining oxen, burgeoning shoulders bunched, heaving upon
Creaking carts;
Following behind, a stream of artisans; on occasion
A richly stained, streaked and glowing, sinewy runner
Stepping out from the column to disappear into the glare
Of shimmering heat
That sapped unto and pulled upon our strength...
It seemed as if all the weary day we marched.
The only men in the world for whom war brought a respite
From the training
For war; soon the ritualistic oiling of limbs, a careful,
Symbolic arranging
Of long, plated hair -- the oncoming battle which gladdened
Our steadfast hearts!
A young goat, before onslaught, sacrificed to
Artemis Agrotera; entrails
Examined for favourable omens. Flesh of ram and
Sheep offered to Zeus:-
Him whom emblazoned upon impregnable hoplites; an Eagle,
Opposite to the throne,
Hungry to tear at the exposed ribs of corpses; and, not
Forgetting - "Them"! "Them" who must again prevail;
Is there any other choice other than death? Therefore --
Let loose
The shackled Titans!!! A trumpeting of salpinges,
The spontaneous, eerie moans
From flute and pipe, the thumping tympanon --
Massed panic amidst rising fear!
The bronze wall of indestructible armour bristling with
Lance and spear;
The tightly packed Phalanx; the stabbing...deathly cries...
The horrid groans.
This is all they shall ever know of Sparta...because what
More is there to know?
The scattered ranks. Wide eyed, snorting, galloping
Horses with nostrils flared
Charging across the breeze! Men, headlong and stumbling,
Flailing beneath
Many flashing hoofs; spilt blood, red as our fluttering
Cloaks, that pools and flows
Like a slaughtered bullock's. Now the shattered land;
Those whom shared
In this butchery pursue not the vanquished,
But, rather, indulge a brief
Homage to the palm branch Goddess; it is she who
Inscribes the victorious
Upon her shield. The sudden quietening; the somber falling
In; the fallen, glorified dead. For what was left of us...
Grateful ruminations. And only I alone noted the yellowing
In a single, downward traipsing leaf.
But, oh! Oh, Sparta...if you had but only ever known...........
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment