If Homer knew Rose, then she'd be the face,
that launched a thousand ships. And the walls of Troy,
which the Greeks tore down, would not fall from grace
if kings and the gods weren't pawns to destroy.
If Rose were Helen, her face would launch ten-
thousand ships—and enlist ten kingdoms more.
For Homer never knew, nor could imagine,
how fairer Rose makes Helen's beauty poor.
But, unlike Homer, I've gazed upon Rose:
her everlasting beauty is greater. Time
can never erase her feature or her pose,
so long as this poem endures as my rhyme!
And so, if Homer knew Rose (like I know her),
Troy would still stand: and have lasted forever!
Rolling, rolling over the waves of swine
Black flour and sour milk combine
In Circe’s meat filled doughy pies
Filled with death and Ulysses men’s horrific cries.
The Queen was left to go untied
Moving out to sea she died
Past ghosts recovering lost saints
Rescued as floating foamy crumbling flakes
In blood-soaked waters
Ulysses saved, his mind all a shake
His men were drawn and baked in quarters
But he is still alive and much awake
Notus so wet & wild
Eurus a dryer warm child
Zephryus a sudden gale
Boreas brutal outside the icy pale
Of Homer, Iliad And The Fall Of The Mighty Greeks
As the moon repents from its many vague allusions
And the splintered rains never rain upon true imaginations
What are we to think of those fools, plastic imitations
Does bright dew and turnips spring from revolutionary actions
He toys with unrepentant love and celebrated crisis
Begs the grey-cast dawn to organize her princess retreat
While pigs and blinded dogs drink furiously at the oasis
The Greek, smokes final cigar and tells us damn you boys eat
We tread ever onward; dawn stimulates its latent spirit
Ahead lay the great battlefields of the valiant Greek dead
Clouds begin vomiting and blood spurts out from trees near it
Homer ghost comes, cries lets be true to our heroes
instead.
Mighty Greeks fought hundred of battles had heroes in all.
Sad, nobody stays on top, so even the Greeks had to fall.
Robert J. Lindley, Rhyme
Feb 11th, 1971 age 17
Illustrator Winslow Homer
as a painter caused quite a stir
Depicting the force of nature
with sea studies so real&sure
Hey Y'all
Homer Simpson here
From the Simpson's
For and on behalf of
Duff Beer
Just to let you know
That if you drink enough
Duff Beer
It can make you're problem's go away
If it changes your personality and
turns you into an obnoxious drunk
And gets you into a fight and you
eventually get your light's punched out
And then all your problems do seem
to go away
Until you eventually wake up and come
to
And you go
Dohhhhhh
Why the hell have I got 2 black eyes
and a broken nose
Which is also so much worse than
you're normal bog standard hangover
And you now need another
Duff Beer
Winslow Homer of seascape fame
paint ed scenes just of Mainet
The epitome self-reliant Yankee
in his day a household name you see
Would that this poet were in Greece!
Her heart enchanted on its sunlit sands.
Her lover, kissing her porcelain hands.
His eyes, deep, dark as Kalmata olives.
The homes, white, with bright, blue tops.
Her heart beating so loudly, fearing it may stop!
But as the sun sets, she is far calmer.
Her head on his chest, she hears its Greek beat.
Then in Hellenic peace ,falls asleep to it’s melodic treat.
Sappho and Homer, she felt reincarnated.
To pen of love was always her deepest desire!
Deceased ages ago, but love brought back
her pen’s desire!
Dedicated to James
Thank you, dear friend!
8/31/2022
With joy and jubilation today,
The strong batter smiled and perspired
As he ran the bases, so greatly admired.
A lesson, though, for poets all.
Just write, must each poem be in a contest?
Much each poem be a blatant conquest?
Is there no pure joy in what we do?
I think there is, through and through.
Personally, I find no joy in being better than you.
It’s a grand gift to show a bit of humility.
Not, “ I am so much better than thee!”
“Being the Star on the Poetry Tree.”
Write to embrace another soul!
Poets, hear me, whether young or perchance, old.
You are loved as is, you see, we need not be sold.
Poetry is not a major league sport.
It moves the soul and touches sparkling hearts.
Far, far too many, forget it really is an art.
6-26-2022
-1-
the gods envy us
with a million ways to die-
one only to live
My friends all dead, Poseidon's gaze falls last
Upon me, broken, clinging to a raft,
He low’rs his fist, and shatters present, past
And future… now a yards-long broken shaft
Is all I have to save me from the sea,
I choke and spit, and swim for shore -- ‘tis near --
Then find the Cyclops swimming after me…
Though blind, he had pursued me; rage and fear
Had made him stupid, and the splintered beam
I grip, I thrust into his open maw
“Poseidon! Next, he dies, or you redeem
Me from the sea, and from dark Hades’ craw!*”
Then falls a sudden calm… Cyclops is gone
I swim to shore – ‘tis Ithaka, at dawn!
_________________
*In the Greek legend, Polyphemus, the Cyclops, was said to be the Son of Poseidon
_________________
2/12/2019
Submitted for: Movie Magic Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden
Movie: 'The Odyssey', Character: Odysseus
Walk-off homers are the thrill of the home team
They rejoice in jubilation, the whole team beams
Friends french kiss friends
Men kiss ugly men
Players touch each other in places unscene
There was a young cowboy named Homer
Who broke bronchos and was a roamer
The girl that he called hon
Said,"When all's said and done,
Those bronchos are breakin' your gomer."
3-10-18
Homer Brunett
1879-1912
You didn’t think it would be easy? Did you?
Life squirms incessantly,
As with the molting snake,
Turning and squeezing into mortal convolutions,
With myriad forgotten episodes
Of human triumph and tragedy,
Of endless drama in the slatted houses;
Life is constantly lurching and lunging, ever forward,
Under those silent indifferent clouds, up there!
But time is the ultimate mind master,
He knows where the switches to the stop gates are.
He knows when to open the field sluices awash!
We foolish human beings inevitably
Get taken by the rushing flood waters,
Get completely swept away by the undertow,
Helpless against the madding confluence,
Ending up as tears on the faces of the bereaved.
This is my final testament and statement!
That of an intelligent dead man!
THE ODYSSEY; HOMER
Perhaps,He'd been dead,caught at the claws of the sea:
The Akhaians had loan him to the whales,a meal.
The battle of troy weighed,threw him out of balance,
Cowardly rugged he'd given in,no longer stance.
Perhaps he'd journey along the route of Pylos,
Or zeus(father of all gods and men),had bethroted him to the Harlot.
Suitors bewitched by penelope's beauty,
drenched in waeve-trick,swimming in folly.
Telemakhos, astound at the ageless effort,
Perhaps his father's return is the dying carrot.
But woah!,Athena(the grey-eyed goddess),had had her way,
Oh see! Odyssey,the forgotten,to Ithaka,made his way!
18:02:23:13:40
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