Best Amphora Poems
I smell no Jasmines, Daisies or Geraniums this Summer
Nor my soul desires an ancient amphora
Crimson riddles my skin
My mind is an Amethyst.
An Amaranth a fixed star; an amulet
To which my neurons ebb and flow.
Purple radiates in shades
Violet Veins. My palpitations are magenta.
My heart is a deeper shade of purple. This summer.
Like a wound under a microscope.
I long to plot the anelemma of my thoughts
Protons in blue and electrons in amber.
Yet purple dominates my neurons like a clumsily drawn tube map.
In my mind, a soft ray of violet makes a lemniscate
Other colours, smells and senses, an oblivion await.
* This is an exercise in one colour :)
Certificate U
Poem
~ At last! ~ At last! As
a sweet rejoinder to Him my
soul cried out aloud, at last, as I
marveled in the benignity of my
Lord. For imparting to me, the
liberal blessing of my life ...
and for giving me His
eternal assurances.
For delivering me ...
returning me to a veracious, and overt; amenable
position-of-hope-and faith in Him. Yes-for-purging-and
lifting; empowering and molding ... maturing me, indemnifying
me in His certitude, and enduring graciously the-horrid-penalty;
of my willful prides contumacy. For ne’er to trammel the ambling
of my committed volition. In the greater wisdom and grace of their
instruction I willingly did revolt in sheer defiance before His tender
eyes of mercy. (Amid the futile campaign, (of my own bitterness)).
Distinguishing only those weary days apart from the welcome and
gentle fervor, of His embrace; and so, through this detachment,
and His patient hands my heart’s longing was brought to know
compassion and to be absolvitory. As written on my heart,
and being able ... today, and thankful to Him to see. Of the
many roads I have peregrinated down, illuminated upon
this narrow path, of God’s all-inclusive way ... it is all I
~ have come to truly discern, of an aeolian peace. ~
The words of this poem, form the reference in shape and idea; of a heavenly amphora.
Demitrios the golden Spartan captain sets sail for Italy
against the western wind; he will certainly mourn Piraeus,
and with sorrow-striken eyes, he'll invoke Poseidon.
Then he'll depart carrying the long hunting horn.
The small vessel will hold out and he won't fear waves,
but he laughs at Ares--who despises all kinds of irony.
Occasional gusts soothe the skin on his noble face,
unwrinkled and unrugged. Spring water should
quench his dry tongue; it's too warm and tasteless.
Stored in a huge amphora which depicts faces
of gods and warriors engaged in warfare,
it has the same warmth of the sweat that drips
from his hot forehead that has turned red.
Ahead, wisps of fog arise--an imagery whale.
Beyond there are perils and certain delights;
thoughts of danger will perturb him, thoughts
of discovery will enthrall him. He will be experiencing
them on his voyage--what he desires is smooth sailing.
He has heard of sirens and cyclops,
of fertile valleys and fields of yellow wheat;
of buffalos that roam, of goats and sheep that bleat.
How amazed he will be to find rocks
to build the New City*on that pristine shore--
he will declare his Queen sitting in the marble throne!
Demitrios the golden Spartan captain sets sail for Italy
to escape Achille's curse; he refuses to hide in the wooden horse,
he will never return to Greece. Athens and Sparta will not fight
with swords and arrows; their grand plan is to win war by deceit.
Cleverness will defeat the Trojans. Only Helena foresees the worse;
they don't heed her words--Troy will fall to the enemy.
* The New City: Neapolis ( Naples ).
count on it...
that numbers made the world
we came to believe
after all ten digits
long ago ran out
and we stuck our toes into the fray
to count and be counted anyway
and they too ran out
a foot at a time
and numbers became stuck to
our rulers feet or by meter,
our sole, soul repeater
then we counted awhile,
and soon wired some beads
to a wooden frame
'cause, unconsciously we knew
it'd never be the same
and abacuses counted because
Sumerians knew the power of
columns of orders of magnitude to
give counting a certain, amplitude
and soon balances were forged and
everything compared to something else -
grain to sheep,
sheep to amphora,
amphora to slaves,
slaves to children
children to wives
neighbors lives to our own lives
covetousness counted as
a capital idea
long before Adam Smith
or any form of mercantilism
came to bear witness on a weakness of man
yet who can count on power
is there a conversion factor
that shows more or less
that less is more than some detractor
what's the ratio of
desire to need to
redemption to volition to
love to life -
there's a number of ways to count it
© Goode Guy 2013-04-11
Brutust Iulius Trois Page 07
Brutus called his captains into conference
we are done with creeping along the shorelines
prepare now to sail out across the Aegean
the winds are with us and Troy awaits!
Imogen seeing Hesione, ceased weeping
Hesione, were you happy with your lot?
was Telamon a better fate than Neptune's dragon.
So you are returned home having reclaimed your veil
So Priam is again Podarces and the serpentine Cetus awaits.
With the dawn the Trojan fleet finally sailed out.
Guardian dolphins leaping alongside in sunrise
Sped on by Aeolus, the windy son of Neptune
For Neptune had been placated by Brutus
by his offerings and by his vows
happy to be headed homeward the Trojans sang
composing happy ballads about Brutus
his triumphal return of the Trojans to Troy
of the golden lives he was leading them to
so the sunny days of the crossing passed
The fleet of Brutus sailed past the foggy isle of Tenedos in the last hours of night.
gliding over Neptunes's golden palace, the Aegean glowing with Salacia's lights
raced they toward the ness, the headlands of the Helespont
Suddenly from the fog came, Alarms, cries, clamor, the clash of iron
Sol's opening eyes revealed a Thracian pirate attacking a Phoencian
Tossing bodies overboard feeding the lesser cetus the sharks of the sea.
With his own battle cry Brutus took what was to hand and threw it.
as Nauta the helmsman steered into the fight
Tossed like a weapon Hesoine's amphora burst upon the Thracians
spearing them with shards as her black ashes coated the sea
clogging the gills of the lesser cetus who dived deep
deep and away from all of the disturbance.
As the ships came together the Trojans boarded the Thracian trireme
swords slashing stabbing slicing as they bloodily slayed the pirates
Imogen left behind looked away looked down upon the water
only she saw Hesoine's ashes transform into a sea dog
a great grey seal that swam to the beach of Cynossema
finding shelter beneath the shadow of Hecuba's empty tomb.
The snarled monogamy
needs a firework.
A solitary moon walks on a lake
nonchalantly.
The marriage
between the planet and moon
was falling apart.
In amphora lies the secret
of a jeweled crown. Cynical
berries were searching
a quartz to find the truth of the bush
where the colors were mixed.
There is no further news of
half-crazy stars who became
pretty girls to start trading
their shines.
Satish Verma
Brutus Iulius Trois Page 06
The defeated Pandrasus spoke out
his weary words weighted with wisdom.
Linus is as Greek as I am Greek and as a Greek
let him inherit the crown, I'll name no other heir.
take for yourself as bride my Imogen, my daughter
many fine ships shall be her portion
and peace shall be proud Imogen's price
Set sail Brutus, leave all that is Greek behind
take those who would be Trojans home to Troy
Grey bearded Membyr rapped his cane for silence.
Fools with hands still bloody from fighting!
What peace can live with the families of the slain?
Linus will wait for a crown he won't live to wear.
Brutus accept the kings tribute and let us depart.
light heart-ed Brutus danced long at his wedding
Ere he left Chanoia to sail home, home to Troy
happy Brutus was with his bride fair Helen's image
youthful Imogen, old Pandrasus's proud daughter
with his new ships Brutus went sailing , keeping to the coastlines
through the archipelagos, around the Greek peninsula
at every anchorage being joined by freedmen and escaped bonds men
at every anchorage being provisioned by small kings and unhappy chieftains
who hastily sent away this army of would be Trojans back to Troy
An unwilling wife was Imogen who wept for her homeland
her eyes turned to the shore while it was in sight
Imogen wept for her mother, her father, her fate
Imogen wept for her spinning wheel and wept for her loom
Imogen wept for her gardens, her gowns and her goats
Imogen wept for all that was hers, which was left behind.
Brutus soothed and kissed her holding her tightly
until weary with weeping Imogen slept.
At Sounion, Brutus climbed the cliff to Neptune's temple,
offering a spotted bull with passionate prayers for a safe voyage
As the sun set on the Aegean, a citizen came from Athens.
Philaeus, son of Eurysaces, the last king of Salamis.
An oracle of Apollo had demanded he renounce his rights to rule
and have Neptune's lost sacrifice returned to its altar
So he gave away his kingship, and came here carrying Hesione's ashes
Hesione, the stolen sister of Priam. The late payment of Laomedon's debt.
As Laomedon's heir, Brutus accepted the task
taking the veil covered amphora, he gave it great honor
placing it upon his own ship, fastened securely behind the prow
Thick web of silence, ether which retains
My distant days’ dim trace of tears on sand!
You are the amphora whose dark wine pains
My drowsy brain with thoughts forever banned.
Deceitful lord of long ago and old
Remittances unpaid for lack of trust!
Sojourn with me and raise again the dead
Desire which once would turn my heart to lust
And careless love, when nothing but the cold
Despair of loneliness could cause me dread!
Where do you linger, spirit of the night?
I wish to drink your potion cup, then lie
And fall into a dream to seep your light,
Whose brightness wanes. In vain I weep and sigh:
To steal the wings of Mercury, the god
Whose intercessor you have been on earth,
No science, skill or spirit can assist
My solitary quest. I sense the dearth
Of calming waters spilled upon the sod
Where shy Juventas lies, embraced by mist.
Both cherished and disdained by man you are!
I stare at your wide portal, locked and veiled,
And often do I hear your wan guitar
Which keeps me in your labyrinth of failed
And buried dreams. Remembrance! You must not
Delight yourself and feast on fallen fruit
From aerial Elysium, where long
Your scepter held dominion absolute.
Reveal yourself and then undo the knot
Which keeps me bound to your unhappy song!
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Because-love exults eternally, universal
peace, and so I say Love- in its benignity ...
recuses all ... ~and perfect- and servant
in their fervent manner;- integrity,
receptivity- and amenability
illustrious and moreover
devoted in their richness,
breed thy greater influence
of peace throughout the years,
sanctifying themselves forever in
their innocence, becoming the
fortunate prize ... an altruistic
offering, and humble sacrifice,
given for all to embrace through
faith, a certain repose;- and everlasting
liberty. While- clemency, oh Thy generous
clemency, emancipates-knavery's tomfoolery,
and suggested to me, and granted as a wonderful
opportunity, grace ... is the universal proposition
dancing through time hand in hand within the arms
of love; relishing in the promotion of her deliverance,
and so I say, when this hope of my days reprieve ...
has come to pass ... beckon me on- to know
this- simple delight, and hold me in Thy
loving keep.Yes bring me Thine heavenly
Kite to greet me. Secure me there, and lay me
down then-under the assurance, and gentle
comfort of her wings. Yes raise me up ... and
hear me oh Lord in my plea I pray. (("Oh liberate
me",)) ("Carry my soul off with her to Thee".) (("Let
thy love shower-down (over me".))) So I may
embrace for myself, again, thine tender arms,
of mercy ... . Precious-tears-offered in-faith ... fall,
God-catches them places them, within His Soul's
heavenly-amphora, and with a sway of His Mighty
Hand, plucks-up His eminent-Knowledge-honed
by Holy Quill. Upright and looking strait into
His vision for us of the new day. Offers-the
many consummate opportunities riding high
on the fringe of His promise, granted in welcome.
Painting a Holy Journey,evolving amid a certain
solace and freedom. Moving on into veracious days
with Him lasting on forever. Exiting beyond higher lofts of earthly
skies and rolling lands advancing in humble reverence descending
down from the openness of the Heavens. Rewriting yet again; another-story
in person for each individual. Yes for all life; far-greater-and-even greater
still ... than the others gone before.
travelling to my never was,
my yearly time in the yard
spring time back to cold Ohio
gripped in nonsense and melancholy
I travel to old town
misted by the cuyahoga
surprised yet not I find
they tore down the tottered house
tar paper and clapboard
hoary hand pump out front
jutting out of upturned earth
like an oxidized finger accusing
at broken chimney
collapsed walls
19th century brickwork sharded
toppeled into fetid basins
the neighborhood's harshbitten scar
open wounded by the treelawn
old man who once lived there
trapped in darkness and exile
haunts it no longer
memory freed
by oiled machinery and progress
rooftop split
like broken amphora
scattered on the seabed
and so floats my enmity
thermal up and away
updraft and ashes
drift'n bulldozed and scaffold
dissipating on warmer breezes
as if it never was...
Etruscan rose
a purpled blue,
I write a melody for you
Etruscan rose
magenta shade,
for you this pollonaise
is played.
Note like petals
spiral down
through Etruria
and "round
ancient ruins
of desire
falling on your
funeral pyre.
where your fragile form
in flames
departed .....
just your heart remains
Amphora ,
classic in design
Etruscan roses there
entwine. to guard
your heart
forevermore,
as symphonies
and petals
soar.
... stalactites hung like dystopian snot from a statue
her brain was frozen and formed ice in her mind
a lacuna without inlet or outlet arrested in time
mind’s skates tied up in bundles of snowflakes
gloves off for defeat with all speed set in arrest
not even her black woollen hat showed any signs
of thawing heart-warming emotions for comfort
empty speech bubbles covered her scraped tongue
where a mouth-watering waterfall should pursue
a pick axe with nothing left to dissect or construct
dangled from a callous corpus callosum in pain
unable to connect right left wrong or left to correct
this was not what searching tranquillity had promised
in contrast transcendence wept at chilly flood gates
a voice that had so much to part with in a landscape
of permanent layers of verglas onto vaporous rime
she wished for some slime or yuck glopping goo
but permafrost refused a glimpse of impermanence
a fool thought it funny to stick a carrot in her nostril
helpless she could not leave the vegetative state of affairs
clung to a string of crystal beads at pearly gates of no return
this is a lie I am Pinocchio at the threshold of truth
a metaphor unable to break the spell of apocalypse
unfulfilled amphora and vessel that can’t even leak
incontinence at the pointless orifice of evacuation
without one drop of hope for cataracts to dissolve
a lonely icebreaker with nothing left to crack open
where a firm skull should harbour my residual flow
when a polar bear embraced her unbalanced spectre
shared his white furry coat under a mantle of darkness
shales of introjection floated away from the solar eclipse
which had sheltered her from a charcoaled manic cauldron
touching middle grounds in between scorching euphoria
and lifeless apathy just long enough to remember that she had
not taken her medication and the self-help manual was useless
sometimes catharsis has to wait for one small lucid moment
when a beak meets a beaker and cascades start from a dribble
Author's note: This is an epic length poem that will have to be split into parts and will be serialized in successive posts.
Part 2
act three
in the third act delirious
the laws of physics etc.
he coughs his lungs out
in wheezing jets
internal combustion is internal combustion
his bed of wheels begins to roll
first one wheel then the others
cough cough cough
his wheels roll the length of
NEURO WARD 4's corridor
to the NEURO elevator
and its NEURO music
by now familiar to you
as that song in the head
cough cough cough
3 2 1 doors open out
upon the concrete parking lot
out to Lucille the Oldsmobile
they recognize one another
why no one knows
this is an orphan's tale
composed with the licensed use
of Orphan Guild secrets
raised on the back seat
suckled by giant oranges
weaned on foot long hot dogs
at the nation's roadside
Musella my injection!
act four
in the 4th phantom of the opera
the tank hits empty
his lungs flat and black
as a piece of big rig recap
in desperation piles bricks on seat
heaves bricks back onto concrete
salutes au revoir to the mirror's horizon
and rolls onward
propelled by what is equal
what is opposite
according to St. Newton
the law of the motor
what goes in must come out
seriously Lucille rolls
upon the concrete gridway
steering herself autonomously
everything left to chance
we now know any nightmare
propelled by what is equal and opposite
will roll through the divider
and off the bed-road
Musella vacuums up the glass
and sorts out the tubing
our fugitive lays low by his radio
signal up full
awaiting the footsteps
and stethoscope of Tex Amphora
the archaeologist cowboy surgeon
took my case in a bar stool wager
betting on flesh made perfect
the fool the angel
5 minute intermission
they taught me how to act
onstage I mean in stages
strangers said I'd grow out of it
friends said I'm gonna die from it
there comes a time in a youth's youth
when he discovers
that the machinery on the interstate
can play the sound of skidding wheels
on a Steinway
so
a much needed musical interlude then
acto sexto
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
http://tinyurl.com/nhfk6dr
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.site11.com/
~ Precious-tears-offered in-faith ... fall, God-catches them places
them, within His Souls heavenly-amphora, and with a sway of His Mighty Hand,
plucks-up His eminent-Knowledge-honed by Holy Quill. ~
~ Upright ... and looking strait into His vision for us of the new day. Offers
the many consummate opportunities riding high on the fringe of His
promise, granted in welcome. Painting a Holy Journey, evolving amid
a certain solace and freedom. Moving on into veracious days with Him
lasting on forever. Exiting beyond higher lofts of earthly sky's and rolling
lands advancing in humble reverence descending down from the openness
of the Heavens. Rewriting yet again; another-story in person for each individual.
Yes for all life; far-greater and-even-greater still ... than the others gone before. ~
~ Carrying within it ... the treasures revealed of Him strewn about found soaring
aloft the reality of Him granted and awakened devout of their surrender. Whispering,
of the latter days grateful of the many gone by. ~
~ As tender kisses resinating from-His heart of-mercy, grace-the folds-
every-nook-and-cranny-of the-lands. The-fullness-of His-consciousness-
the very-presence-of His-greater-hope ... has-placed-its-sweetness-rising-up-
in its-essence. Within-lowly-laying-effervescent; droplets-glistening-in the-
light, of His-joyous-rejoinder. Given for all; in love. Carried-in the-honest-
taste-the-freshness; of the precious morning-dew, and-in her-innocence;
truth; e'er-aware; and-seeing this-and being-fond of-His-presence thriving-within-
the-relative-ease and-dancing amid-the peace, emanating-from the-perfect-fruition-
of His-love. ~
~ Moves-to-cherish too, the-pureness ...
of-the-union ... ~
~ While rising, in-a blaze-of His-Glory; from the ashes of the past. A
new-day budding in the-wake of-its-freedom. Amid royal fields-growing-
still-fragrant more brilliant elaborate; of lavender. Has felt the-pleasure
of-His passion too, and-given the true-warmth and goodness-He has-always
been-open to provide. ~
~ Pausing-amid this beauty seen still rising in-spite-of-this out-of-the-ashes-
of-the-hate of the days of our past.
His-love remains, abides-for-us.
Why not-we-too all-move, to-look-to-cherish this like the-innocent; in their
freedom are-always striving ... to-do? ~
Words hanging from parched branches confused and betrayed
Under a canopy of shadows in the recess of belittled thoughts
A prison of speechlessness bereft of expression and meaning
Letters motionless in disarray fighting lost battles lonely at heart
Starved streams of consciousness as a willow weeps in the wind
Seedless dispersion of illiterate drought at the edge of the tree
Reason and feeling disunited under a regime of torturous silence
Not even black ink on charcoal where fire should liberate passion
A scrabble of incongruence submerged under ashes of emptiness
What if there was no poetry and the writer was shackled and numb
Dead inside an alphabet of syllables refused collaboration and script
Naked to a helpless core of scorched earth void and festering agony
A scribe in handcuffs and the hangman tightening a noose of contempt
For the chorus of voices unable to shout from roof tops and watchtowers
While a tongue tied writer awaits his sentence for the crime of free speech
Drowned in his ink pot like a convicted witch at society’s illegitimate court
Or frying at the stake of burnt books at a show trial of unlettered verdicts
Misunderstood misspelt hung and quartered to the applause of division
A ballade-monger sings his swan song before the apocalypse rules out
The appeal to common sense for an elegist prepared for a final encore
As the final curtain is stuffed in between lips and amphora of metaphors
No one can say that they have not been forewarned of overt perpetration
Were merely following orders to suppress revolutions of evident trespass
That they deemed degenerate what disagreed with a deep currency of fear
And yet if one rhyme survived a single epilog remained on a grave stone
Just one cemetery of unmarked burial sites lived on etched into history
Poetry could not be killed for freedom is much stronger than censure
20th January 2020