Best Olympians Poems
Somewhere deep inside my swirling symphonies,
In the blades of silence and the clouds of chaos,
I find you ,
The rhythm of your rhymes,
The syllables of your sorrows,
The luminosity of your limericks,
Cumulating into a concoction of violin vibrancy,
A dangerous beauty making words glide far better than olympians on ice,
It is there,
Seeped elegantly , in the effortlessly executed flows,
Your feverish humor and intoxicating zest garnished in a sea of marble magnificence ,
A magical mind of a musical marvel,
You, the aura of rhymes! What a breeze of blessing you have become,
to this bruised being that shelters a wounded heart,
to this drained dreams that fears the fire that flourishes my art,
Thank you to your weaves,
The words you wrap around me like a warm horizon,
Setting a smile to those who look upon the breathtaking creature you craft.
When you believe
In yourself
You can achieve miracles.
Like Olympians,
Who can run 100 yards in under ten seconds,
Who can lift over 450 pounds,
Who can jump over 30 feet,
When you believe
In God,
You are not afraid—
You are at peace.
All is well.
Running across hot piles, the dunes of my feet
Across the white whirlpools of winding waves
Inside the dusty closet, your stripes of vibrancy lure the children
Never wanting to dull the daring sparkles, like July fireworks
Blessing your player with volleys of Olympians
Offering skills to those whose eyes lock onto you
When only the most infatuated ones unlock your full potential
Bending vertebrae and crushing expectations
Even the unathletic understand you are not just a mere toy
Aspirations were set by the youth after their experiences
Crushing nets of tangled white, you are the favorite toy of Zeus
Here is where we had our first tango
Blinding eyes and decorating skies
All on the hottest beach north of luxury Miami
Little children and parents alike yearn for your pop of color
Lovely sandbanks and crowded waters of salt are your motherland~
The Champion
Controlled by remote desires I trip the laurel fuse of longing ancestry
My Mom had been chosen to compete diving from the high platform of
Hitler’s mania for ‘Kraft’ ‘Freude’ living space terror raised arms and all in
guns blazing a misplaced childhood offered on the altar of manic delusion
Wreaths gathered dust on unmarked graves white crossed monuments
administered torches blazed parades marched lined the ‘Higher Faster
Longer’ ‘More Ideologically Corrupt’ abuse of innocent festival of youth
Replaced demounted sacred Mount Olympus for Auschwitz and Stalingrad
My mother was no Jesse Owens who blackened Nazi dreams of whiter than
white no ‘Black Consciousness Runner’ shoving gloves to the sky in post-fascist
Munich 1972 quite close to Dachau where Jews Sinti and Roma vanished
at the hand of Swastika’s psychopathology for denial distanced denied memory
A colour TV to watch remote from a distance was the closest she ever got to
her dream of honour and glory disgraced by politics assassinated like Israeli
athletes in a continuation and preview of fanatical devilish monsters high and
low jacking innocent sports for propaganda politics malignant ideas and ideals
In 1944 there were no Olympics titanic battles were scrambled instead in
General’s Admiral’s chessboards and tactical blood baths no dives into chlorine
and water just rotting gassed trenches exploding the dreams pawns in the Games
crushing to bone meal the Peace with their tanks and grenades fusing demise
1948 came to London awaking from ruins and rubble and the brain washed
German Olympians were banned from all sports had they not spread eagled
their passion prostituted their vigour for eugenics death Fuehrer and Fatherland
My mother tainted blemished in blood and in water a fallen hero on her sword
09th August
Written for Healing Peace and for the contest 'Olympic Mania'
A storm is brewing as the wind hastens,
the darkening troposphere trembles
with the tornado's teeming tempest afar.
Cumulonimbus clouds meet, gathering to
brood, to share their destructive morose
mood, just as he did that fearful, fateful night
as his friends gathered about taunting him.
This would be no ordinary storm, but a deadly
terrorizing storm exceeding all previous storms.
As the tornado strikes, Hades is awakened
to rise up with Cerberus at his side to
meet the onslaught of obliteration and
blood spilled and spattered with a frenzied
unrelenting wind force exceeding 100 mph.
The house destroyed, his family winging
their way toward heaven's golden gates,
there would be no rendering of redemption.
As the tornado became weak and dissipated,
spent from spinning and swirling its wrath,
its path of decimation and destruction lay
bare with the departed and hard hearted who
cast his lot and became besot to spend his
final unremorseful days of hate with Hades.
April 18, 2016
*Hades was lord of the underworld and ruler of the dead
in Greek mythology.
*Cerberus was the three-headed guard dog belonging to Hades.
To read more about Hades:
http://www.greekmythology.com/Olympians/Hades/hades.html
Note* This poem parallels the wrath and destruction
of a tornado with a man who goes berserk and, during
a frenzied rampage, kills his entire family.
Hey everyone it’s me again
thanks for having me present
I’ll do my best not to offend
as I share and truthfully admit
I get dumb when I don't attend
can’t get past simple words like….
“happy” and “sad” “now” and “then”
Just the other day I went mainstream
and for an hour of my precious time
got stuck on an amputated cat meme
slowly my brain cells diminished
but my mind, I continued to blaspheme
I got sucked in the whirling vortex….
and it erased my poetic theme
It will take me some time to rebuild
the wit and the strength and flow
like an Olympians dream unfulfilled
A tireless poet will be apropos
lucky for me exists a poet’s guild
where gatherings delight and wander….
through places that haven’t been tilled
It’s good to be back here with you
I thought I could handle the ride
but trivial stupidity is not taboo
outside of this mind of mine
So I research a transcendent haiku
that you obviously wrote for me….
and remember every awesome breakthrough!!
THANKS GUYS!!!
--4/12/2017--
once a sports doctor from perth
wanted to leave planet earth
for his nurse she injected
dietetically wreck-ed
a famous olympians girth.
THE COMING OF SPRING
Heralds of euphoria,
Your anxious trumpets make to
Wait no more
For
The Olympians to hear the
Festive news yearn:
Persephone is released
From
Pluto’s palaces, to
The upper world,
Where,
Demetra:
The mother earth, waiting is,
Her daughter to embrace,
In her mandle of green.
Come,
Oh you heralds and sound,
For all in waiting to
Hear!
Apollo is back,
Dionysus is gone,
Spring is here,
Mortals rejoice!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
12 APRIL 2013
Simon used to take part in motocross,
Before his bike stalled once mid-air,
When he was training on his farm land,
Which left him paralysed waist down.
He was born in 1982 on the 7th June,
And having fought back from that day,
In 2001 when he did dance with death,
He now races the Marathon T52/53/54.
He most often competes alongside Weir,
But worries about safety combinations,
Because safety issues can concern him,
And the Zika virus was a scare, quite big.
He lives in Maryport but trains in Carlisle,
At the Sheepmount Stadium to neatly chat,
With olympians Tom Farrell and Nick Miller,
Who he knows to be top athletes, class.
Dr Ian Thompson, Tanni Grey’s hubby,
Who trained this fantastic legendary idol,
Also trains Simon by propelling, pushing,
Him to muscle on further and further.
In 2015 he did brave to firmly complete,
The Great North Run, the half marathon,
When he won the silver in the T53 class,
And he works as a car mechanic by day.
SENIORS OLYMPICS
Images of fearsomely fit youth everywhere,
healthy people, all bronzed, featured
by the second, on screens and public spaces :
fit and flash, but always young, Olympians.
I protest, for we seniors are just as sporty;
we recycle daily, suffer running noses;
fallen archery’s no problem at all - well, it is -
as we routinely wrestle with living.
Best not to even mention water sports.
Weightlifting self out of armchair is hourly,
when diving for the loo, as is rowing back
from much too easily expressed criticism.
We ping pong daily with potions and pills.
Sailing close to the wind, shooting mouth off,
leads to embarrassed synchronized grinning.
Annoy us and you will get a right kayaking.
Much of our lives consists of sundry hurdles;
shops are like a cross-country marathon,
or a steeplechase broken into relays,
bench to leaned-on wall, to bench again.
And, we’ve all done pent- and heptathlon,
with the dec- coming in to (or out of) focus,
we need not discus these ageist Olympics,
I have hammered my point enough ....
Alan McAlpine Douglas
A lean physique
Born to compete
A champion athlete
Blessed with unnatural talent
A gift so unique
A manner so oblique
A marathon in a single step
A phenomenon no man scan stop
A gladiator to Olympians
Winter and summer, his games
Sightseeing Tour de France
He quenched his thirst in the Caribbean Sea
Sculptured his sculpture atop Everest’s highest peak
He built his sand castle on the highest dune in the Sahara
Vacationing every summer in Nuuk to cool off
A ladder to giants
A shoulder to leaning towers
A bridge to trailblazers
His topaz eyes ever focused
A survival instinct converted
A primordial drive perverted
He glides on his stride
A monster to his opponents
A grizzly bear to those who dare
A teddy bear for those who care
A dominator to the dominant
Force, the punisher to the brave
To the fool who dares keep a slave
He stands poised
Content, correct
Elated, erect
Elite
Ready to transform
Ever ready to perform
His movement a force field
A commander to the superior,
To yield
The Gods admire his great efforts
He seeks neither riches nor comforts
The man of steel, never tired
A winner, never tied
We call him the Superman,
But in reality, he’s no man
A hero to the alpha male
A savour to the world
He spits seeds of gold and glory
Second to none, never bitter
He lives for the lives of the vulnerable and weak
For the emancipation of helpless and sick
He lives for Lois Lane
For her love he has no shame
~Amor Fati~
Justin Richter
-
It is no wonder, looking up at the cosmos,
That they worshipped the Gods -
The diviners of Reason
And the theologians of old.
But how devout were they?
Even then, in their temples of devotion,
Searching for answers
Where truth be told.
And what would their pantheon say?
As we now ascend to the heavens,
To our neighbors in Their name.
"There are mortals at Olympus!"
"We are betrayed!"
"How dare they fumble forth,
Naive in Our domain?"
Yet where is the scepter of Jupiter?
Or the lightning bolt of Zeus?
Where are the seers and the soothsayers?
The Oracle, the prophecy unfulfilled?
They died with Delphi,
And took the Olympians.
Will that be our fortune?
In far away places,
Will they look to us as deities,
Those believers yet to believe?
Is that what lies behind our stars -
Are we our gods we worship?
Are we as fleeting?
As fragile?
After all, what God prays our prayers?
To what end is our tithe?
Like the dead,
Our thoughts see Them alive.
That cannot be!
The Alphas and the Omegas,
Entwined with human affairs!?
Hah! Listen, young God,
If those Old Ones subsist,
They leave us to our fate.
And so it comes to pass;
You,
The beginning,
And eventually...
The end -
Amor fati.
-
This is a story that goes back some twenty years
To when with the Special Olympics I did volunteer
I worked with the older Olympians who were kind of rough
Caring for them by other volunteers was a job just too tough.
They were sixteen through eighteen and didn’t know their own strength
To keep them under control took me to mental and physical lengths
There were eight young men in my group this Olympic day
I was the only volunteer willing to work with them when the games got under way.
Keeping them together and where they were supposed to go
Required lots of cunning and running by this guy they called Coach Joe.
They worked me ragged and kept me at my wit’s end
But within the first hour we were all best of friends.
They liked to hug me and squeeze me and wrestle me to the ground
Always slugging me and hitting me every time I turned around
They were strong as an ox and didn’t know how easily they could hurt
I got bumps and bruises, one busted lip and was all covered in dirt.
As the medal ceremony began indicating the games were coming to an end
I was exhausted and spent and ready for my body to go home and mend
My Olympians got medals that made them all so happy and proud
They loved hearing the spectators cheering so wondrous and loud.
As I watched from the bench they gathered in a huddle
What were they up to now? I was a little befuddled
Then one by one they took their medals off and walked my way,
Placing them over my head; “Thank You, Coach Joe”, is what they would say.
Their parents and guardians had tears in their eyes
I’ve never been more touched by a simple surprise
Then we all held hands and the Olympic Song we did sing
For me, in my life, this was the sweetest of things.
Passion and courage; the Olympians catalyst and reward…
Such are the ingredients with which, to build champions.
It takes more strength to build courage, than to challenge ones own fears.
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.