Best Scylla Poems
Hattie L. Rogers
1844 – 1917
The playing cards of life are a stacked deck.
As soon as you begin to breathe
You begin to die and disintegrate.
All of the winners in life
Eventually end up the losers.
You enter this Big House with nothing.
Nothing but a cracked soul, a cursed heart
And that stacked deck of crooked playing cards.
Your destiny, my friends, lies in the dust.
So I figured early on, like King Solomon,
That there is no use; it is all futile and hopeless at best.
When I came to this sad realization
About life on this staggering planet,
I decided the only worthwhile meaning in living
Is in finding true happiness,
Even in the midst of hopeless despair.
Even in the midst of this mocking gaping graveyard
That lusts for flesh and blood
Like Odysseus’ giant with the one eye
Like a carnivorous Scylla, hiding high up in its dark perch,
Up there in the insidious shadows,
Awaiting another human meal at noontide.
So, what happiness did I find in my 73 years?
Years that seemed to fly by like a hummingbird in April.
I found ineffable joy
In the phenomenal nativity of my twin boys.
Found indescribable ecstasy
In the tender embrace of my loving husband,
Found incomparable elation
In the survival of my children and grandchildren.
Living descendants, you are always welcome to loiter at my grave.
Bring a pack of cards though.
I am always up for a new ante.
Between The Devil and The Sea
( Scylla and Charybdis )
Cosmetic the creature cover girl
is accessible only at night
a picture female in her temple
laying askew on an alter ego
A de lux harlot in romantic rough house
a fetish target
frivolous nymphet with a rampant phallus
And the sinister will follow strictly incognito
In her sticky sexual paradise
blond peroxide sensuality comes by proxy
No virtues abashed
a blow up doll as she lays in prostrate sultry action
her deflowering for titillation
she is said to have a thing for perversion
this ageless angelica this strip teaser
the Molotov cocktail of her own euphoria
Down in the bawdy boulevard men ape their ardour
all mouth to mouth with the call girl
a fondle or a blatant grope
She’s a clock work courtesan to keep her from destitution
to feed the kids she considers herself to be an acquisition
smiling for the gratuitous exhilaration of playing the other woman
vogue with her etiquette indiscreet in the burlesque
self esteem is held between the food the warmth
and not much else
Lying in an augur's aviary..
Reneging on my virtues,so credulous..
The feying fay being taken to
bury,
I see things called ambigous.
Slowly fading odour of scantity..
In Attica, end of augustan age.
Wings of Azreal, the martinet
deity,
I see these, with espied rage.
Hydaes casting spell every
night..
The abysmal wizard of dark
kinglet.
Between scylla and cherybdis is
my sight..
Seeing through the torment
outlet.
Through that window, with
arriere pensee..
I see me, the ambling ember
Once alive, now frozen modus
vivendi..
Promenading with flowing ichor.
Still with each sunshine..
I see hope blazing through..
A jocund scene,hard to miss.
The changing magniloquent
hue..
Palladium of gamut bliss.....
So once again, with grim countenance, the ship sailed on with all bemoaning their woes
Till calm seas prevailed, with balmy sun, sweet zephyr song, they came to Helios' shores.
Helios, calm god of the day, smiled upon the lads, gave of his land free rein, but with a caveat-
Helios pride was his golden herd, indolent and fat,"Do what you will, but don't touch that"
Well, as was their wont, like a terrible refrain, full-weathered from woes and want, but yet unwise,
The crew, overcome by gluttonous greed, slaughtered a heifer, for raucous feast, not sacrifice.
Wild was Helios at this blatant deceit, with terrible curse, banished them all, to wander once again.
So with Helios' curse (and Neptune's help), the ship was tossed and soon lost, all crew were slain.
It was Odysseus alone who was alive, afloat on flotsam, floating about, with fervent wish of death
But sweet surcease was not his lot, more plight was his fate - his tryst was due with Charybdis yet.
Perhaps Scylla was a better bet, in it's slavering jaws a definite death, I think he'd rather have it
But caught he was in Charybdis' thrall, a vortex which ate him whole, and threw him out as spit.
Past the maelstrom's outer whirl was our hero tossed clinging to life's last hope, verily a straw
Floated, the wasted carricature of a man, denied of food and water, no sustenance he could draw.
But perchance the Gods smiled on him, wearied of their devious, puerile games going too long
Odysseus fell on land once more, where restored were life and limb, bewitched by Calypso's song.
Now Odysseus, all said and done, was a man vulnerable to worldly women's wanton wiles
And Calypso was full besot with our hero's lusty frame, his wit, his deeds and charming smiles.
For seven years did he taste bliss, ensconced in Calypso's arms with thought of home amiss
But one day, after seven years, did Caypso, with heavy heart, let him go on pleas of our Hermes.
From Calypso's isle did Odysseus sail on raft, through storm, as was now his habit, and came to Sceria
Where Nausicca, on Athena's urge, gave succor, till he sailed with Phaecians who had trade with Sumeria
The Phaecian ships soon landed Odysseus on fair Ithacan shores where Penelope had travail,
But my dear laddies, I must hie hence, for the Dawn is nigh, of Penelope and Suitors, is another tale.
Concluded
We let loose the untamed winds
As boulders crashed eleven ships were lost
With storm unabated into the Laestrygons we ran
T'was one lone ship which hit Circe's land
As boulders crashed eleven ships were lost
Fair isle it was of verdant green, of misty hills
T'was one lone ship which hit Circe's land
Warm welcome and viands was Circe's fare
Fair isle it was of verdant green, of misty hills
Odysses, Circe's love was spared as we were turned to swine
Warm welcome and viands was Circe's fare
Spell broken with Herme's help we all were back on board.
Odysses, Circe's love was spared as we were turned to swine
Thence we sailed to Hade's land where roam the souls about
Spell broken with Herme's help we all were back on board.
We were counseled on how to beat the odds
Thence we sailed to Hade's land where roam the souls about
With beeswax we stuffed our ears and Odysseus was tied to the mast
We were counseled on how to beat the odds
The Sirens' serenade was in vain
With beeswax we stuffed our ears and Odysseus was tied to the mast
Next Scylla and Charybdis were sate with six of our doughty men
The Sirens' serenade was in vain
Our last misfortune as a crew was on Helios shore
Next Scylla and Charybdis were sate with six of our doughty men
We tasted off succulent meat and were struck by Zeus' bolts
Our last misfortune as a crew was on Helios shore
Of twelve ships and their crew only Odysseus survived the sail
We tasted off succulent meat and were struck by Zeus' bolts
Past Scylla and Charybdis again, Odysseus floundered all alone
Of twelve ships and their crew only Odysseus survived the sail
Bedraggled and beat, a weary man he was trapped in Calypso's thrall
Past Scylla and Charybdis again, Odysseus floundered all alone
For seven years did Calypso's arms embrace the valiant hero
Bedraggled and beat, a weary man he was trapped in Calypso's thrall
Finally, on Hermes' plea Calypso let him go.
For seven years did Calypso's arms embrace the valiant hero
Great heroes we consigned to flames
Finally, on Hermes' plea Calypso let him go.
We sailed the seas from Trozan shores
~11 Jun 2016~
Villanelle: French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
Dedicated to the great French actor, Off Course!
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
Must you invite high breeds to the Hebrides
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!
Starved Loch Ness Monster kept well out of view
For this Gourmet eats even monster breeds
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
Medieval monarchs gulped innerns – rest threw
To the serfs lords ladies dogs and hybrids
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!
French Gourmand let Scots talk their tartans through
Venison loins he carved out for his needs
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
Goths Visigoths Vikings Normans or Dieu*
Falstaff nose and paunch hide much actor’s deeds
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!
Eiffel Tower Louvre Versailles nothing new
Mountain Man kept apart Scylla Charibdis
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!
• Dieu: God, but French pronunciation, please!
He might take exception.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
And so they sailed, on and on, uncharted were where they went, till they came to Hade's land
Dark and grey and dismal was the land where wraiths and shadows wandered on the sand
There they held congregation with the dead whose time on Charon's ferry was yet to clear.
Odysseus did meet his mother Anticleas as did Achilles, Agamemnon, and Teresias the Seer.
Teresias, blind from birth, had vision of the Gods and good counsel he did give
Of more travails, he did prophesise, of arcane things he did tell, of ways to overcome and live.
So once again, the Grecian ship set sail with a sense of dire forebodings, a journey lasting long
And hence they came where dwelt fair maids, the Syrenia, of sweet and dreaded song.
The Sirens were a beauteous lot, their songs lured ships and men to the rocks, and shipwreck
Oysseus, forewarned, stuffed beeswax in the ears of crew, and bound was he to a mast on deck
So the Sirens' song, which doomed all men, was heard by our hero to his hearts content
And the ship sailed past averting sure doom, as deaf crew to their sailing task were bent.
Now, in those days of Mythical Beasts were two most dreaded beasts of the seas
Scylla of the hexa-head with ravenous mouths, and the maelstrom called Charybdis.
Caught were the crew between the choice of the two, and Odysseus made the choice
Scylla it was that Odysseus chose. With heavy heart he sailed past it, gave six men as sacrifice.
... To be continued in Part IV
Your destiny is sealed
You have always been our loveless master
scheming and provoking our disaster
Spinning tales of Scylla and Charybdis
Concealing truth so it could not uplift us
Contriving stories hiding true wisdom
Justice will be served when you're imprisoned
Disguise yourself as God while casting stones
but in the end your charade will be known
You weave your legends of god's immortal
but truth will break your shackles of control
You are just a hideous imposter
Who would want to worship such a monster?
Apocalypse' veil will be revealed
By God's command your destiny is sealed
John Derek Hamilton
July 31,2020
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XII
IF you pull a mighty long face
Such as even Bollywood can't display
Put not the blame on the mixed human race
The fault most likely comes from animal DNA
Now if you go on pulling that long long face
People'll rightly think you're going out of your way
To attract attention to your you-think handsome face
And some might wish you'd look in the mirror right away
Yet if you insist on pulling that long-gone face
The kind Penelope pulled with suitors in Odyssey
While Odysseus loped with sirens on Scylla & Charibdis
You risk adorning some niche at museums in decay
If you can't resist pulling that long-tired face
Whenever your siblings marry and are whisked away
Remember Sita pining for Rama in Ravana's Palace
Even if some still wonder at Hanuman's role in epic play
So if you must still keep pulling that long face
Favourite sport with chicks watching films from Bombay
Just keep watching Beau-Boy Khan in tear-jerking DEVDAS
The all-time record at pulling faces in every love-sick way
© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 7, 2019
For what reason this all-or-nothing thinking?
Too hot, too cold,—but never in the middle
I live, a victim of this ruthless riddle
that contradicts reply (and has me sinking!?).
This anarchy of mind that's got me drinking
is never gray, but too much or too little
like a deranged, mad instrument, a fiddle,
that counterpoints a melody without blinking.
Unlike my thinking, life's not black or white
but somewhere in the middle, where insane
poor souls escape manic, psychotic thoughts
like refugees from their depressive plight,
a Scylla and Charybdis that won't drain
the swirling stream of mania's onslaughts.
If there's kingdom of bad moments,
Its oubliette's sticking;
Where none owns any place, but-
Places own the being.
Cramping inside bad, ugly cells-
In graveyards locking in,
Inside cars or spooky cellars-
All are dwarfed to spelling.
Oh, once I heard a speechless speech;
The lad stuck while speaking,
Being tongue-tied between two words,
None knowing his saying.
Two words: Scylla and Charybdis;
They're easy as a pin,
Although, they caused aphasia,
Like Sci-li la-la lin.
The poor guy sweated and whimpered,
The audience: laughing;
He dashed, rushed, and ran away by
Shrilling Scy-la-la-lin.
not height of waves that I must crest
nor pull of tides from murky depths
not lack of sun or moon in sky
nor compass lost to view from eye
not Proteus or dread Cetus
nor Scylla or Charybdis
not god of sea nor god of war;
none shall keep me from your shore
Enea, at the Scottish Court
The critics claim that this is far the worst
of all the frescoes. Enea the star? No
inkling here. Can that be James the First?
And that’s the Clyde? It looks more like the Arno.
A spartan Stuart court? Or is it Bourbon?
Less Edinburgh in feel, and more Locarno.
Whoever saw Scots courtiers in turbans?
The ceiling is salubriously embossed,
more like the Vatican of sainted Urban!
Perhaps Enea’s Latin can’t be glossed,
for no-one’s listening, that much is certain.
One wonders what the marble columns cost.
And wrapped in that red robe (looks like a curtain!),
he seems to lack all gusto, all scintilla.
For this he braved the Beauly and the Burton?
There’s nothing interesting in the villa.
Less Donatello, more like Damien Hirst.
It wasn’t worth Charybdis, much less Scylla.
Enea Receives the Laurel Crown
Not only is he with the Emperor:
he’s kneeling to receive the laurel crown.
His deeds will be preserved in tempora,
his poems printed, bound and handed down.
What more can man achieve in life than this?
While many live and love, and toil in vain,
Enea’s standing on the precipice:
rewarded for that fine, well-nurtured brain.
So why am I uneasy? Read the signs.
And eagle savages a hapless duck.
The building seems all wrong. Wrong size, wrong lines.
And what’s it meant to be? Are you not struck
to see the woman on the loggia, being raped?
Pandora’s Box is open. Hope’s escaped.
Form and Matter
It all comes down to this, don’t you agree?
The Court of Charlemagne, the Holy See –
there’s Thought and Thing: idea, reality.
We’re in the presence room, but some are free
to stroll the colonnade at liberty.
Unyielding marble throne, lapped by a sea
of flowing silk: that’s how it has to be.
Enea kneels between eternity
and actuality: the Papacy
against the Empire. Physicality
abuts against the realm of sophistry.
spoke kin like
a true non establishmentarian.
Wily wordsmith wields wisdom and wit
renders requiem welcoming thee to visit,
no matter foisting poetic riffraff (mine)
necessitates applying figurative tourniquet
to staunch potential
life threatening hemorrhage
oozing out fifty shades of
your gray cerebral moon unit,
thus best be extremely cautious
heed warning to preserve
self interest and quit
while ahead, i.e. stop reading
and surreptitiously exit,
now lest noggin contents
rendered into pureed blivit
causing irrevocable damage,
now just for fun grab
amusement park ride ticket,
and picture yourself
in a boat on a river
squarely bobbing along...
barely staying afloat
courtesy soaked sponge square pants
within skeletal ricket
tee skiff analogous to
time warped white picket
fence forever lost and seasick
out of desperation imploring malefic
powers that be while moored thick
within (think) Scylla and Charybdis
not caring a lick
despite super tramping cheap trick
worse fate than death,
where metaphorical flick
finds one human flotsam and jetsam (ye)
violently sucked into realm wick
head witch, which
in toto along metaphorical yellow brick
road nsync cues soundcloud
faintly reminiscent of Herman's hermit
mid nineteen sixties approximate
time Beatles made mop top headlines
both bands selling
one after another smash hit,
where half crazed lasses frenziedly
screamed and threw maniacal fit
activating advent of groupies
they made nun sense sickle habit
to shadow many rock and roll band
initially majority identifying as Brit
nowadays global musical hodgepodge
synthesized linkedin with fitbit.
remains of rehab
bottle no longer beckons
sweet pills give surcease
scylla defeats charybdis
librium now liberates
Syllable count via www.howmany syllables.com
Librium is often prescribed by docts for Alcohol Dependence Syndrome (ADS) and often becomes an alternate addiction.