Long homer Poems
Long homer Poems. Below are the most popular long homer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long homer poems by poem length and keyword.
(Dedication: For Michael Zachary, my son)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sense this knowing: can the blind see?
Homer still sings fond tragedy.
Troy was a thought where siege was laid,
A war well fought as heroes paid.
Love and hate doomed to mortal rage,
Ten years once groomed that fatal stage.
Such fine faces like Archilles,
Hector traces with Odysseus.
Proud Agamemnon did hoard the sands,
Trojans beyond the high walls grand.
King Priam spied Greeks' battle scream,
Aegean waves plied the battle scene.
The rise and fall of heroes there,
The bitter gall of curse and swear.
Both sides pitted to furious fights,
Even witted, no end in sight.
Clever tactics at Troy did sway,
Loss most drastic for each did stay.
So many years the battle raged,
Proud lives and tears on either page.
Weary battles and bloody mess,
Souls now brittle with sure duress.
So many dead in bloodied sand,
The feud most great in defiant stand.
Now crafty thought brought idea grand,
Odysseus's plot to win war's end.
A hollow horse as token gift,
A rousing toss for Troy's uplift.
Greek ships slipped round to hide away,
Vanished fleet found with deceit's play.
This cunning ruse worked with sure craft,
Troy seemed amused with hoarding draft.
Dragged the wood crypt within the walls,
Stupor and script tell of Troy's fall.
In dead of night when sleep wrought themes,
Greeks murdered fight in Trojan dreams.
Homer the blind brought us grand sights,
For here we find our saving light.
Now we can see the fight go on,
Harsh as can be here and beyond.
Wars and battles reveal who's slain,
Man's not gentle who lives harsh gain.
We think and speak to weave fashion,
Give in to streaks of ambition.
The hunter hunts the chase until,
The victim grunts to turn and kill.
Troy and her days remind us still,
Live truce that pays in wise goodwill.
What of Helen who is part myth?
Fond beauty turns a timely drift.
A lovely tale of human gore,
To now assail that love lives more.
Thus all the world remembers well:
Dear heroes swirl just where we dwell!
Leon Enriquez
19 November 2014
Singapore
I admit to have been influenced as Keats
by some remarkable poets who used unusual beats,
slowly delving into their very logical and intellectual minds...
so amazed by what they wrote despite their struggling times.
The first written poem came from Egypt: a hymn to Aron her god,
the Greeks copied the form and style with great skills:
Homer wrote the famous Odyssey, then the Romans
did the same and Virgil wrote, the long epic poem, " Aeneid. "
Who has ever doubted that my poetry isn't authentic?
It came from an unexpected idea that spread like wild fire at a very young age,
empowering my senses to feel, see, touch and hear without being too frantic...
by letting words flow as I stood by a river of knowledge.
With joy and jubilation today,
The strong batter smiled and perspired
As he ran the bases, so greatly admired.
A lesson, though, for poets all.
Just write, must each poem be in a contest?
Much each poem be a blatant conquest?
Is there no pure joy in what we do?
I think there is, through and through.
Personally, I find no joy in being better than you.
It’s a grand gift to show a bit of humility.
Not, “ I am so much better than thee!”
“Being the Star on the Poetry Tree.”
Write to embrace another soul!
Poets, hear me, whether young or perchance, old.
You are loved as is, you see, we need not be sold.
Poetry is not a major league sport.
It moves the soul and touches sparkling hearts.
Far, far too many, forget it really is an art.
6-26-2022
-1-
I've never had a one-night stand,
with me it always was the family plan;
I thought I found Mr. Right
seems I only saw him with blind eyes.
Faithful till the day I die
Yet he has a wandering eye
Pay for things he never does
Wonder why I bear a grudge
Craigslist is his favorite repast
He is forever chasing *Bass
See this, yes, I know he will
Yet I still foot the bill
Why does it seem all men lie
I just want to lie down and die
No Homer Simpson you would meet
if you wanted to be with me
Sometimes nymph no s**t or *Bore
Why would he be seeking more?
Promises broke he loves no one
Wonder why I have no fun
Rules he makes but does not follow
This seemingly makes him very shallow
Tell me now why this shouldn't end.
Why do you still pretend my friend?
Maybe I should follow your lead?
and see what reading Craigslist will seed
(100's of replies latter; amend and recast)
I am aghast I must amend
I have no thoughts of revenge
This ditty may become the final straw
Defeated and broke he'll tell to all
What's good for the goose is good for the gander
Surprise goose, gander is making a stand here
What prompted this one to speak
Deceit hypocrisy of which he reeked
I told you before I have been true
Can you say the same thing too?
My plight you see is not easy
I wish I was not so pretty
Lust is a game I do not trust
Most would say they like its rush
The seed is sown the rhyme will soon end
At start - this time see true my friend
(100's more reply; recast)
I find this awkward without a doubt
Last recourse for me to reach out
To the man, I hoped was true
Before I smiled now I'm blue
The man I thought was right for me
flips Jekyll and Hyde then Mr. Green Jeans
Stop searching for what you see on a screen
Reality differs you've broken my dreams
If you had only eyes just for me
Then this writing you never would read
Happiness found and then you would see
That you are the only man that I need
WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND IN NEED
Watching Homer struggle
to explain how a god wounded by a mortal
cannot die but may hereafter live with minor pain
and the humor when that god
complains to Jove that His supervision of His daughter
is inadequate and His Love too unconditional
while Diomed (or Tydides)
wreaks havoc on the Trojans and Hector
gives it back (in kind)
anatomically correct descriptions
of spears piercing jawbones (and groins)
sons without fathers hunting and fishing thereafter
alone. Written
amazingly presciently!
as a metaphor for Vietnam (our war)
forgotten consensually
as this generation slips lazily away
to Hades (or kayaks to the huckleberries)
where the lights are always blue, gentian actually,
supper's served at 4 and former adversaries
pass the heavy hanging time playing pinochle (and pool).
We're selling the house to pay the taxes.
Pallas Athena wars among the men
from the axle of her chariot
and Venus is injured by Diomed,
standing in the field of battle where she never should have been,
in her adorable hand.
What has this to do with Solomon in jail.
Not the Jewish king, a black American male,
same thing.
Your children can be failed at school and marched to war.
You can be taxed and sent to gaol for the honor of it.
anyone lived in a pretty how town.
We have no obligation
to perform the Iliad or read poems and even Homer
considers Achilles effete (compared to Hector)
and Odysseus is wrong even when he's right.
Therefore, modern man explores
the mathematics of circles in coordinate planes and their tangents
when (sooner or later)
the secret of warp speed is discovered
expansion of the species will be limitless and permanent.
“The Legendary Adventure Moments of Doctor Hermione Baggins the Reddish of Winterhold, The Master Sith Rainbow Lord Lulu Pucca, Cloud Kitty Carla Chandra the Ruby Rose, and Rand O'From Equestria the Darken Raw Snow vs The Strange A.A. or Perhaps B.S. Educated Scotties Homer Pilgrim’s Search for More Resources by Destroying the Galaxy to Make Way for a Interstellar Lightspeed Railway or Was It a Fishing Pond?”
Apathetic the game will continue on anyway
“Bidet,” a person points, "first door on the right in the hallway"
Celtic orchestrated melody commences to play
Drastic the GM in a serious voice proceeds to convey
“Exotic treasures will be rewarded at the story's endplay
Frederick and Scotty have threatened to destroy the floodway
Galactic dragons will soon have control of the realms gateway
Heretic man wearing the scarlet hand is on the highway
Icteric smiles seeing the party ‘do you have an issue?’”
“Judgematic paladin, what course of action will you do?”
“Kinesthetic, I'll flash step next to him and use my kung fu”
Laconic, looking over at the monk, “not your turn Lulu”
"Majestic I promenade over and address this mildew"
Novelistic I say, ‘the dragons, and mage, I must melee’”
“Optimistic the NPC rolls a 16 and tries to outplay
Panic soon kicks in as the druid and monk cross the pathway”
Quadraphonic sounds play as the initiative ensues
"Rollick, the monk and I go over, but I just rolled a two”
“Slapstick the heretic encounters the paladin’s swordplay
Tragic it's late and we must stop the story right here today
Unpoetic I know but we'll pick up again next Wednesday"
Updated 5/14/2019
Form:
The art of thought is our lovemaking connection,
histories a ladder to hypnotic healing, corrections uninvited
to our planet of puzzling passion
where a man and a woman make maps with crayons borrowed
from the cries of curiosity's cravings,
uncaring of the unwanted,
lawless in the laps of circumstance's tracks,
Homer & Tacitus imploring their heros to hush
as we warm arteries with a potion of Poetry unknown 'till now,
a tempest of truth she is to me,
teasing with pause & prance, with virtue & volatility,
with the caution of a Queen & frivolity of airborne feathers,
I did not ask for her, nor wish her to squeeze my heart,
regardless, I am now selfish, hunting for her hints
aspiring for the apple of her knowledge,
for the seed of her permission in my pulse,
I need her to sweat for my sweetness,
my will to hide abolished in the heat she spreads in spades,
I love my poet girl,
sometimes I am sorry for it, always excited by it,
sorriness skipping like a song wandering for a world with no wastings,
believing in beauty because she breathes,
I would tell God to wait so that I may play a moment more
with my poet girl, exchange another story, build another belief,
to bring our fears one step closer to nowhere,
to walk our eyelashes one centimeter nearer to completion's tear,
having our harvest support Heaven's uppermost tier -
J.A.B.
The Lotus Eaters page 1 of 2
(This is an original fiction by Earl based on the fiction by Homer. Part 2 of this is in a 2nd. posting)
Northern unkind gales forced, with no care to man or nature
The cunning, the brave, the great King Odysseus and his crew to draw off course
From Ithica, their home and one true destination
A strange land happened upon them by fate and chance
Appeared from nowhere, but did enchant them one and all
We’ve come to learn this is the Isle Lotophagi.
Glorious scented lotus fields rolled up, waving against moving vast hills
Winds gave them life over flowing there
With majestic summer’s heated wilds
Holding the world intact
Boulders lined up as giants against the ancient unencumbered breathing skies
Virgins in yellow and pink silk, filled in the silence of morn with vigilance
While gathering sweet cold water in fragile jugs along the foreign stream
Within the golden landscape scene the lotus eaters lived
In tender innocence, no cares in the world, or of their fate awaiting
Hectic red steadfast on earth this day as sun rose stronger than venues of time
But not too late
To mold the landscape in its style in brightness that takes the sight of man to shelter
The cunning Odysseus, and his men are hungry, tired, worn of war and lust for water from that shore
Before they sail to Ithica with furor to their missions end
Determined one and all
They must rest, take in splendors of this world and learn their love and lore
The king and sailors did much more. The lotus eaters, as they’re called
I do not ask for you, oh beautiful Muse of Milton,
Rest he may in the fissures of many a searching heart
Nor do I ask of the greatest, from either Heaven’s Reign
Or below, upon the earth where the sea roars and the Wind
Promises chaotic joy adrift in the ambitious Poet’s heart
I will not compete, or clamor, or rage—or pine profusely, though perhaps a sliver—
I will never Love like lava aglow
Or hate like danger in deep current flow
I only Search with the eyes given to me—I Search for the answer,
That you may open my heart to reveal what is Truth
Whether you are a brazen muse of might
Or a genius muse most hidden,
I would only hope for a smidgen of Truth
I would only hope for courage to understand
Calling all muses to hear,
I implore, humbly—humanly,
That you not need to feel obligated to mourn for your own,
For we are not direct in Death’s limited view
That you need not mourn for even the three of which inimitable Shelley ordains light—
Of Homer,
Dante,
Nor the blind Martyr that deemed our Devil the hero!
That you mourn not even their path-dissuading followers—
The imitable challenger who drowned in a sea,
The kisser of the shore, avoider of our monstrous Wind,
Or the young genius diseased—touched by his own muse—Melancholy!
These muses need not be grief-stricken,
For their sons have crossed the barriers
And abide in the value of human renown and veracity
And as for me, I ask not of any of you
To brush upon me the might of your inspiration
I only may Seek,
That I may honor
The ideas you sprung to our best, naming but a few,
And to only hope to be deemed a Poet of—
If but a sliver - of Light
Back in the mists of time
Were stories sung
Where minds in thrall by minstrels
Were held
With tales revealing
Viscerality and viciousness
The currency of glory and shame.
Who does not marvel at
Achilles's pride
A ruthless killing machine
Unforgiving
In his revenge
For his beloved Patroclus
And shrink
At the terrible price paid
By brave Hector
Before the sorrowing eyes
Of his aged parents
Therein we see the splendour
As well as the grimness
When foes collide
With his wiles does daredevil Odysseus
Charm us
And inventive ruses.
Yet what horrors,hardship
And heartache
Were his
As homecoming was in his heart
With Poseidon vowing vengeance
Pain,pleasure and punishment
He met
In equal measure
Before rescuing
His priceless pearl
Penelope
From the rapacity and greed
Of the craven suitors.
These were the gifts
To posterity
Handed down
By Homer.
From these twin tales
There grew
The exploits of pius Aeneas
Driven from his homeland
War stricken
Driven by destiny
To seek a new home.
At the behest of Caesar
Did Virgil fashion his verse
Plundering Homer
That his hero
Would personal glory
and pleasure abjure
In a self -denying ordinance
To meet duty's demands.
Such self-denial cost him
Dido
Deserted and distraught
And brought him
Into the depths of Hades
From where he rose
A new man
With a deeper mission
To grace the world
With its master race,
That destiny ordained from above.
And we as readers must choose
The tale that to our soul sings
Touching our humanity
Both starkly
And with the tight tenderness
Of truth.