Best Odysseys Poems
When I’ve gone
to the place
where my fathers’
have gone before me
and the last tribute
has been paid to my memory,
may my singing words
crack the silence with clanging echoes.
May the clanging echoes
excite starving eyes
and taut wrinkled eardrums—
both to awareness—
guiding them
to actions of liberation
yet to come.
May clanging echoes
wake-up sleeping souls suffering
uncertainties of tyrannical rule,
slobbering from political absurdities,
drooling from mouths of misguided evil
diagnostic odysseys—peddling false hope
to precariously lost wanderers.
May my clanging echoes echo ringing
bells of freedom that can’t be unrung:
“Oh death where is thy sting?”
“Oh grave, where is thy victory?”
Poets will die;
but the ringing chords
of their words will live long lives:
Echoing clanging echoes…
Oregon's Octobers offer odysseys
of opulent orange orchards
opening on overjoyed oaks.
10/25/19
For 'Tautogram' contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
1st Place
Amorous Odyssey’s
We’re for each other
It’s plain to see
All our countless
Mutuality’s
Like locknecked swan’s
Swooning on a pond
We’ll sing together
As we float along
We’re for each other
That , there’s no doubt
We always know
Just what we’re talking about
We’re puzzle pieces
Not quite the same
But, us together
Make a burning flame
We’ll hold our hands
Then share our hearts
And keep it steady
While love lights a spark
We’ll be more epic
Than Love Story
Set our sights on
Amorous Odyssey’s
By: Bill MacEachern
October 19, 2022
Gravity keeps our feet on the ground,
Stops us from slapdash flying around.
This force of attraction ‘fictitious’ gives weight
And makes all fall down at equivalent rate.
(Albeit in flights of fancy it seems
That gravity follows the laws of dreams.)
Relativity caused Newton’s view to shatter,
In positing spacetime to be curved by matter.
So objects will take a particular path
That must correspond with Einsteinian math.
(The upshot is bodies have odysseys
Appropriate to their geodesies.)
Gravitons, a gravitational source
Of controversy, are seen as a horse
Of a quite different color altogether.
But then scientists aren’t birds of a feather.
(Some sit upon their a priori-based fences
And come up with theories defying the senses.)
Weak or strong, short or long, what is this thing
Called gravity? Wide hypotheses swing.
There are those who suppose that it’s this, others that.
Maybe someday, they all just might have it down pat.
(Meanwhile gravity, though we resize and shape it,
Will still have its own way— for who can escape it?)
– Harley White
dreary eyed, musky languor- tassels tight
a loose walk paraded by looser convictions
an acquaintance of that sad, lowly height
that alluded odysseys and several hymns
open window, surely dries out the stink
encroached in the room shadows and fleas
the zeitgeist of this area; to even think
flowers and dewdrops burly trees; to seize
the thought, it lingers, but only so little
too soon, to even land a misty eyed dream.
O muse ... the lauded poet Homer called
to Odysseys 'cross time enthralled
please tell the tale of warriors lost
of Troy's fall, of heart and of pride.
'cross the vellum pressed, Homer cried.
"Set course for Greece and damn the cost,"
Odysseys on his black ship bawled
orders as his crew there oars hauled
for windless were the seas criss-crossed.
The Siren's sang and woe betide
the men who heard them died wide-eyed
as to the mast Odysseys tossed.
All with him died the tale recalled
on Ithaca the King arrived,
to battle for his Kingdom most lost;
his Queen to claim, his long lost bride
he'd win her now with bow well tried.
The scroll retold and was embossed.
Staring into an empty sea-blue Picasso.
Winking,blinking and greasing my wet nose,
Trying to discerpher the rune in my upper
torso.
To see, if I shall for once, think strait.
Then upon my thoughts, I sat;
Thoughts of her; and of her.
Thoughts, that once sufficed the brute, I was,
And of odysseys across her angelic form.
Of Rome, Greece and savage Persians,
Of wars waged and love made.
Of souls of immortals slain,
And of odysseys across her angelic form.
So, I laid upon my sweaty quill.
Yet in my long ashored ado.
Scribling; scribling upon a wet cotton
napkin;
Thoughts of her; and of her alone.
We want to enrich
its atmosphere by planting trees
and anything that has
roots. We also want to pump
some of our oxygen into its
thin sheet of air.
We want to bring zoos
and cattle ranches on the red planet.
We want to build homes
and real estates for rich folks
who can afford space
odysseys.
We want another life
on Mars, before we destroy
our Earth with pollution
and wars....
I weep jinxed trinkets
clasped with obsidian oppression,
yet I am not weak ~
I am a beautiful wreckage
of weathered odysseys,
still ferrying the burden
of burnt promises
and bruised perceptions.
but they, the ignorant, remain oblivious ~
they do not know
where the ache of a heartbeat resides,
where the powerful pitch of a vibration
within a wistful violin,
soaked in soul’s rose water, illuminates…
so we question the lawless pages:
where do teardrops go?
where does the salt of sorrow settle,
crystallizing into the cadence of coldness
between the fingers of forsaken flesh,
or in sonnets never once allowed to rhyme,
within the formless art
of conventional conviction?
my tears are now studded stars ~
a cosmic current of scars,
creased with astral ash,
calling out the names of faces
as I drift toward the desire to be undone,
while sparks of moonlight
echo the throb
that trauma stole,
softly teasing
the vulnerable veins of twilight
as arteries of midnight
carry inner conflict
into a calming realm of warm release…
and when it drizzles wordless woe,
follow the train of thoughts,
taste this truth
~ the flavor of lament ~
as drifting despair rises as violet vapor,
returning in liquid constellations
condensed from collapsed dreams.
the sky forever homes
this silk of storm and hail ~
unclothed weather,
a panoramic vision
of suppressed tears made rain,
ebbing and flowing through
the deep oceanic swell of turbulent emotions…
Carolyn Devonshire
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Carolyn: Commendable poet who composes cheerful charming comments.
Articulate, admirable, agreeable, author awards an absolute awakening.
Romanticism redeemed by her reasonable reverberating reflections, regally.
Owns the odysseys’ omniscient opulence and oversees the outcome’s orderliness.
Luxurious lady lavishes luscious luster limiting links to her own laurels' limelight.
Yearning yonder yarns? Yes? Yearly yardsticks yield youthful yeas.
Numerous novice nymphs now notice the noble novel with nepotism.
Distinguished delicate, dedication delivers a diamond’s dazzling dawn.
Embarks extraordinary elevating endeavors with effervescent exuberance.
Valiantly, vibrantly victorious visionary’s vigor: valuable, venerated.
Outstanding observer owns originality and overcomes obstacles.
Narcotic narrations naturally nurture notable niceties, necessarily.
Splendid, stupendous superlatives skillfully sing spirited stirrings superbly.
Helpful heroine happily hopes for heaven’s historical harmony. Hearts hug.
Idolized intellectual invites inborn imagination; Identity immortalized.
Radiant, regal, remarkable romantic resurrects rich reason. Realizations remain.
Elegance etched in ecstatic euphoria enjoys everlastingly, you.
Dedicated to Carolyn Devonshire, a great poet, writer, and friend to Soupers.
Succintly free
Filling us daily with hope
Rewiring our brains
Engulfing hearing,tasting and smelling
Enriching the visual field
Driving our thoughts
Overpowering life’s pores
Maneuvering odysseys
My world spins round
too fast most times
from Greek deep roots
on Black Sea ports
crossing Jordan's River
on Catherine's Great
trains meet sailboats
greeting sea planes
flying off to sports unknown
throughout Lake Odessa Highway.
Where Ottomans
blend Spanish matadors,
heroes for Earth's day
and night bleeds forth
a calvary of SunGod force
to please titillating whims
of Lake Odessa's middling class czarinas.
I can't go home again
to straight places never born.
My mind can wavey roam
and try to swim
and fly to where and what
and whom and why
we might have been
if we had built
a fine fair fortress
for peace that loves to rock
and sing sad songs
of what brilliant sights have been
in resilient Lake Odessa.
Instead of gangs
and clicky clacks
we learn monopolistic quacks
to flap and honk
like disturbed Canadian geese
Transubstand she ate
where great America
begins to end
through Lake Odessa's mean clean streets
Not too busy
self-righteous
sleep deprived
and deprogrammed lose to lose
to win our way
back home again
where Lake Odessa healthy meets
and wealthy greets
Love's polyamorous EarthMother role
as played by odysseys of We
writing comic operas
only eros kids can consensually see
was what Me loved
most secretly
in long lost Lake Odessa.
We need a better god for now
bringing peach tree jams
singing immortality
of love as healthy wise
Reframes lost unwealthy loves
to live in jesting jarring jokes
of honeyed sweet corn
thorn tested streets
tasting ancient salad Greeks
on shores of Lake Odessa.
We reunion back
to save each other
from what might have been
without sly rudders
Tipping posts from wu wei mothers
restoring crystal castle love
of unformed flows
that buzz with lifetime mystery
and retiring tours
that sag with straightline history
Spinning sprays
bewitching licking waves
lapping soft and sandy
on long gone sacred skies
of sanguine Lake Odessa.
Oval lines of opaque light
Violet tracing the universe
Eons crossing; curving height
Magnetic Venus flares; coerce
Iridescent sisters of Mars
Aurora imbued divinity
Odysseys of unnamed stars
Falling to the end of infinity.
7/5/19
the rhythmic waves
frothing to and fro
carry Middle Passage echoes
of journeying odysseys
the setting sun severs
the umbilical link
between Motherland
and her children in diaspora
reflecting grains of sand
catch crystalizing tears
of memories of faded shores
the bleeding breeze blows
sea seasoned whispers
flowing from lost voices
from sea to shining sea
we’ve been anchored
chained and auctioned
never can slavery be
a metaphor for memory
as waves dissipate
at the shores of time
no matter what beaches
we roam
the shores still sing songs
stealing home.
2001 space odysseys
50th anniversary...
an anormal film
no hollywood fights
love triangles or monsters...
no thing as absurd
possible fiction
a reversed reality...
was worth a tear
all the worlds a stage
and we are but some actors...
reality silt