Best Asclepius Poems
The Goddess Of Blessed Redemption
She gave me a foundation of love's pleasures
complete with wondrous bountiful measures
she a gentle goddess of golden hues,
swept this heart away, vanquished all its blues.
From a verdant forest spring she arrived
relieving me of life sadly contrived.
None other could love and give any more,
she a goddess sent from paradise shore.
When asked why she came to me to now bless
no words came, my sins too sad to confess.
Yet her Light and Grace healed this broken soul
for this world had taken its heavy toll.
Of Asclepius* blood, healing her art,
body, soul and mind, first target the heart,
faithful daughter, resplendent her warm glow
sent to heal and allow this soul to grow.
She freed my body from its scars and burns
from ghosts of past buried in hidden urns,
the mind confused by treachery and lies
and the soul ready to face its demise.
Her enchanted charm revived my delight
to view the world in a generous light,
for the mind to stand firm, no longer wilt,
with redemption free the burden of guilt.
Once a broken man, forsaken lost soul,
I now stand stoutly with a heart that’s whole.
With Apollo’s blood vibrant are my veins,
by lease of life, released from morbid chains.
Verve restored by Aceso’s healing might
with radiance to end my sorry plight.
Healed with love in atonement of past crimes
with kindness I share life’s eternal chimes.
Collaboration by Robert J. Lindley and Teppo Gren
7-05-2018
(1.) Asclepius*, see note above..
(2.) Aceso’s , ( Aceso (the goddess of the healing process )
(3.)Apollo- Greek Mythology -
Apollo was one of the most versatile of the Greek gods. His domains extended from poetry and music, to light and truth, and archery.
His mother was the Titan Leto, whose tryst with Zeus angered Hera. The Queen of the Gods tormented Leto, sending the monster Python to chase her across the whole world so she could find no safe space to bear her children. However, Leto found safe haven on the isle of Delos and gave birth to Artemis and then Apollo.
*****
Note- With deep gratitude I present this collaboration written with my good friend Teppo Gren. A wonderful friend and truly amazing poet. A sonnet master that awes me with every poem he posts..
if flowers write about love storms
and the moon obeys the heart’s blaze
would you, O Dawn’s King
become my forever flame ~
the wild-blue fire,
finger-locking our besotted souls…
aching obsessively to taste
the sacred warmth
from the Asclepius arms
of Cephisesus’ spring river
ricocheting and reflecting
the burning desire we breathe…
and I listen ~ in amatory silence,
to your voiced whispers
the slow, soft velour laughter
as you caress my sky
with poetic phrases ~
igniting this ink to release
blooms spooned with fervent sighs
lines linear against
the hysterical history
of hurt without healing…
but if only the petals
floating and
frolicking in the wind
could empathize
with how my lips thirst
with flares of jealous heat ~
wanting desperately
to be the trembling skin
the only zephyr
that touches your smooth silk fever…
O pursuer of pressed passion
my reason to remain alive
relinquish into the orchard
of rooted, clandestine utopia,
where I savor the luscious liqueur
spilling from the titillating tips
of scribbled Shizuka ~
kiss me when the sun sleeps
feel me when the Venus stars awake
dress me in dancing darkness.
I will be the violet spark
to your electromagnetic light…
take me beyond time
eviscerate the
evil threads of illusion
unchain the steel of
our imprisoned pages,
let the words flow as one..
for my heartbeat now
is the sober mirror to your pulse
nevermore remembering
the final glimpse
of an irreversible ending…
** inspired by the artwork The birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli ~
Sweet were the days though too few in number
When dread was lain over all tomorrows
By those whom upon the Rod of Asclepius swore
Sending him to seek solace
And pass by unseen
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King
A blue star burned cold upon his brow
In the darkness to proclaim his coming
To this place he claimed
As the home of his heart
To play his part in this most sacred scene
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King
Alone he arrived
To no greeting or welcome
But gladness filled him all-the-same
No company would be kept
For this final thing
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King
There were no songs in the Hall
No one to sing
Of loves lost or left behind
Succored and scoured
By compulsive dream
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King
No proof against arms was his armor
Though many times it had saved him
Against ravage and rage of weather
Their service no longer in need
He laid them before him in offering
To the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King
Although weakened, quickly he kindled
The first glowing embers
Coached them and coaxed them
So fragile and nascent
Till they brought into being
The Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King
His presence in this hostile home
Alone would suffice
No grief-stricken children
Or wailing of women
No beeps or buzzes of cold machines
Only the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King
He dreamt of the First Dawn of his absence
And was surprised it weighed nothing
Against the many that he was graced to see
Contentedly he caressed them
Comfortable in his memory
By the Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King.
His star dimmed slowly before the First Dawn
With dignity dwindled the last flickering flames
As cold grew the King
On his throne of Stone
Set free near the ashes
Of The Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King
Then Alpenglow burst the first rays of day
Round the only monument
To a life lived like lightning burst forth from the storm
So proud stood the peak
Glad alone to have seen
The Final Fire in the Hall of the Mountain King
“the most famous man who ever lived”
hollow is the story of “jesus”---
hollow
like the stamp with which it was printed,
hollow as these other mythical hero
archetypes,
which all bear a supernatural birth,
which all bear the hunting of said hero
as an infant, with an exciting & dramatic
subsequent getaway,
which all bear the entertaining magic tricks during
the hero’s youth,
which all bear the blind adoration, devotion &
worship that follows
when he is seen as “divine,”
only to be betrayed, executed &
for that big fat finale…
RESURRECTION!
(which all christians want to happen for them as well,
be it secretly or not)
and then, of course,
our hollowman gets
made into a martyr
for which history is supposed to
weep & remember,
weep & remember,
weep & remember.
to say that “jesus” was a man,
to say that he lived at all, that his life was in any way
original or authentic,
is to say the same of Osiris, Hercules, Baal, Attis, Adonis
& Asclepius (to name a few)
were all real people…
all who mr. “jesus” bears just a little more than
coincidental
liking to.
still, over 40% of americans
believe that “he” is going to return within the next 40
years---
this of course has nothing at all to do with
the relative age of those asked &
what their lil’ dreams are of getting to be on the
planet when “he” does, right?
(throat clearing)
having created a character of fiction,
one which can be mentioned to be
“the most famous man who ever lived,”
seems a bit gratuitous, doesn’t it?
but then again, those who believe it
are the same who believe that there is a
place that they can go
when they are dead &
they will get all the gold stars that they’ve been
earning
all the years that they have been alive---
opportunists,
opportunists,
opportunists,
who will create a “history” in order to
provide themselves an
out---
all so they can sleep at night.
Oh Asclepius You have honored me by imparting your art. Through space and time I have come to see the lowness of man and also their majesty
Not just to hear but to listen is quickly losing its spark for each patient I see through beurecatic regulation is now merely a chart. Click all the boxes so the government implies doing all this will save your life.
Now I am stripped of all cognition for if I suggest what is not in the box I am guilty of deviation.
I miss the days were the patient could converse and tell me what is happening without some pre printed verse.
The doctor is in but you may not see him. There are PAs , NPs and scribes that wedge in between him.
Like some Kafka novel you meander through hoping that someone can help you .
Finally your time is up. The doctor you hoped to see never showed up. A prescription awaits you at the check out station. You made it, the waiting room breaks out with a standing ovation. You proudly hold you prescription up high. Thank you all and good bye .
Asclepius is staring at the beam of a balance,
heart on pan and gold bars opposite
the heart is pastel gray the gold is glittering
the heart not beating the gold glaring blinding the eyes
he ponders which one to keep in order to satisfy his desire
as well as to honor the Olympians: just keep the heart to satiate
Hades by adding one more straying soul to populate the netherworld
and Hera to bring one new life to make the earth younger and more vigorous
but, since he is a medicine god who’s priority is to lessen pain,
comfort grieving hearts and cures diseases, he decides to repair
the heart, his delicate handiwork and magic-touch resuscitate
the heart and make it beat again. Each time the heart beats,
it gets heavier and thereby the beam tilts to side, the gold bars slide
to the heavier side and fall from the pan.
In a moment of bewilderment, Asclepius grabs the gold bars dropping
the resuscitated heart that is, now, beating and pumping air, and in that moment, Alas! a bolt out of the blue struck him and the gold bars in his hand turn to dust.
Come, oh Love!
You, salutary medicine of the soul,
Come!
Let your presence in Man’s heart, panacea*
For
Humanity’s ills to become!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
04 MARCH 2014
*Panacea:
Daughter of Asclepius- God of healing and medicine- and sister of Health,
supposed to heal all ills or diseases!
When a precedent-busting pandemic is palling around the world
when its concomitant panic and pain freak out
it is your fine figures that are unflinchingly unfurled
e'en as proctective gears barely eke out.
Isolation wards owe you diligence and devotion
ICU hours witness your will and willingness in motion
solely concerned with failing lives' fate
you move heaven and earth against time
to wrest back the critical at Hade's gate
with your own forgotten at the sacrificial sublime.
Head o'er heels covered in colors cold
still you keep your hearts of gold
wherefrom bright hue beams
warm love streams
care and cordiality swathing afflicted lands
bundling up every bedside in blessing bands.
Sweat sieging forehead, you have smile snuggle both eyes
fatigue ravaging physique, you have patience station personalities.
Tandem consistency synchronizes and synthesizes
Hippocratic oath and your practice
kneading them into such an integrated tenacity
that the snaggiest terrestrial tmesis cannot tear apart;
Kindred fitness harmonizes and homogenizes
Asclepius' staff and your hands
melting them into such an uncanny continuum
that the sharpest celestial kenning cannot tell apart.
How many grand writers' purple passages paled
and painting masters' soaring strokes flattened
as eminent ebullience of ekphrases encounters self-effacing eclipsers
you are the plainest messengers, the hope and healing disseminators
you are most colorful illuminators, the virtue and vitality vivifiers
Supreme entelechy of esthetics meets pluperfect interpreters.
The hemlock grove keeps haunting
trembles dare fade away
"Crito, we owe a cock to Asclepius.
Please, don't forget to pay the debt"
Those thou teach have greater reach
to poison of the day
these needles vein in vain
diepan, water fogs__
no holding off the pain
no holding out the pain
I am more beautiful than the best English rose
I am educated to a standard you cannot suppose
The riches I hold beyond your wildest dreams
Victoria and David’s envy is bursting through their seams
My intellect high,My nose up there too
Looking on down from this great height, down on all of you
The Greek God of medicine - Asclepius
Would ask his mates "will she come to teach us?"
Newton with his new found laws on motion
After talking to me he would accept a demotion.
Galileo, attributed to discovering the four largest satellites
After talking to me he would not shine so bright
My head is so big with all I the knowledge I possess
My talents are beyond belief
The only trouble is I can’t get through the door
My head is stuck there and it’s giving me grief.
This is an entry for Susan Burch's contest: Ridiculous Self exaggeration, but I fear it has too many lines. The trouble is I cannot take any away because this is me....!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay have relented and edited it to the rquired amount x
"Curiouser and curiouser!", Alice proclaimed
" eye two, am adore "
Seven ol' kin
on the strong arms
of Seven strong more
Mercurius wings by to sing
" ... Welcome to the game, Ein ..."
Albert said to tangle
so direct in his angle
pressure from the Sun
became my angel
so diamonds
in the dust
became a trust
I reflected...
Homer said two hymns
and so within 33
I selected
two pair
Athena said to Hera
"... the heart of a Lion is there..."
Asclepius ...
when the Moon is high
bring the twins to align the sky
... so eleven walked in
The cure is a miracle
an oracle
as a mirror,
four the mind...
" ... I am and we are Kind;..."
An Astronut, perhaps, but
a funny one too ;)
Our parent galaxy Milky Way
has a nebula giving birth
to stars neath ‘baby blanket’ array
that’s one of the closest to Earth
of astral-forming regions around—
Rho Ophiuchi Complex Cloud,
named for the bright stellar body found
in its picturesque dusty shroud.
The colorful image multi-hued
within Ophiuchus was spied,
a constellation in south skies viewed
to the Greek Asclepius tied,
in mythology as healer known
whose medicines cured afflictions,
thus among stars ‘serpent bearer’ shown
holding a snake in depictions.
Often as symbol of evil used,
albeit fertility too,
with remedies this serpent’s infused
in lore from which Ptolemy drew.
The Complex three nebulae contains,
emission, reflection, and dark,
with fourteen light-years across domains
where myriad starlets embark.
Varied wavelengths are captured in tints
of infrared made seeable
via NASA’s WISE or wide-field glints
celestially agreeable.
Indeed there are countless treasure troves
as yet undiscovered in space
of cosmic coves and galactic groves
for telescope gazers to trace.
Yet where but our planetary home
in this Goldilocks favored place
under a lapis lazuli dome
can we dwell in nature’s embrace?
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
Inspiration from articles and image~ The Rho Ophiuchi Cloud Complex, with image taken with NASA’s Wide-field Infrared Explorer, or WISE.
Asclepius
Greek god
one of medicine
cure this aching
heart
With the medicine
of love
Athena goddess
of Greece
I call upon you
to ease the pain
Within heartbreak
like your
sacrifical lamb
I lay upon
your altar
take me to
the goddess
of love
The cure
only remedy
through the sands
of time
I call
your name
Pausing
to say
I love you
the cure
to my heart
~ ~ ~
Counting them on one hand,
the fingers dismembered,
but remembered 'siempre' and
a day beyond that, because
hardwired to give it, both body
and soul, should anyone ASK,
she was playing a role. She
gives amnesty now, knowing
needs were at odds in petitioning
the gods: seeking Asclepius,
not Eros, desperate to heal.
Back in day (of ma
mum, and perhaps
since time immemorial)
utterances of physicians
nsync with Staff of Asclepius
pounded against floor,
(which wrought
life to entwined serpent,
whose beady
eyed hypnotic power)
understandably
ranked doctors among
near mythical powerful
Gods, who ought
best not be ignored, thus
(then a young Harriet Harris,
now long since deceased)
felt overbearing heft of
medical practitioners final words,
and subsequently would nought
refute, ignore, nor
dispute sacred commandment
hence would n'er be accused
of sacrilegious immodesty,
impiety, or impropriety
(towards medical institution),
and never doubt voice
most supreme in the universe,
thus she felt caught
against challenging authority
meekly surrendered
her only son, bought
with bargaining chip
indubitable faith
in omnipotent equip
ment with hocus
pocus magic to flip
precious life humming along,
or force death grip
upon a lovely boy (christened
Matthew Scott Harris),
at present lapsed beet hip
pea hooping to stave
off crossing the lip
of LX bracket, there
fore reckons a nip
and tuck (think
prefrontal lobotomy),
asper when just a pip
squeak ushered,
where mine existence
could be mortgaged
with accidental,
(or purposeful) slip
of the knife, while
under anesthetized trip
returning minus a mass of
enlarged lymphatic tissue
between the back of
the nose and the throat.