He stands, golden, cloaked in ruin’s thread,
A radiant god among shadows that writhe.
The scorch of brimstone lingers around him,
Perfumed on whispers where lies take flight.
Hell’s legions bend the knee, adorned in silk,
Doctors, judges, priests, throats stuffed with power.
Their temples gleam with duty unspoken, rotten.
Mouths curl prayers that burn in their teeth.
Apollo waits, for 40,000 breaths of time,
A king of truth in deception’s masquerade.
His hands, a forge of judgment, white-hot.
Will they kneel? Or crumble under his gaze?
Servants wear abundance like shrouds of virtue;
In boardrooms, clinics, altars stained sacred,
Their words, a balm, empty. Ferocious as shadows.
The cigarette flares in Apollo’s cold hands.
Touch their foreheads, he muses, then marks them.
Pain is worship; they sip its poison.
Do they hunger for freedom? Never, they crave;
The one who loves will weigh them all.
The sun god waits, his mercy feral.
Not wrath, but a decision, shaped in flame.
Each condemned by whispers they thought sacred,
His light reveals: the truth has wings, and teeth.
They say the moon flight was staged,
The stars forgot to take their place,
A flag waved in the vacuum of space
The shadows leaned the wrong way too,
The rocket roared, the cameras rolled,
The greatest lie the world was told;
With half a million duped to pray
That 'one small step' was human made.
Why fake a landing? For fame no doubt—
Beat the Soviets, keep Kennedy's promise
Far cheaper to stage than to blast off;
Hoodwinked brains love loony dreams.
A soundstage moon, a painted sky,
Cross hairs appear in the photos
Which all appear too clear-cut
Lighting cache was always just right.
And why’d it take so long to return?
If it was so easy where's the replay?
The silly recent flyby was so easy to fake
Any kid could have done it proud.
But science fakes so many things—
Vaccines, weather, cures, and aliens;
We're all so gullible for a story
Spread as scam jam on wholemeal toast.
So bless the stage, the moon, the men,
The myth that gave hope to a Nation
That we might someday flee to Mars
To live our lovely scams with Elon Musk stars.
See the tent in Egypt and the refugees -
the carpenter, his wife and his son -
gathered in a peaceful moment,
though hunted and on the run.
A joyful scene one evening:
held up by the man’s gentle hands,
the toddler took his first stand
on the soil of the slave-maker’s lands.
One small step for a human,
more profound than Armstrong’s deed.
A giant leap for all mankind
made to fulfil our greatest need.
For that boy just kept on walking
all the way to the cross and His doom.
So much greater that God stepped on earth
than ever man walked on the moon.
Sleet licking its tongue at my window.
Leaves its icy gift on the glass panel.
Logs on the fire still give their glow,
To objects seen in the mirror on the mantle.
Need Apollo share with Artemis his cloak!
On this cold and tempestuous night.
That dark star-spangled overcoat
Keeps from frost with its warmth so right.
The sun has set and retired beyond the shade,
Though its golden faded trace is yet seen.
The moon prepares to begin its promenade,
Making midnight shadows dance in its gleam.
As hearths nobly extend their gentle heat,
The sun consoles itself in a cloudy bed.
Then sweet dreams and solace meet,
As moon tips his cap and bows his head.
Glowing ember that finally goes to slumber,
leaving behind the last ray of promise—
to appear again.
Yet lingering love,
stillness in pale glow,
only to start twilight.
Howling winds question the night’s slow departure,
waiting patiently in slumber
for Apollo to appear.
You wore Achilles’ armor when things got tough
You slayed Trojan after Trojan, and seemed invincible
When Sarpedon went down they knew you were no joke
You turned their heads and raised their eyebrows, shields, and swords
But every hero gets lonely, and every hero falls
This was no fluke but a peak that then plateaued
How much can one man do, with Jove and Apollo on the other side?
Hector may have ended you, but not without their help
Of course, your legacy lives on
No warrior really took you down
You made Achilles proud
You made the Achaeans proud
The Trojans may have your armor
But your body is well preserved
Just like your spirit and your honor
Forever, the Trojans will shriek when they hear your name: PATROCLUS!!!
O god of poetry music and song
Slow into view in the garden came
Who would have thought he’d stay so long
But rather fly away quickly before the rain
For here dwell demons so fierce and vile
With raging arms and breaths of smoke
That all joy and harmony die from their guile
And peace and calm is forever choked
So disturb they the garden’s peace
These vile beasts from foaming hell
For sure the enchanting Olympian would flee
Before the steeple ring of noonday’s bell
But to everyone’s surprise unexpectedly
His art brought calm unto hell’s monstrosity
On a sanguine melody and rhyme
Apollo with his strings came floating down
Into the garden behind the ivy and the pine
Above uneasy vapours rising from the ground
A surprise of hope that he might bring
Unexpected harmony and joy this Spring
Opposing the spit and mocking of the raging witch
The scratching shrieks of clawing famished swine
The demon wolves hiding in their hoods of crime
The threatening thieves whose tempted fingers twitch
Opposing all with enchanting lyre’s voice a soulful mourner
Implanted steadily on a ledge in the garden corner
One would have thought the hellish demons that surround
Would rise up from the poisoned mists in the garden ground
But his music and poetry like Michael’s sword and shield
An unexpected calm and fragile peace did yield
And so the magic of the Olympian’s lyre and voice
Did lead us and the country garden to temporarily rejoice.
I was a student of logic
when the world stopped breathing—
July 20, 1969,
a footprint pressed into silver dust.
Neil Armstrong’s voice crackled,
“one small step…”
and yet, my mind whispered—
was it the Moon,
or a Hollywood stage?
Fifty–six years have burned away,
half a century of miracles and machines.
We send probes beyond Pluto,
yet have not returned
to that pale frontier
just 384,400 kilometers away.
We dive to the edge of oceans,
but never to their blackest trench.
We speak of radiation belts,
Van Allen’s invisible fire—
how did fragile bodies
slip through alive,
wrapped only in cloth and hope?
Pride is America’s anthem.
If the flag had truly bitten lunar soil,
would it not have marched again—
and again—
until a fortress crowned the Moon?
They say budgets broke the dream.
But tell me—
what nation spares the stars
while spilling trillions on war?
The camera rolls.
The world applauds.
The truth drifts somewhere
between silence and space.
Thou, goddess of the hearth, beloved of all,
My heart may hear, yet never heed thy call.
For I, who love Apollo, wise and warm,
Form shattered, died from savage, sea-swept storm.
And I shall never enter Asphodel
Until the sun shall strike this bitter swell.
Nor shall I leave, who learned to love this coast,
Until Apollo lights what longs him most.
Full well I know beyond a certain gate
Lies peace and comfort, and my friends of late;
I know these things, and yet I shall await.
And if forever hath the sun withdrawn,
Forever, then, I shall await the dawn.
The bright red and dark
Molasses shining
Against the sky and sand
Fine art stroll along the beach.
People watch figure
Attracts everyone
Motivate body care
Sculpting soul capture.
Black is beautiful
Chocolatey smooth
Healthy, sporty
Pure esthetic.
Dark-skinned Apollo
Living sculpture
Women daydream
Elders forgotten thoughts.
Invitation to visit Olympus
Predestined noble affair
Feeling extremely timorous
But, Apollo will be there.
Anticipation is killing me
To think I'll meet immortals
Thrilling thought, smiling glee
Seeking Olympus portal.
Riding high on Nimbus Express
There's no other way to travel
Except I had to decompress
Or my humanity would unravel.
Immortals left me breathless
Handsome enough to be sure
Their company quite infectious
On Olympus no rancour.
Totally out of my depth
Memories enough to treasure
Eternal life there is no death
Living each day for pleasure.
Nimbus Express brought me home
Inordinate sadness feeling hollow
Parting gift a golden cell
Awesome! can talk to Apollo.
Pixabay image by: Xandra_Iryna
A twin -the brother of
Artemis, and the most
Attractive god was he.
Also god of music,
Archery, healing, plague
And light, he was nicknamed
“Averter of evil.”
March 4, 2022
for Joseph May's Greek Mythology Poetry Contest
7 lines of 6 syllables for a total of 42 (as checked by Howmanysyllables.com)
Apollo, Grecian god
Acclaimed as god of sun
Ageless and immortal
Adept in many skills
Archer and musician
Athletic and handsome
Adorable in mien
Placed Second
March.2. 2022
Greek Mythology Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Joseph May
Syllable Counter used- How Many Syllables
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