Best Erebus Poems
There come those nights—you know the sort:
The ones where the moon is a tear-stained cheek, pressed to heaven’s passenger seat window,
Toying with the tides to the rhythm of some melancholy song that only she knows.
She’s lonely, and you know she is, because
You can feel her tugging at your ankles with each pleading surge she pushes ashore.
Homer’s words revive, and the sea is as dark
Beneath Erebus as the bottom of the glass
That you left unfinished at your hotel.
Salt leaves chalky fingerprints up your calves, but you forgive it,
Because how often, really, does the moon have a shoulder to cry on like this?
She’s confessing to you with every rasp of the water,
Lapping over the sand like the bodies of un-shy lovers, and you stand
Quiet in the fading froth.
No voice rises to cut the night as Selene sobs to you on that midnight beach, and
As above, so below, the waves weep;
Stuttering susurrations at your feet, supplications to take you under for dinner
So that the moon may pour you another glass and whisper her finer secrets where your neck
Meets your shoulder:
She loves you, but she can only say it with the silence and the solemn
Murmur of the sea tasting the sand, that rasping language
Older than writing that all the poets know.
But you’re no poet, and you are not living in a Salinger story
Where you see the evil of man tucked away in the shallows, bananas in its mouth,
Compelling you to raise your revolver like a kiss to your temple.
The night breathes, and so do you, surging in time with the surf and the rising—
Falling of that deep chest above.
The silver light, bare of her clouds
Sees you at your whollest, and longs to show you the worlds beyond your own.
She has no concept of drowning—no concept of pressures deep and fragile lungs.
She knows only starlight and starboard, and weightless things that thrive where air cannot.
Lonely, vast, she loves you.
She loves you.
She loves you, she just can’t say it.
Facing west
Flaming gold descends
Light extinguished
She sleeps with Poseidon
Phoebe rises from Poseidon's seat
Silver light on Erebus' shadow
Rebirth promise of beginnings
Herald of the dawn
Form:
Held fast!
Ruthlessly trapped in a white sepulchred vice
that slowly, inexorably, crushes all hope.
Starving we wait, with lips black and caked,
all frozen in a wasteland of ice and snow;
revealing desolation and utter despair that
relentlessly flows, to an uncertain death.
We, officers and men, who’d aspired so high,
had failed to spot the strange irony
of our two ships’ names – ‘Erebus’ and ‘Terror’!
Darkness and horror now stalks each soul,
icily gripping us, in manacled madness.
Naked we entered this imperfect world,
born to long suffering and adversity.
Dare we bear arms against this dread fate?
Or, meekly succumb to what destiny holds,
shorn now of all means, to sustain our lives?
In the bleakness and sorrow of that long winter’s night,
we watched the fell stars of mighty Ursa,
circling, like bears, in the spangled blackness,
remorselessly hunting each human soul
…to a grizzled end.
He helped himself up to the wind's foremost blow
On a hillock where the moon searched his impecunious pockets,
Waking a flood in his eyes like swelled teats.
He opened wide to receive the Lady, this Endymion cheats,
No worm-wood virus but sweet philtre phials.
Finishing, he is a lover...
He sought the bosom of Erebus in her wildest glow.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
A scavenger cat clawing a bushman's billy-can
Some hard laid by in his work, purred with surveillance
In disgust over him turning tins over in the bin.
Together he cast the lid by to biltong and raisin:
The cat devours, he abandons the prandial dance.
Pausing, he is a server...
He ate them all like yams those starved seamen.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
Over the mellowy orchard, for a while he blotted,
Down the glen he skied on the mossy rock
And rubbed clean in the steamy fume of the fall.
Clambering on the paddock, the love-grass over him gall
His rag-patches, bee-combed, mock.
Swearing, he is a dreamer...
He tore tearfully through the palliasse of touch-me-not.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
Now upon the road of life, he chanced
And espied himself the mutest spectre dust,
Cruising his hour in the propelled sleep of night.
He saw himself waft from this mount to that bight
And saw it was not wont or just.
Laughing, he is a god...
But this infidel purpose of man be countenanced.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
(c) T. Wignesan - 1948 in Tracks of a Tramp. Singapore-Kuala Lumpur: Rayirath Publications, 1961.
Craving to know both side of your story: Helios and Erebus.
Oh mighty night,*
You, daughter of Chaos and Darkness,
Mother of Sleep, of Dream and of Death,
Whenever you embrace me
The enchanting lullaby of Sleep I hear that
Throws me into ecstasy
Thus
In the magic land of Dreams, I venture
Till
Death, your beloved son, claims me as his
Very own,
Guiding me thus into his palaces of
Light eternal!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
13 March 2016
* In Greek mythology, Night “Nyx” was the daughter of Chaos and of
Darkness and she bore the many children of Erebus=“Hades”, among them were:
Sleep=’’Ypnos”, Dreams= “Onar” and Death “Thanatos”. Moreover, it was from
The night that light sprang!
When drifting water of the river Hebrus murmurs
a heartrending cry surges from the bottom of the river,
and when this cry reaches the midsummer night’s sky
the stars echo and a lyre in the constellation by Zeus’ throne
plays sad music. And when tone adds pathos to deepen the darkness,
a nocturnal bird soars in the dark air, too, singing a sad song over
a grave in Libethra.
The reason the river weeps with a plaintive requiem is,
not because Erebus is too far or Styx is too wide,
but the stern ferryman denies Orpheus’ passage
to netherworld where he once passed with the crowds of the dead.
Although he once made the Furies cheeks wet with tears,
won a Proserpine’s sympathy and made Hades himself gave way,
why Orpheus has to cry a heartrending cry over Eurydice again
with his plaintive tuned lyre and song of touching story of his beloved wife?
It’s because he couldn’t cross Styx for second time.
He cried through the weeks of sleepless nights,
regretting why he turned his face back to assure
Eurydice followed, and therefore, heard her last cry of farewell.
He called Eurydice’s name for the weeks of agonizing days and
nights without food stretching his arms in air as if trying to hold her,
though she is not there.
Since his second farewell to his beloved wife on the dark and steep passage
of Erebus, Orpheus played his lyre and sang sad songs unceasingly. He sang
to tell his regretful experience on the way to this world at Erebus to the rocks
with melancholic but touching tunes, he chanted an account of the tragic life
he underwent with a gloomy but moving sound to the trees.
A viper, therefore, struck Eurydice with its sharp fangs again,
a horror that of the Maenads’ desire to capture Orpheus
tore him limb from limb.
And when the river murmurs, Orpheus’ limbs fell in water
parted from his body call to one another wishing to come in one again,
Orpheus’ keenness to see his beloved Eurydice grows more and more.
carried by the wind, where have you been the lonely soul
who returned to the riverside; and now, why are you asking
the way to Erebus to the swaying reeds over and over again
with the sighs deeper than the bottom of the water
with the sighs more than the countless stars in the sky
for growing tired from seeking the way too far,
the lonely soul stayed for a while in the valley
where the flowers bloom in the early evening’s soft sunlight;
however, the touch of cold starlight at dawn makes the flowers
withered in the chilling dew drops before sunrise; the valley where
the lonely soul dwelt may be the way to Erebus where he once roamed
after all, as if pushed by the high wind,
the sorrowful soul left hurriedly
in the way of no need for haste,
and crossed over the river that carries no promise,
counting the days without tomorrow
now is the time to let your eyes close to rest the lonely soul
let, therefore, the tormenting soul, the pointless eyes
that always seek something but aimlessly
to put an end their wandering
although once you cross the river named no-pathos
nothing can be seen even if you turn your face back
or return to the world where your footprints may still remain
or to restore what you have left in the opposite shore,
why don’t you, therefore, close the eyes
even though no one follows with bewailing your departure
or holds your trembling hand with tearful eyes
even though it’s a lonely journey
the miserable funeral to the nether world
why don’t you close your eyes while crying with the drifting water
while listening to the dirge
the murmuring water chants in a sorrowful tone
In our world plenty of light has got brutally put out
In our faces a lot of orange leaves no more sprout
In your sorrow just hollow floral bunch I hand out
The dark shadow of Erebus becoming more stout
Prayer for concord are burnt out and hospitalized
Had there been around today the famous Orpheus
In our tongue and lips and the restive unconscious
Had there been some scraps of broken lyre wires
Our music could have somewhat cured our distrust
Escalating with the universe in its space and time
With your lyre as you would walk the paths of pain
Like the mother of night the stars in a sweet strain
Like the palm of morning a harmony would contain
All the lions and tigers that we nurture in our brain
And they would all act like their blond and mild fur
This very Orpheus however got wobbly and fragile
As his partner Eurydice he looked back at to fondle
She vanished in the air leaving a pain and puzzle
Gloomy and vagabond he was slain by a scoundrel
Though eminent our cognitive poise we mustn’t lose
October 10, 2017
For Poems that paint a picture Poetry Contest 4
Sponsored Contest by Silent One
Am I god's breath
Dawn's first breath caresses dew-wet glade,
yellow catkins quiver in spring's tender breeze,
eastern sunrise fuels passerine serenade.
Sulphur-yellow butterflies, black and golden bees
time for birth, new life, our earthly sphere decrees
of Erebus and Nyx
Impish flames dance in noontime light
morph to ghastly pirouetting demons leaping
everywhere, undisciplined they grave alight
red-hot searing daggers all-consuming.
Summer's purifying salamander breathing.
or earthly shibboleth?
Jewel blue; no longer skipping over rocks
the river, now near the end, is older, wiser,
gently drifting west towards the busy docks.
Autumn leaves of gold, like gentle boats, stir,
floating towards sunset's end of chapter.
Caught between the twixt;
The winter forest seems to our eyes dead.
Midnights new moon; the mother of the sky
mystic dewgleam-silver lights the seedbed
of decomposing earth, where fresh shoots testify
new life once more this land will occupy.
I'm Aether, or maybe six sixty-six.
Your eyes have taken me deep within
The essence of your soul
Showing me love that I've never known
A love you emote so well-
You have breathed life back into my soul
Rescuing me from the Erebus that I had fallen into
A place in which I could not have escaped from alone
You are the embodiment of everything
I have longed and waited for
You are my love's sweet repose
The sand under my feet
burning bright;
the sky, a black hole of Erebus;
not a soul, not a whisper,
a feast of jejune sight!
My eyes, a saga of sadistic affairs,
my lips, swollen like jellybeans;
flesh in my limbs red with fire,
I look and long for deathly scenes!
Burning twigs light the world,
while black smoke lovingly embraces-
in hatred;
I stay awake - a moving carcass,
Love, where are you? et tu dead!
Written: February 14, 2025 for Brian Strand Contest
***********
In twilight, specks become stars,
bridges locked in gold,
Engraved whispers on walls
painted with diamond tears.
Singing hearts weave veins of
lilac and jasmine,
A serenade of soul waves,
ebbing through arid shadows.
Dark alleys paint a carnival of
spectral silhouettes,
Roots entwined in forlorn twilight colors,
wine-stained breaths.
Sorrow’s perfume lingers
like raindrops on roses,
Hushed epicedes echo
in the cinereous horizon.
Herbs waltz with heartbeats
beneath a canopy of trees,
Nestled nests console the forlorn
shorebirds at dusk.
Paranoia flickers like sparks
in a delicately hushed night,
Love’s choir sings an elusive refrain of
integrity and sins.
Delirium dances with
egoistic ghosts in the dark,
Tears pirouette like phantasmagoric
mist over steel syntax.
Blurring edges between serenity
and abyssal flare,
spheres clash in capricious vortices
under Gaia's winged gaze.
A whimsical trance catapults dreams
to an eldritch nebulae,
vortices float serenely,
weaving cosmic whispers into the night sky;
hushed murmurs from Eros to Erebus
blend seamlessly with somber threnodies;
in Gemini's embrace they linger
as wisps across Pyxis' burning calyx;
and while Maelstrom gnashes
within Tartarus' volcanic depths;
velleity blooms amidst fervent altar prayers
Echoes waft through Nexus' cavernous voids
to quench desires caught betwixt Chaos &
Gaia's visceral nexus hallucinations.
Who'd dare the exacerbation of the cloud
and cut the fire for the grave;
tell the Epaulette he's a bum;
break the choking silence
and burst the truth for the street?
Night, night oh barbaric night
pregnant with cordite blood and brine
humiliate the essence of life and living
as the grumpy ravenous sword
plant dirges in every field:
the Epaulette.The overlord.The fear.
Mourning morning night morning
talking stars would be in the pen
a-roosting with the cockerel
to plant feints in opposing maths
to see the yet unseen day of light.
The roads are hasty avowals
where Erebus holds the sceptre sway
where life's like a pebble in the sea
where masks cruise with the law in the lawless
leaving in their wake,requiem mass blood and tears.
Who'd break the silence?
Sometimes
the burden of liberty
weighs heavier
than the burden of peonage
What if the debt has been settled
in the tumult of the past?
Will the peace of the now
lay still and remember?
Why, pray tell in this so-called freedom
did I find more bondage
and misery and weeping?
Why this chafing amidst release?
Is there a secret in the happiness of men?
Is it hidden in the furrows
of the scholars brow,
or the folds of the reverend’s stole?
For I was traversing
a road that lay straight for miles ahead
never noticing the cross
spreading its wings beneath me
And lo, from within
rose my anger like brimstone
from the mouth of Erebus
and fleeing my rage I fell
in this crevasse of despair
and there there was silence
and longing
and anger still
and wanting nothing of the world.
is this wrath a righteous will of God
or a travesty of man?
is it my redemption or perdition?
Is this the cross where the Messiah died
or the cross where the Devil lied?
I need answers
before this chasm closes around me.