Best Harpies Poems
When Whitman said
make your life a song,
had he spoken to old whalers?
Did they tell him of nights becalmed
on a pacific salty sea,
when no sound of lapping waves,
or rope stressed wood,
could interfere with the silence in the hold?
Did they tell of a time beyond sleep
long after the oil lamps were shut down?
When the silence of the briny deep
was broken by the eerie songs of whales,
oozing through the wooden walls.
Did they know, then, what they heard,
or did they talk in hushed tones
as ancient seamen did,
of harpies and sirens and
devils of the deep.
Did some say, "Those are our prey."
and recognize the song
and even familiar melodies and laments
from earlier seasons spent
plying these same seas.
Short songs and long songs,
and new songs built upon old songs,
pod songs and fractal songs,
and interminable songs of pain
and love songs that can be heard
by those who hear
from one edge of the basin
of the sea, under to the other edge.
Do you have a song?
Have you worked on it each season?
Is it short and repetitious
or have you worked to improve its sound
each turning of the moon?
Is it deep and subtle?
Does it provoke a laugh?
Would I recognize it far away
on a dark and briny night?
Would you mind if I wove my song
in and out of yours?
Do you have a song?
Categories:
harpies, allegory, love, old, old,
Form:
Free verse
Memory or dream from hell I cannot tell
The vision of stygian forests where harpies dwell
And men from them among men spawned
Greedy gullibles that on pagan mysteries fawned
Evicted from stygian caves to wander bared
Of human comport and yet in human shape
By cultures of war in Cerebus’ loath prepared
These monsters of men defy, steal, kill, rape
The African land still, and virgin virtue defiled
In all her children stolen, manacled, despised
Toss upon dread waves like dead meat, disguised
From pity of sharks, innocence, kindness biled
By the same fiends frantic at the Judean cross
And this colonial evil is unsurpassed in dross.
They should have known such deeds are wrong
If they had known we are people too, and he
The Eternal light, the bringer of the griot's song
How they murdered him in grim glee of prophecy:
When each of us are enslaved or kill, he dies
Again in that wickedness entrenched in vanities.
Categories:
harpies, historymen, men,
Form:
Verse
Do dreams dream-up the Dreamer to mean something
Do dreams go on dreaming without the Dreamer dreaming
Hold not dreams in mid-stream even during Covid-19
Woken-up dreams scream wild as harpies in poetic shebeen
Don’t dreams tend to come round like long lost tunes tinnitus din
The Dreamer dreams in the Void trillion times trillion
And leaves no trace of hung time-spaced dream dreaming in the Dream
Who would dream dreams for oneself they wouldn’t highly esteem
Dreams worthy of a world they didn’t really mean to wean
In the first place out of a Void-less Big-Banging blinding sheen
The Big-Bouncy Dream teasing the fistful of mashed Big-Crunchy cream
Where the Dreamer bounces his Dream on the seamless turf green
O’er and o’er again ‘till the Dream turns tinnitus mean
Till the recurrent Dream the Dreamer dreams his own Uni-Verse seem
Ev’ry dream’s the Multi-Verse of a unique team unseen
Do dreams dream-up the Dreamer standing-up on a linear Time pin
(c) T. Wignesan – Paris, January 17, 2021
Categories:
harpies, nature, science, universe,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Follow the winds of the Harpies.
Follow to the sigh of last breath.
Horrid hounds of Zeus beckoning
for you to embrace your dark death.
Follow the heights of Icarus
Follow till the blazes burn out.
Sol, a dragon's igneous mouth
gaping, awaiting chance to spout.
Follow to the depths of Phorcys
Follow till you whiff your last gasp.
Dangers of the depth await you.
Life quickly slipping from your grasp.
Follow clamant drums of Ares.
Follow till your ears hear no more.
War exacts an egregious toll.
Life ends in a sorrowful roar.
Categories:
harpies, death, journey, mythology, ocean,
Form:
Quatrain
In the shadows, harpies linger as agents provocateur,
for the Fallen Watchers, for pecking order.
Prostitute mercenaries,
addicted to mercury and disorder.
Their claws sharp, their cries a shiver,
their motive insanity from hell's hateful quiver.
They pluck you from the light of day,
leave you in the flames to barter the fray,
to drown in the sea of faith no more.
Till nightfall,
where they tend the fires of a black wind,
poking signal lures,
preying for entropic thunder,
and romantic moon,
lyres to ascend your spirit
for the purpose of dropping you again
in despairs pit and swoon.
Denoting your abandonment and seclusion,
shoeing the fit,
wild horses couldn't drag them away.
Hoping to find you behind chaos's fire-line,
enemy mine,
a broken rhyme-
not asKing for a new day;
a soul adrift, in a sea of doubt,
no compass, no sails, no wind,
no faith, "tag you're it, hide your eyes and don't count."
on being saved from the fade to black
from grey lack of faith.
Categories:
harpies, art,
Form:
Rhyme
wind god
was Boreas
of winter and north winds
swept down from cold northern mountains
of Thrake
he blew
cold icy gusts
of breath from bloated cheeks
hair and beard spiked with ice, wide mouth
howling
sometimes
seen as horse-shaped
purple-winged swift stallion
he swept down on mares in new spring
to sire
horses
for King of Troy
mated with Trojan mares
fathered the swift, wind-shaped stallions
for him
he found
King of Athens’
daughter, Oreithyia
by riverside meadow, playing
dancing
enthralled
by her dancing
and struck with mad desire
he abducted her to the sky
to wed
hid her
in soft white clouds
their love bore a daughter
Khione, beautiful goddess
of snow
sons, the
Boreades
chased away the Harpies
that threatened the King Phineus
of Thrake
Athens
celebrated
Boreas festivals
praised him as their god of the cold
north wind
Categories:
harpies, god, wind,
Form:
Cinquain
Oh my beautiful Daughters
what have you done to the men of the Earth,
turning the roar of men's' love into notes of shame and whispers,
discoloring the gallant glow of trust with untempered lust for popular worth,
I made you to be embodiment of something sacred,
a steadfast source of Divine sincerity in the chaos of Man's struggle to be heroic,
to soothe and inspire His hope for honor, to be the hand he could hold in the tremor of dread,
in the Begining you did this much and more, exceeded the seed of my dream, making Them historic,
But you, my remorseless and rabid Girls
sought to be worshiped as a cult of marauding maidens of madness,
a horde of haughty harpies wanting glory your own, thrones tailored from supine bones,
pleasured as predators of Princes and paupers
saddistic seducers of troubadours and savants,
making " high minded " heros helpless on the cliffs of your thrills,
Oh my ravenous Daughters what have you done to the hearts of men,
what have you become with speared touch and rough laughter,
warm in love sport and cold in lip lies,
the Furies have your fame and faces framed in black flame
the day is soon when your beauty will become ashen, charms unmet with passion,
and the Furies will befriend you
adorn with thorned fashion, feed you a vulture's ration,
Nemesis is on your terrible trail of predatory travail
She to unveil the wail of your reward's gale,
my lovely Princesses, my girls of gnarled gain
a wind storm of lovers' cries flies towards you
a punishment Holy in it's honor and horrible in It's hit,
bite you shall, sixfold from Humility's tit -
J.A.B.
Categories:
harpies, judgement,
Form:
Epic
An Epic Woman
Woman tell me your thoughts
Shall I be the fool and you the teacher?
Am I your Adonis, or do you see a toad.
Chivalry demands that I am your knight without reward,
For my kin is that of Beowulf and Lancelot,
Dragon slayers, so command me.
I am woman I need no gesture, for wisdom lies in,
Raindrops hung out to dry on silken cobwebs.
And in the beggar who is happy, while his king sleeps in fear
For my kin, blessed me with a rare beauty,
For my reflection rivals that of the queen Of Sheba
My thoughts entwined with the warrior queen Boudicea,
My tenderness lies in queen Amyitis and her Hanging gardens of Babylon
My passion is that of Cleopatra for Mark Anthony,
And my faith equals that of Mary
So beware young Jason, speak from the heart,
Or you will summon queen Kriemhides in me,
For she killed Attila the Hun for less,
This Woman will send you to phineas
A slave for the harpies, if you lie,
My lady, I have slain the sirens with Lyre music,
For my love for you was greater,
Alexander wept when there were no more worlds to conquer
Achilles killed Hector for Helen,
And King Leonidas defeated the Persian Empire
One glance from you and their deeds fade into oblivion,
Medea the Sorcerer, My mother,
Gave birth to me, for this moment.
Woman take my hand and show me your love
Jason of Argo, look into my eyes
For I see the soul of a man
Your shield is heavy to stop you running away.
Your Hero Achilles was slain by a true suitor Paris,
His love for Helen, was true.
You deceive all women.
Your Friend the Goddess Hera
Was killed by you,
It is my enslavement you seek, not love.
I send you to the Eighth Circle for Eternity to be whipped by Devils. For the Harpies deserve better.
And Remember, these words
The Wisdom of King Arthur,
When a Woman you seek, be honest at all times,
No matter what the cost.
And defend her faith, her home,
And her country with your life.
For these are the Thoughts of all Women.
Categories:
harpies, fantasy, love, me, woman,
Form:
Classicism
they say that there's a dance hall
right beneath this lake of sawdust
where underwater towns
have gone astray
and I can hear the harpies
the bagpipes
and I can smell
the burning petals
after we set the house ablaze
the blissful ignorance
of ghosts and revolvers
is pure nonsene
– as coup d'état of yours
still smiling distantly
but one day your goodness
will make you lipless, my dear
and then I will lull you by
the misty weather
verdant
fragrant
lucidly mystical
dazzling as a bell jar glance
existence matters – ad interim
and as the old gatekeeper
uses his trembling gestures
to swing the pendulum
tell me, my plain-hearted one:
ruby red or beryl blue?
does it really matter to you?
with all your childish devotion
please release
the drones
'cause thou art lost
and love is the law
love under will
Categories:
harpies, dream, imagery, surreal, words,
Form:
Imagism
I stumbled drunkenly through Stroud
Passed the kebab van on the hill,
When all at once I saw a crowd
Of ladettes – taunting the old bill;
Just for a lark, just for a wheeze,
Flirting and dancing, dressed to tease.
Bedecked with bling, drinking cheap wine,
A clowder of cats out to play,
Perfume and bags by Calvin Klein
All you can eat slapper buffet.
Looking for violence not romance,
Tossing the V’s in fighting stance.
The plods approached askance, as they
Ignored them and crouched down to pee;
The deluge nearly washed away,
The council’s prized floral display!
I gazed – amazed - at just how short;
Their skirts were and indeed how taut.
Often now – I sit down and cry
(Sometimes it puts me off my food)
When I recall what I did spy
The female form so crass and rude;
Those harpies in search of cheap thrills,
Stooped - pissing on the daffodils.
(apologies to Mr Wordsworth)
Categories:
harpies, dark, england, funny, girl,
Form:
Light Verse
I just finished reading a new book
Which peers deep into human brains,
Methodically examining each sex
To see what is and isn’t the same,
And while men and women are much alike,
I was fascinated by the difference,
And how this could affect our world-views,
For example, I’m going to begin—
Sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
You’re a sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
But I’m talking about medical sci—
SEXIST!!!
Okay…so the other day I saw a report
About how hormones affect the mind,
Comparing estrogen and testosterone,
And both their effects over time.
Now we’ve known from the beginning
That these two do different things,
But it’s amazing looking at brains
To see their influence on thinking—
Sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
You’re a sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
But this stuff is well known. Ask anyone who’s had gender reassign—
SEXIST!!!
Fine…so the other night on cable
There was this great documentary,
About hold cold, ice age conditions
Changed and shaped our bodies.
Hey had a fascinating discussion
About how the musculature of males
Played a big role in mate selection,
And the food that was avail—
Sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
You’re a sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
Oh, shut the hell up you shrill, whining harpies! Reality doesn’t care about your god-damn chants and propaganda. We’re like any other sexually dimorphic species, so use you damn reason for once and stop screaming like petulant children!
(Stunned silence)
Uhm, so, like…would you wanna maybe go do something later?
(More stunned silence)
Unbelievable…
What? We can go back to my place. I’ll put the cats in their cages and we’ll have the whole studio apartment to ourselv—
(Sound of running)
Hey?! Come back! SEXIST!!!
Categories:
harpies, gender, men, political, repetition,
Form:
My heart to all has become a machine,
Calculating, cold, and meticulously clean.
Rust will never find its way in the cogs,
Without emotion, I can see through the fog
That holds us back in front of what we want,
Adoration’s a myth, not a ghost that will haunt.
No longer shall harpies hold onto my heart,
My affection for them must now cease to start.
Most of all, I’ll not feel the pain of something that breaks,
With my love rendered useless, it may be burned at the stake.
I don’t want or need the kind words that you say,
I just want the solitude of the grave where I’m laid.
Categories:
harpies, death, depression,
Form:
Free verse
With their Talons they Rip
And from your Blood they sip
With their poison Lip
In Pain you must Dip
They already know your Life's length Rate
invoking every Hate
This is what lies beyond the Glimmering Gate
This is your Sanguinary Fate
Categories:
harpies, allegory, angst, animals, confusion,
Form:
Rhyme
Foreign Devils
There’s an Indian
in a Indians world.
As crooked as a walnut tree,
but more devout than you’ll ever be.
I’d love to be a ships captain
sailing o’er the sea,
dwell in eternity,
aside a mermaid.
Here come the unforgiving Englishmen
all dressed up in red coats,
liken little tin soldiers,
come over in boats.
Here the sun burns everything to dust
It’s no place for the righteous or just.
So with clamour, sound your battle horn,
certainly not an invite to tea.
Watch out for Allah, Muhamid too,
lest cut ye all ta pieces,
Stick ye back with glue.
Infidels
Mine tears are for Moses,
all thine prophets too.
Mine tears are for Abraham,
wasn’t he a Jew?
Heathens sharpen up your spears.
Wanton harpies tarted up with paint,
go tell the foreign devils
to pray for their saints.
Categories:
harpies, philosophy,
Form:
Ballad
Sings the river:
I am the water from the hills
I am the life from above,
I run steadfast after love
Caressing the swan’s quills.
Sings the flower:
I am Nature’s Beauty mark
I am Cupid’s golden shaft,
I want to bloom in the raft,
the figurehead on its arc.
Sings the river:
Call for me after the old oak,
I pass between his roots
Washing away sun’s soot
To be carried by moon’s cloak.
Sings the flower:
Cover me before it’s late
My petals are almost dry
I hear aloof the harpies’ cry,
Promising to beauty their hate.
Sings the bluebird:
Where is the heart-shaped lily?
The river took, the lily is gone
The old oak will stand alone,
When the night is dark and chilly.
There went the river and the lily,
Their course cannot be undone…
Categories:
harpies, flower, love, river,
Form: