Cassandra, you who knew the leaves of time,
And traced them in your mind before they fell:
A gift perhaps for mortals too sublime,
Perhaps a cloak of darkness suits more well.
Cassandra, did you wish this thing to be?
To reach beyond the veil the future lays?
To now and all of time at once to see?
To live a life thus spread across all days?
Cassandra, had they heard, then Troy would stand,
But how can little merit know the best?
Too rare a soul for that more brutal band;
And so a diamond fell with all the rest.
You suffered twice, before and when Troy lost:
A gift immortal comes with mortal cost.
they lost Cassandra, their girl child on a breezy autumn day
I have looked all over said her worried absentee Daddy Jay
Her mother asked where are the cats? They will show you the way
Cassandra was under the bed, reading a book on this happy Tuesday.
When you smile, roses bloom
and in their burst I find your lips of flame
When you laugh, the winter sun shines brighter,
and nature bursts with its buds
when your mouth is on mine,
a kiss is an endless embrace,
and hours are forgotten there in your body
when your breasts cling to my hands,
I am a pilgrim of love
and your body the infinite road to lust
When I touch you, the touch is shivers,
and shivers break the silence of the night,
just like moans of love.
It is the music of the lips, of the body, of the pleasure
Outside with the wind, only our gasps are heard.
Cassandra
My sister in suffering
our stories align
Betrayed by him
you had devoted
your being to serve
Never adored
Mocked and ignored
Driven mad by derision
for no one would listen
Viciously violated
seeking sanctuary
Your pleas to the gods
going unanswered
I see your visage
in my mirror
as your eyes
peer into mine
within my own prison
You were fated to die
as am I
She is the seer
Whose visions seared all of those
Unwilling to hear.
I teach History, you see.
But, I don't know what it is.
Just as Hollywood remakes classics
with new faces for new generations,
I suspect,
I do much the same.
I do try to sweep away
the old myths and lies
of History, but,
as each class, each year,
recedes farther from my age,
I wonder,
am I just replacing old myths,
with my myths.
Is there something tangible
that I can teach?
Have we evolved at all?
I sit here, just past the bloodiest century
since we left the savannah,
and I wonder,,,
Am I just another shill.
New myths for old!
New myths for old!
Come and get
your hot new myths.
she was an aberration
a soft sorry light that reflected
upon all the lights around her and never turned
away not even for a minute
she was perfection
She casts a cold breath away -
Almost perishing when a glow
cursed Cassandra with a blow.
On her knees, after a pray,
daydreaming without peace:
Troy befalling again and again
the worthless walls will retain
isolated the heroes of Greece.
Every dawn the same tomorrow -
Troy perishing in numerous nights,
consumed by scorching firelight.
The virtue a God couldn’t borrow
stolen in the temple’s staircase -
turning left or turning right in the maze
will lead to same unmoved sorrow.
She can’t forget: all will be true -
The blessing kiss of Lethe is dry,
Hear the prophetess’ first cry!
Tears cover her eyes’ blue hue
but if we look in, what do we see?
Little Cassandra warning in vain:
I will be a thousand times slain
until I respite below Helen’s tree.
I wrote some words today and showed them to a stranger.
They guided me in terms of semantics, definition, and faith:
Saying: 'Pride is freedom."
I listened intently for the constructive criticism of my ideas:
My poetry is not a subjective flow of concepts, unorganized and free!
I am bound and constrained to 'real conditions and real claims,'
and tethered to... being an amateur.
I heard, I was analyzing philosophy and fell
short of the correct interpretation, according to. . .
Someone that knows better than I.
Let me take this constructive, enlightening criticism to heart;
May it guide me around the corners of a tight box, structured and pre-defined.
Hold me fast to a metric leash, familiar to the ear and approved by literary critics.
Thank you for shutting the door of my cage when I tried to sing;
I will be more quiet in the future, mimicking the style of dead poets.
If I be Witch; Enchantress, yes!
Hades own sweet Sorceress
My Siren's Song to him belongs
Medea, may I wear your dress?
By Spell or Charm, I mean no harm,
Your beating Heart is all I need
Oh, Circe's swine! Where is mine?
Must I pray to Hecate?
With Titan's wrath, as Heroes pass,
I shall capture one for me!
*I have an immense love for Greek mythology so this piece may be more difficult to understand if you are not familiar with the references. "Hecate" is pronounced "Heck-a-tee" and "Circe" is pronounced "Seer-see" or "Sir-see" :)
A
god of
poetry,
yet she turned him
down
so,
maybe
Apollo's
free verse would not
rhyme !
I look to my left
And I look to my right
Where have you gone
So late in the night
You were the light
Beyond all the dark
When I saw your first smile
I swear it gave me a heart
I've laughed with you at good times
And kept you safe to show I care
I've cried with you through bad times
And held you through your nightmares
You are so young
So full of heart
I don't know where you've gone
And its ripping me apart
Tell me your not gone
Please tell me your not dead
Your laughter and your smiles
Are still ringing through my head