Best Iliad Poems
Words are to writers like flowers to bees,
Oil to engines and thank you to please.
They may be as heavy as concrete or lead
Or light as feather and thoughts in our heads.
They may cut like a knife and bite like a snake,
Or purr like a kitten and calm all our aches.
Letters combined in word perfect tense
Lift humanity higher like pauper to prince.
Words are like paint before canvas lay bare
In the hands of the artist, eternity’s there.
Waiting to brush one more story-book tale
From right of nowhere, words take to sail.
With wind from the writer and ink from the pen,
Destinies change for women and men.
From The Iliad and Odyssey to Paine’s Common Sense,
Plato’s Apology to Shelley’s Poetic Defense.
From Genesis to Leviticus and Matthew to St. John,
Aristotle’s Ethics to White’s Trumpet of the Swan.
From the US Constitution to King’s “I Have a Dream,”
Words are to writers as air is to breath.
They transcend human consciousness
And send us well past Mars,
Making movies, plays and music move us
To the moon and stars.
The possibilities are limitless
When words are focused clear;
If one merely stops to think it through:
They’re always waiting near.
In the list I saw a new contest, entitled "A Poem Please."
At first glance I thought, "Is this for real or just a tease?"
The theme for this contest was just periods-punctuation.
I'd have moved on except for contests I've an infatuation.
A string of five dots, seemingly a period after a period.
Hmm...Should I write in sonnet form, or an epic Iliad?
The challenge in this one is that I wasn't given a direction
of what to write about. It's in the hands of my discretion.
I know I've jumped off the deep end of the poetry pool
but if I turn back now, I'm sure I'll look like a silly fool.
I'm left wondering how to salvage such a pathetic start
of what could have been a poem about a broken heart.
Nah, I've written that scenario a time or maybe twelve.
Into that nether region I should no longer try to delve.
No awesome pissa will this ditty win for the likes of me.
But this PERIOD piece might make you laugh-wickedly.
NOTE: Prizes for this contest include the title of Awesome and a Wicked Pissa.
April 29th, 2016
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty, an average girl, born in Chicago.
I went to school there, then here, Florida.
Fifteen years, I’ve been to school
Two more, I still got
Before I’m done and in school again
But by that time, I’ll be the teacher
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
There are so many theories
So many philosophies
Well, just five
But that’s enough when you’ve got to prescribe to one
or two
or three
or four
or all five
At twenty, my age, I’ve suffered them all
Teacher-centered essentialist classrooms
Rows of students paralyzed in fear at no kitten but rather
Of a rather fat cat dressed up in a test booklet
I’ve been a victim of perennialists
Holding within a “great book” a great book.
For all the eyes behind her head,
Teacher couldn’t see my copy
Of Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging inside of my copy of The Iliad
One day I walked into a progressive classroom
The teacher put us all in groups
We built a robot and learned
About torque, levers, and voltage
I’ve been privy to social reconstruction
Now that is motivation
To seek and find a problem
Then to seek and find an answer
My mind was never idle in that class
In the class of an existentialist
I drank cool water
She let us be
And was our friend
Being me, I can never be you
Or Ms. Wild
Or Ms. Green
Or Mr. Melvin
Or Ms. Kilic
Or Ms. Miller
I can only be me
And with being me, I will carry every philosophy
I am product of them all
Of the tests
And old books
Of the group work
And activism
Of the simple, free classroom that played my kind of music and turned me into Da Vinci
For an hour
I’ve learned from all of them
I guess they all learned from me
And now we’ve both got something true
A living, flowing, breathing philosophy
This is my page for Special Topics
“On the Back of Atlas”
On the back of Atlas my whole world sat
as if seated upon the golden thoughts
of a fast loose dominant god all seeing
the Sky, eyes of cobalt blue
marbled with stone cold clouds.
the Heart -
the Ark of the Covenant
well-hidden,
keeps its fresh green secrets;
On the back of Atlas my whole world sat
as if seated upon the golden thoughts
of a fast loose dominant god all seeing
the Sky, eyes of cobalt blue
marbled with stone cold clouds.
“Orion walked on water too”,
echoes in the mind of the Tenth Muse,
what matters little
mostly survived in fragmentry form,
is now lost;
On the back of Atlas my whole world sat
as if seated upon the golden thoughts
of a fast loose dominant god all seeing
the Sky, eyes of cobalt blue
marbled with stone cold clouds
took me over,
spoke It’s lot,
“as above,
it must be below” -
the Sky, eyes of cobalt blue
marbled with stone cold clouds,
spoke to what is seated inside
for all it was worth,
“the Heart -
the Ark of the Covenant
well-hidden,
keeps its secrets -
there lies Truth
where Truth lies sleeping”
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“As Dawn rose up in her golden robe from Ocean's tides,
bringing light to immortal gods and mortal men,
Thetis sped Hephaestus' gifts to the ships.”
The Iliad/Homer (Book 19)
'Hear me, all you gods and all goddesses too,
as I proclaim what's brooding deep inside me.
Today the goddess of birth pangs and labor
will bring to light a human child, a man-child
born of the stock of men who spring from my blood,
one who will lord it over all who dwell around him.'
But teeming with treachery noble Hera set her trap,
'You will prove a liar . . .
when the time arrives to crown your words with action.
Come now, my Olympian, swear your inviolate oath
that he shall lord it over all who dwell around him—
that child who drops between a woman's knees today,
born of the stock of men who spring from Zeus's blood.'
The Iliad/Homer (Book 19)
Watching Homer struggle
to explain how a god wounded by a mortal
cannot die but may hereafter live with minor pain
and the humor when that god
complains to Jove that His supervision of His daughter
is inadequate and His Love too unconditional
while Diomed (or Tydides)
wreaks havoc on the Trojans and Hector
gives it back (in kind)
anatomically correct descriptions
of spears piercing jawbones (and groins)
sons without fathers hunting and fishing thereafter
alone. Written
amazingly presciently!
as a metaphor for Vietnam (our war)
forgotten consensually
as this generation slips lazily away
to Hades (or kayaks to the huckleberries)
where the lights are always blue, gentian actually,
supper's served at 4 and former adversaries
pass the heavy hanging time playing pinochle (and pool).
We're selling the house to pay the taxes.
Pallas Athena wars among the men
from the axle of her chariot
and Venus is injured by Diomed,
standing in the field of battle where she never should have been,
in her adorable hand.
What has this to do with Solomon in jail.
Not the Jewish king, a black American male,
same thing.
Your children can be failed at school and marched to war.
You can be taxed and sent to gaol for the honor of it.
anyone lived in a pretty how town.
We have no obligation
to perform the Iliad or read poems and even Homer
considers Achilles effete (compared to Hector)
and Odysseus is wrong even when he's right.
Therefore, modern man explores
the mathematics of circles in coordinate planes and their tangents
when (sooner or later)
the secret of warp speed is discovered
expansion of the species will be limitless and permanent.
To read or watch movies, that is the question.
When tired at workday's end, depressed about death's
certainty and my recent surgery
unable to contribute purpose
i.e., figure out whether to bomb Iran
or worship Krshna
and other gods such as Homer gives us in the Iliad
I lack vision therefore I choose television.
Chemistry text, bifurcated plant key
esp. grasses, intro to calculus, physics
unopened time slides by inexorably.
That's the dilemma with no resolution,
drooping rachis, striations on the lemma.
Dying chooses you. You don't choose dying.
So go slow as the day will allow.
The cancer patient's real work is facing
harsh realities and making adjustments:
getting the most out of life, considering
what his children will need after he's gone,
preparing his wife, parents, colleagues and friends,
and completing important professional tasks.
Get the most out of life. That's all God asks.
In Life of Pi the tiger is tiresome, short-sighted
eating everything in sight today, no plan for tomorrow.
The boy, however, is beautiful, reading
the lifeboat manual, building a resting place on the ocean
from oars and life vests, writing about his emotions,
loneliness and observations. The tiger's obsession
with killing keeps our boy alive with fear,
an aphrodisiac, a distraction from any hint
of hopelessness. And then there is the ultimate unknown,
the boy's conversations with Krshna which explain
the innumerable stars and their gentle glow.
The nine muses
Daughters of Zeus
Inspiring of mortals
And nurturers of the arts
The first was,
The divine Calliope,
Beautiful-voiced,
Was the muse of the epic poets
A writing tablet in her hand
Calliope was Homer's muse
Inspiration for the Iliad
Divine influence of the Odyssey
The second was,
The divine Clio
The maker of fame,
Was the muse of history
A parchment scroll in her hands
Clio was the proclaimer
The third was,
The divine Erato,
Desired and lovely,
Was the muse of the lyric poets
A golden arrow in her hand
Muse of love verse
And of Erotic poetry
Erato the muse who charms the sight
And inspires love in everybody
The fourth was,
The divine Euterpe,
Rejoicing well,
Was firstly the muse of music
Then of Lyrical poetry
A double flute in her hand
Euterpe the Giver of delight
The fifth was,
The divine Melpomène,
The one that is melodious,
Was firstly the muse of singing
To celebrate with dance and song
Then she became the muse of tragedy
And hid behind a tragic mask
A knife or club in her hand
Creator of beautiful lyrical phrases
Melpomène muse of Horace
The sixth was,
The divine Polyhymnia,
The one of many hymns,
Was the Muse of sacred poetry and sacred hymns
Of eloquence and pantomime
In her long cloak and classical pose
Polyhymnia was a serious, pensive and meditative muse
The seventh was,
The divine Terpsichore,
Delight of dancing,
Muse of choral songs and dance
A lyre in her hand
Accompanies the dancers
Terpsichore muse of dance
Mother of the sirens
The eighth was,
The divine Thalia,
Flourishing, in bloom,
Was the muse of comedy and idyllic poetry
A comic mask in her hand
The praises of Thalia, rustic goddess
And in her songs flourish through time
The ninth and final was,
The divine Urania,
Heavenly muse,
Was the muse of astrology
A globe in her hand
Dressed in a cloak embroidered with stars
Urania was reader of the stars
You'll soon lose interest in walking
and talking and wearing the cap
of a fool. You'll.
Words: walk, talk, wear, cap, fool, you, soon, lose.
Idea!: Four word poems, ten
syllables per line, six
lines per paragraph. Graph.
Words: idea, word, poem, syllable, line, paragraph, per, graph.
The night I wrecked my father's car
necking with my date after the dance
inching forward into traffic
foot tapping the brake like an ********.
Words: night, car, father, wreck, date, dance, neck, traffic, inch,
foot, tap, brake.
The USFS issued paper sleeping bags
like tissues during forest fires and fed us
steak and pop. All you could eat.
Words: paper, bag, sleep, tissue, fire, steak, pop, eat, food,
forest, us.
Things hurt. Pain is a message
to shut up and slow down.
Breathe deep, take care. Wait and see.
Words: hurt, pain, shut, slow, breathe, care, wait, see, deep,
message.
Just as the war
in the Iliad goes back
and forth according to Hector's
fortunes, so does marriage and a truck in mud.
Words: just, war, back, forth, fortune, marriage, truck, mud.
Fear destroys the last free assessment of life.
But what is there to fear. Death
is most of all like sleep. Death
is but a dream missed.
Words: fear, free, assess, destroy, life, death, sleep, dream, like,
but, miss.
Feed your goldfish before you leave
Love them as you love yourself
The bible tells us all fish are created equal
Some people prefer baby guppies
Because their mouths move slow and oval
They are smaller and talk in pantomime
Can breath underwater
And even look like one another all the time
Never throw small things in the toilet
Bony creatures can get stuck when flushing
Fish go better in a soup
Don't tell them that
Or add too much seasoning without a reason
Be truthful to your fish
Be faithful as you wish them to be
They swim about for a living
The Iliad and Odyssey are recommended reading
For people, not aquatic types
Anything other than Greek might suffice
Goldfish don't speak Greek
Don't know about the Trojans either
Luwian is foreign and hard to pronounce
Too many vowels and consonants
Along with cuneiform and hieroglyphic characters
Goldfish are not conversant in such languages
We recommend leaving them in a bowl
Preferably filled with water
That way they can grow old
Don't confuse them with gray guppies
Goldfish are gold
Some say orange or red
Love your fishes any way
Like the good book says
….or was it the cook book?
Cowards die many times before their deaths…
Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene 2 ~William Shakespeare
spouse
a souse
classic grouse
a big girl's blouse
portent ominous
assertions blasphemous
obscure and anonymous
his skulking is nefarious
utterances acrimonious
and implicature often dubious
uxorious but still pusillanimous
**********************************
An example of a rhopalic verse.
Rhopalism: A rhopalic sentence is one in which each successive word is one letter longer than the previous one. In poetry: where each word is one syllable more, or it might increase each line in a stanza by one syllable (per my example), or a metric foot.
IN THE SAME CATEGORY OF CONSTRAINED WRITING
The Rhopalic Couplet, also called Wedge Verse, was first used by Homer in the Iliad (3.182). It is a poetic unit of 2 rhopalic lines where each word progresses adding one more syllable than the preceding word in the line, for example, 1, 2, 3, 4 … syllables. The sequence of the syllable count can be identical in the second line, or it may be reversed. The couplet does not need not rhyme.
_____________________________________________________________
In The Coward, stanzas are broken up along the syllables of the end rhymes: spouse, souse, grouse, blouse; om-i-nous, blas-phe-mous, a-non-y-mous; ne-far-i-ous, ac-ri-mo-ni-ous, du-bi-ous & pu-sil-lan-i-mous.
LEXICON
acrimonious: (adj) (typically of speech or discussion) angry and bitter.
a big girl’s blouse: British idiom, meaning someone is ineffectual or weak; someone failing to show masculine strength of determination
disposition: (n.) inherent characteristics.
grouse: (n.) one who complains constantly.
implicature: (n.)* the action of implying a meaning beyond the literal sense of what is explicitly stated, for example, saying the picture frame is nice and implying I don’t like the picture.
innate: (n.) inborn, natural
nefarious: (adj) (typically of an action or activity) wicked or criminal.
portent: (n.)
1. a sign or warning that a momentous or calamitous event is likely to happen, an omen.
2. (literary) an exceptional or wonderful person or thing. [‘What portent can be greater than a pious notary.’]
pusillanimous: (adj) showing a lack of courage or determination; timid.
souse: (n.) a drunkard.
I stoked every fire echoing into the mouth of arthritis?
A rhyming balm develops epileptic quasar fear?
If so, will he enter arbitration “Sold Out”?
Sleep wills She to cocoon beside you, Artemis?
Resplendent fallow flowers ecstasy coriander?
Do we sate the moons of Jupiter?
Funnel Now beyond we murks dilating clouds gyrating?
I need love like our drama needs psychosis?
You remind it to aero, dowager, misty care that casts off where?
Are they splicing cylindrical a lone fire there?
Will baby’s breath copula and inhale the death throes’ stare?
Does it resist and pre-exist and alter this “it's fair”?
She shall unwittingly play Duo, and I the tambourine savior?
Commit dune larks command speech donkey knives fine dream eyeing?
You know how to reveal this delicious Necronomicon?
For the efficient haven't need of heat?
That crack in her skull’s provisionally neat?
If only a soapy mouth were The Key to the ATM Machine?
Did they witness the machination of roses pinwheel like Gene Kelly?
Can a joke slit a garrulous throat?
Do somnolent cars fill up on dark shofars?
How do caravans we collate solace in that Field of Mine?
If they nod will it She while on this turn, southbound daffodil urn?
Are we fish Absalom?
Crib conspirators he marshes in poison?
Anachronic foils arsenic royales docile incomplete Iliad catacombs?
Burning salad oceans?
And if only he and this nickel could…fight?
Wishing jamboree sipped on this wood and night?
This toe of Talos—all that’s palindrome—he will ignite?
She was eminently qualified in numbers
Held fast to the beliefs in physical objects
Felt every molecule down to her mortal soul
Religion guided Sue through water and soil
Down in the mud of love
Prayer lined up on the side of God
A tool most useful in the invisible realm
If not
She was locked in tangibles
Sherlocked away to wait for Easter
Buried under a stone most uncomfortable
Undetected
To be deduced, from what is and what is not
Thereby order could be restored on Sunday
Drilled down to the atomic level of abomination
Established first by logic in the seventeenth century
Light won't pass through the ways of reason
Being solid as it stands
Where souls split into the Adam unnatural at Evening
All men are created equal to their mortal core
The Iliad and Odyssey are read and dead
In another language long and gone
Sue knows Greek as a 5 letter word
Greek know Sue more than you know
Trojans were of another kind of clan
Spoke Luwian at length
Cuneiform or hieroglyphic characters carved
Souls starved for more attention than misunderstanding
Stood out in their own reflection
Crawled home in a holy hole for protection
Flashlights are not prescribed for reading Homer
We recommend Sue's interpretation of the past
Objects in Archeological pockets are counted
Sins glow in the dark inspected
Calculated to the numerical physicality of being
Extolled by Sue who knows such things
Gold is found without tools to grasp the meaning
Souls unearthed remain with words unspoken
English is not an ancient tongue
Extensions take the dig
Can only go so far
Sue knows who you are
Before it starts
On the wings of her 21th derail
Of Shakespearean and Vigil's asked thee her name
Who is she?
Bolder she is a clemency!
Of her atoms glowing her frontier
Arena's of fortune teller
Seized no name
But she's living now in literatus gleam
She the metaphor and irony
In expressive ways of stylistics
Carry herself like Atlas above all ages
And yes bolder she is a clemency!
She the five foot iambics scheme
Thats her height in rhythym
When she'll be the ancient?
Of William's midsummer nights dream
The Iliad of an epic events
Calling her to a narrative scenes
Believe her in
Bolder she is a clemency lies within.
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : PART XXXVIII
IF you pull a long vacant face
Might be you just have nothing to say
Which is not a crying disgrace
Empty drums need be beaten to bellow away
If you pull a long puzzled face
Just read what poets have to say
On their ilk and how they pretend to liaise
Both thoughts and feelings rare they portray
If you pull a long insensed face
At the affronts you have to put up with all day
Pull the shutters close round face
Read - not repeat - those long inhumed ages away
If you pull a long proud face
Your evanescent words others must attention pay
Have your ephemeral self bolstered through praise
You deserve to inhabit Xanadu Laureat of all you survey
If you must pull a long misunderstood face
Little the use reading faces e'en the Chinese way
A long unread face unveils e'en the masked ignoramus ace
Don't Gecian myths enrich the Iliad and Odyssey
© T. Wignesan - Paris, March 5, 2019
As is the generation of leaves
So is that of humanity
The wind scatters the leaves on the ground
But the live timber burgeons with leaves
Again in the season of spring returning
So one generation of men will grow while another dies
Adapted from The Iliad
Homer