Best Sappho Poems
Crimson lips, lovers awaken with a kiss
Creamy white skinned Goddesses resting
In a time where Socrates lusted after Sappho's
Poetry and art.
The Grecian people worshiped her with
her beauty and exquisite prose. On the wings
of her art she played enchanting music arranged
for immortality.
Golden chariots in fields of apples bold,
yet, solitary like one fallen from the tree,
Sappho wrote her memoirs and music
while exiled, her death unspoken.
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
Sappho
didn't want a beau
she wrote about her lesbian passion
and that sort of thing is always in fashion
posted too late for the clerihew contest!
Ode to Sappho
Do you ever wonder that which you seek for might not exist?
That only in your sweetest dreams you will find at most small glimpses of it.
Your wildest thoughts are only vapory figures that are not real.
What you felt and tried to share will never be understood by those around you.
All you wish for will slip through your fingers like water running over a dam.
That like Sappho, only small fragments of you will exist.
In a far flung future your words, your thoughts will be jumbled.
Eager eyes will try to discern what you meant to convey so long ago.
That zealots will have burned and deliberately tried to hide your works.
Those who did not agree with you exiled you from that which you loved.
That the very words and phrases you sweated over in anguish are gone.
It will all be destroyed by time, man and the endless woes of the universe.
What you wrote will be gone forever never to be seen again by human eyes.
It will have no meaning and be lost among the rotting, festering debris.
Your thoughts will be strewn carelessly at the bottom of the chasm of time.
My words do not sing like Sappho's did from that time long ago.
Her phrases rang out in song that which she felt and thought.
To have seen through her eyes is one of my greatest and grandest wishes.
Feeling what she felt, breathing deep the fragrances in her world.
Oh, that my hand was her hand as she wrote the words that are now lost.
Whatever your seed is,
it doesn't want my skin.
You never dream of anything of me:
hands, mouth, arms,
the weight of me on you,
tongue, sweat, old willy boy inside--
nothing of my kind allures.
You would rather some sweet Marie,
her body breasting you with nipple,
her perfume offering you delirious wine--
you want nothing of mine.
But, hey, okay--love me anyway, any way.
Love the life and joy of me, my smile.
Love my unquenchable desire; love that I can see you.
Love that I can have and hold you deep and dearly--
beyond tumble, beyond any touch or tingle.
Before a pagan shrine, a witch reveals the gods’ desire
And sees a cryptic vision cloaked in her enormous pyre:
The blazes have the wit of lightning born of rain and fire
And magically filled with deep, eternal knowledge brought
To life on laden summits swept by ancient songs of Troy.
Her Delphic incantation saved the fallen poet’s lyre
And came to sink intrigues inwrought astutely with the thought
Bewitched on fields of war by many wizards’ spells or ploy.
Men can avoid dark potions made of poisoned weeds,
And erudite disdain from tortured debtors of the skies
Ensure that passion-winged crusaders risen from abyss
Can spread their handsome virtues over young, unruly seeds.
They bring the sovereign power trumpeted by nimble flies
Upon all fancies hurled to nothingness by thoughts amiss.
The oxen of the Sun are resting under Doric watch
And, suddenly, near Sappho’s ancient cave of dreams, the fount
Of noble manhood births a youth whose eyes deceive the minds
And souls of gods and goddesses. They hope to best or match
This witch-like poetess of Aphrodite, whose high mount
Has lured them deep within her lair, where Arne’s beauty blinds.
In wine, incense and smoke, such truths Apollo’s priestess finds
And sows bright hope and pride in Greece’s lustful minds.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Sappho fragment #2
translation by Michael R. Burch
How can I compete with that damned man
who fancies himself one of the gods,
impressing you with his "eloquence" ...
when just the thought of sitting in your radiant presence,
of hearing your lovely voice and lively laughter,
sets my heart hammering at my breast?
Hell, when I catch just a quick glimpse of you,
I'm left speechless, tongue-tied,
and immediately a blush like a delicate flame reddens my skin.
Then my vision dims with tears,
my ears ring,
I sweat profusely,
and every muscle in my body trembles.
When the blood finally settles,
I grow paler than summer grass,
till in my exhausted madness,
I'm as limp as the dead.
And yet I must risk all, being bereft without you ...
Sappho of Lesbos was so highly regarded by her peers that she was called The Tenth Muse. That was high praise indeed, because the other nine Muses were goddesses! Sappho has given us our terms "sapphic" and "lesbian." And she wrote the first "make love, not war" poem more than 2,500 years ago! She was ahead of her time, and probably ours as well. Keywords/Tags: Sappho of Lesbos, Sapphic, Greece, Greek, translation, woman, women, girl, girls, girlfriends, love, lovers, lesbian, homosexual, passion, desire, longing, lust, sex, sexy, sensual, sensuous, relationship
SAPPHO'S POEMS FOR ATTIS AND ANACTORIA
Most of Sappho's poems are fragments but the first poem below, variously titled "The Anactoria Poem, " "Helen's Eidolon" and "Some People Say" is largely intact. Was Sappho the author of the world's first 'make love, not war' poem?
Some People Say
Sappho, fragment 16 (Lobel-Page 16 / Voigt 16)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Warriors on rearing chargers,
columns of infantry,
fleets of warships:
some call these the dark earth's redeeming visions.
But I say—
the one I desire.
Nor am I unique,
since she who so vastly surpassed all mortals in beauty
—Helen—
seduced by Aphrodite, led astray by desire,
departed for distant Troy,
abandoned her celebrated husband,
turned her back on her parents and child!
Her story reminds me of Anactoria,
who has also departed,
and whose lively dancing and lovely face
I would rather see than all the horsemen and war-chariots of the Lydians,
or their columns of infantry parading in flashing armor.
Sappho Translations I
Sappho, fragment 132 (Lobel-Page 132)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
I have a delightful daughter
fairer than the fairest flowers, Cleis,
whom I cherish more than all Lydia and lovely Lesbos.
2.
I have a lovely daughter
with a face like the fairest flowers,
my beloved Cleis …
It bears noting that Sappho mentions her daughter and brothers, but not her husband. We do not know if this means she was unmarried, because so many of her verses have been lost.
Sappho, fragment 131 (Lobel-Page 131)
loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch
1.
You reject me, Attis,
as if you find me distasteful,
flitting off to Andromeda ...
2.
Attis, you forsake me
and flit off to Andromeda ...
Sappho, fragment 140 (Lobel-Page 140)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
He is dying, Cytherea, the delicate Adonis.
What shall we lovers do?
Rip off your clothes, bare your breasts and abuse them!
Sappho, fragment 36
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Vain woman, foolish thing!
Do you base your worth on a ring?
Sappho, fragment 130
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
May the gods prolong the night
—yes, let it last forever!—
as long as you sleep in my sight.
... a sweet-voiced maiden ...
—Sappho, fragment 153, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I have the most childlike heart ...
—Sappho, fragment 120, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There was no dance,
no sacred dalliance,
from which we were absent.
—Sappho, fragment 19, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I love the sensual
as I love the sun’s ecstatic brilliance.
—Sappho, fragment 9, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I love the sensual
as I love the sun’s splendor.
—Sappho, fragment 9, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You anointed yourself
with most exquisite perfume.
—Sappho, fragment 19, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Awed by the moon’s splendor,
stars covered their undistinguished faces.
Even so, we.
—Sappho, fragment 34, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Sappho, Lesbos, Greek, translation, epigram, epigrams, love, sex, desire, passion, lust, lesbian, LGBTQ
Do not stay at your window only to watch
The Snake is dizzy
Do not worry
Give up drinking the white milk of prey/ies
Express your positive suma
The road (in/on) up to the mountain is full of curves
Drive safely and wisely, go slowly.
There’s no moon
The Pleiades have disappeared.
It’s midnight,
I catch the no.48
I’m the only passenger.
A 6th century poet Sappho
wrote verse on the Isle of Lesbo
Creating a genre called Saphics
the of which stil exists
happiness wets me as
in torture,
drip by drip,
dropwise...
impossible to drink
the sea...
how impossible
is to count its sand...
herald birds
of spring,
mosquitoes sent
from rains,
dry leaves signs
of autumn,
advertiser swallows
of summer....
your love extinguished
from me while i
burned me with love...
Your love was only dry.
and mine only flood...
sorrows
of the night
dew
falls
tenderly
upon hearts
of loneliness
breath
words
soft spoken
disperse
the light
into
purple
shadows
soft
as honey
in
precincts
of pleasantness
blissful
sweet
murmers
delicate
as nectar
bring
mist to the eyes
loves
elegance
a safe neighbour
fair
to look upon
paler
than summer
grass
sweet flowers
to
treasure
as
the golden
sun
tyranny&
tenderness
of love
manifest
in particles
limpid
living streams
gold
tinted lines
quivering
lustres
of splendour
charm&
cloud the eyes
delicious
laughter
sweet sounding
flare
afresh
from a sacred
grove
caresses
revery
&radiance
bloom
in a whirlwind
of
longing
return favour
to the eyes
embroider
and salute
worship
devoted
to
beauty
These are epigrams by Michael R. Burch
Road to Recovery
by Michael R. Burch
It’s time to get up and at ’em
and out of this rut that I’m sat in.
A man may attempt to burnish pure gold, but who can think to improve on his mother?—Mahatma Gandhi, translation by Michael R. Burch
A mother's heart is God's ultimate masterpiece.—St. Therese of Lisieux, translation by Michael R. Burch
Fools call wisdom foolishness.—Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch
My objective is not to side with the majority, but to avoid the ranks of the insane.—Marcus Aurelius, translation by Michael R. Burch
I discovered the Goddess in your body's curves and crevasses.—attributed to Sappho, translation by Michael R. Burch
Warmthless beauty attracts but does not engage us; it floats like hookless bait.—Capito, translation by Michael R. Burch
Experience is the best teacher but a hard taskmaster.—Michael R. Burch
Time will tell, as it always does in the end.—Michael R. Burch
Time flies, until it's flown.—Michael R. Burch
How can the Bible be "infallible" when from beginning to end it commands and condones but never once condemns the satanic institution of slavery?—Michael R. Burch
Atheists give God the "benefit of the doubt."—Michael R. Burch
The enemy is not without, but within our gates; it is with our own complacence, our own folly, our own cutthroats and criminals that we must contend. — Cicero, translation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: epigrams, road, recovery, rut, Sappho, goddess, beauty, wisdom, mother, god, teacher, time, bible
Heir on Fire
by Michael R. Burch
I wanted to be Shelley’s heir,
Just fourteen years old, and consumed by desire.
Why wouldn’t my Muse play fair?
I went to work—pale, laden with care:
why wouldn’t the words do as I aspired,
when I wanted to Keats’s heir?
My verse seemed neither here nor there.
How the hell did Sappho tune her lyre?
And why wouldn’t my Muse play fair?
The journals laughed at my childish fare.
Had I bitten off more than eagles dare
when I wanted to be Byron’s heir?
My words lacked Rimbaud’s savoir faire.
My prospects were looking quite dire!
Why wouldn’t my Muse play fair?
At fifteen I committed my poems to the fire,
calling each goddess a liar.
I just wanted to be Shakespeare’s heir.
Why wouldn’t my Muse play fair?
Lullaby
by Michael R. Burch, age 25
Frail bit of elfin magic
with eyes of brightest blue,
sleep now lines your lashes,
the sandman beckons you …
please don't fight—
it's all right.
My newborn son, cease sighing,
softly, slowly close your eyes,
purse your tiny lips
and kiss the crisp, cool night
a warm goodbye.
Fierce yet gentle fragment,
the better part of me,
why don't you dream a dream
deep as eternity,
until sunrise?
Frail bit of elfin magic
with eyes of brightest blue,
sleep now lines your lashes,
the sandman beckons you …
please don't fight —
it's all right.
My Doctir’s Excus
by Michael R. Burch, age 8
I can eggsplain why Im sick.
Sick as a brick
and my stule is thick.
I came to school
and I caught it from Rick.
Now I’m sick as a brick
and my stule is thick.
I cant do my homework
becus Im sick.
I cant take tests
becus Im a mess.
Blame Rick, the prick!
—signed, my doctir Ann Onimus
PS, Thurd grade is hard enuff on kids nervs and bad graids make my simptoms worse! Liten up, doctir’s orders!
Keywords/Tags: Heir, fire, Muse, Shelley, Keats, Sappho, Byron, Rimbaud, Shakespeare, student, sick, school, homework, desire, work, words, verse, poems