marvel at the vigorous blade of grass,
resistant to the worst storms,
marvel at the dandelion, offering a thousand treasures
To the bees of the county,
marvel at the hemlock flower, which could
poison ten ancient poets,
marvel at the plant world and its millions
of possibilities,
marvel at the fern, which does not tire
that winter,
marvel at how the butterfly marvels
on the corolla of digitals,
marvel at the yellow flowers, so numerous
and vain,
marvel at the capuchins, daisies,
Flowers loving you.
Marvel at the young oak tree, which defies a thousand reeds
in his old age,
marvel at the olive tree whose fruit inspired the Iliad
and many poems,
marvel at the hydrangea, dahlia, and forget-me-not
with shy petals,
do you inspire from the vegetable world, to never become
crazy or proud,
invite the bees in the garden of your imagination.
Once I thrilled to Homer’s Odyssey
to his Iliad equally
‘Til I hurt my sacroiliac
~ and traded literature for TV
REALITY HUNGRY
When others’ joy is merely peering over the wall
Those who relish real experiences, good and bad
The taste of life’s disappointments is as bitter gall
But for the lucky few, the best they’ve ever had
Sometimes life can feel empty, like nothing at all
There is always surplus time and room to be sad
Perhaps by hitting the brakes the engine will stall
And for that sudden quiet one may even be glad
Hearing echoes of footsteps along an empty hall
This may be the first sign that one is going mad
One realises being alone can make one feel small
And would not have been mentioned in the Iliad
Life is not always about having a masquerade ball
Take a breath, ignore what may be the latest fad
Yet for most, the same routine each day can pall
Especially when finding oneself to be armour clad
Greece and Ethiopia have had unwavering and unbroken
bonds of friendship since ancient times.
Greece is the land of freedom and democracy, also one of the pillars
of worldwide civilization in all sectors
{philosophy, poetry , art etc.}
The great ancient Greek poet HOMER is frequently refereed to Ethiopia
in his masterpiece ILIAD.
Even the name Ethiopia comes from an ancient Greek word
{Aithiops} which means a sun-burnt face.
The source of the blue NILE is in Ethiopia, the only country
in Africa which was never colonized by western powers, with
its own ancient language:{Amharic} and history.
The predominant religion of Ethiopia is Christianity which was propagated
by Apostol Mathias. God Bless Greece and Ethiopia!!
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 crazy 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 pizza party will this little ditty win for the likes of me.
But this something silly might make you laugh-wickedly.
Of Homer, Iliad And The Fall Of The Mighty Greeks
As the moon repents from its many vague allusions
And the splintered rains never rain upon true imaginations
What are we to think of those fools, plastic imitations
Does bright dew and turnips spring from revolutionary actions
He toys with unrepentant love and celebrated crisis
Begs the grey-cast dawn to organize her princess retreat
While pigs and blinded dogs drink furiously at the oasis
The Greek, smokes final cigar and tells us damn you boys eat
We tread ever onward; dawn stimulates its latent spirit
Ahead lay the great battlefields of the valiant Greek dead
Clouds begin vomiting and blood spurts out from trees near it
Homer ghost comes, cries lets be true to our heroes
instead.
Mighty Greeks fought hundred of battles had heroes in all.
Sad, nobody stays on top, so even the Greeks had to fall.
Robert J. Lindley, Rhyme
Feb 11th, 1971 age 17
Over burning canefields black soot ash
on an east wind past my balustrade blows,
and big white pelicans the riverine splash
their dive pouch longbills in the shallows.
Windsurfers, sailboats, and rowers in row
pass up and down in their wake across,
and fishermen in the Cod Hole below
sit reeling in their boats off Mykonos.
Beyond my Grecian villa walls of stone
a great bridge does cross the river’s divide,
and the Maroochy water’s gentle groan
concentrates my mind ‘twixt moon and tide.
When the sun is low and the moon high
fly a plague of bats just passing through -
sipping a wee tincture of scotch in my dry
puffing a wee willem on the avenue.
Girl, like The Iliad it’s all Greek to me
and soon a new life and bridge to cross,
but before the two of us become three
I write my postcard from Mykonos.
Beyond my Grecian villa walls of stone
a great bridge does cross the river’s divide,
and the Maroochy water’s gentle groan
concentrates my mind ‘twixt moon and tide
Written: October 1999
You are my empty page of love
my double spaced sheet of solid white
you are my blank canvass
my heavenly shade of metal alloy
and I am your Helen of Troy
This Iliad of love
contains spark notes of our passion
No Greek God can ever compare to you
you
my warrior of all Time ....
I wish I had been born in the days of
unicorns and dragons,
witches and ogres,
goddesses and gods.
Before all the travel of the world
leaving no sites un-plundered.
Before cellphones,
computers,
and television sets.
Even before radio.
The long winter evenings complete
with chilly winds and rattling windows.
To sit on the floor,
A fire the only light.
Listening to the original old grizzly fairytales,
or the myth of Prometheus.
To have the Iliad in oral tradition,
each teller crafting bits and pieces of themselves into the story.
The mystery of distant lands that most will never see.
To return to a time when man’s imagination
could make real the magic of the human heart.
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
In the mind of man
is the divinity's dwelling place.
The sanctuary where our
life is molded and patterned,
our thoughts formed either
for good or destruction.
Our lives roadmap lights
our partway into the divine will
and purpose for constructive living.
With the divine helpful hands,
we willed our lives with might,
Not of our strength,
but the inner leading of the almighty.
For those who listen to
the unexplainable inner call
within their consciousness,
the divine healing elixir
of life is unleashed,
their lives becomes
a noble one full of grace,
for their obedience links
them to the miraculous.
They feel the pains of life,
and of death,
the pain of love,
and of hate,
the pain of knowing too much,
and lack of knowledge,
pain of being sensitive,
and insensitive,
pain of having,
and of lack,
more than their peers,
for that is the cross they bear
of being who they are
in the scheme of things prepared
for only those who walk in the
part of the divine Iliad.
No complaints are needed
for their end are assured.
Answer that call now.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Every scepter, every throne,
reverts again anew
The god’s, their will divided,
—an Iliad of ‘truth’
A war of good intentions,
paved avenue to hell
Honor shamed, by Zeus renamed,
—that horse where judgment dwells
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
The urge to surge the words
to flow as a stream in Arreau
thrashing partially submerged rocks
reverberating a melodious song
waiting to be heard
from a blank sheet of paper
magnanimous would it be
when angels come down to listen
if like the giants my rhymes
could shake the earth
and part the skies
as though from the pages of Iliad
turmoil of the minds
creating chaos in a heart
if expressions can make a fire
it would be dragons breathe
Fear not, mystery of oblivion has not yet lost
as the battle cries never came to thought
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
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
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.