Long Achilles Poems
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It helps to be blessed with interior lines.
While your enemy struggles to co-ordinate,
Your units will be able to shift easily
To provide mutual support where needed.
It helps that the enemy’s supply train
Will become its Achilles’ Heel.
Draw them on with deceptive tactics
And make their time in country hard.
It helps to be fighting on familiar ground.
Like playing war in your own backyard.
Change all the road signs and jam GPS.
Hit-and-run is the plan of the day.
It helps that the world sees your courage
And applauds your will to resist.
The dictator’s boot will get polished for sure
When it’s finally shoved up his ass.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
QUINTUS FABIUS MAXIMUS, CUNCTATOR
storm, weight of rain sloshes
o’er the sides of the acrylic tub
thunder of strobe, eyes blinking
slashes of screams, disaster —
utterance of lips, gutteral
door jammed, eye to eye contact
with the lion and lamb; the owl
on heights of despair interrogates,
scrutinizes, eyeballs the blood seas,
sees all, inspects your history,
his and his too, talons tapping.
outside the storm-beset sanctuary
enlightenment, smoky decanter,
revolt against rage, mercy seeks
mercy great, dumbo’s ears all wet,
humbling effect, spirit genuflect
running, running, out of breath
entangled in net, unseen drooling
at achilles tendon, heel’s devotion
genuflection at soaked-white tow’r,
emptied of a mother’s call, deliver’d
a newborn once more — water
breaking, agony of childbirth
the ruination of seeds, road rage
— off course; after impregnation
of tumbling weeds, g.p.s turned off
God is greater than all this. Later
it seems frivolous. Weight was great —
shoulder-pounding, tremulous.
But He comforts us
as if we had a boo-boo —
God, great and wonderful
cleanses the germs
thoroughly, applies bandaid,
kisses the wound; also
the forehead
mother’s heart and stomach
patched; her seething brain
restored to sanity
God moved
the husband’s hand to phone
softened hearts of stone
punishment was puny
Three cords intertwined
A fourth runs through and through
Spirit of release and joy
the Lord allows not
the ruination of a mother’s soul;
pulls her close — nose to nose
with the lion, lamb and owl
she can only smile now
8/12/2020
Brian Strand’s contest
fire breathing dragons
from my past
linger in the corridors
of my mind
and have followed me into
today
oh ... they haunt my
present
destroying my happiness
and I refuse to be attacked
for a moment longer
I need a mighty warrior
like Legros or Aragon
from the Fellowship of the Ring
or Achilles the warrior
to put a dagger
through their heart
but these warriors are only in books ...
so I must be
the warrior in my mind
I must find the courage
the strength and anger
to not just push
them back ... but to end them
I will let these dragons
know that they have no
place
in my life !
______________________
April 20, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/dragons that follow
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1348-297-20
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, All Yours (Apr 20)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 04/20/2021
First Place
I was born in the odds,
I lived through it,
dotted the lines on my path
I was born among hyenas,
these scrambling to stiffen the last breath,
Amidst hurts and hate first from home,
A lot cast in mirage and fantasies,
Hope too soon cut short,
Survival, a struggle,
Unexplainable Fratricidal warfare,
The closer in blood, the more bloodier,
A race without consent
A badge of calumny,
Shot on the heels like Achilles,
Bore cruelty from innocence to adulthood,
Unending miasma, the debacles of a short existence,
Abandoned, secluded,
for reaction occasioned by their own bile,
Childhood stolen,
set on a slippery path as they watch a peradventure slide to my ill.
From ambuscade, they drew their swords,
Their arrows bathed in blood unabated,
Aiming at my marrows,
I groan and mourn in the dark,
Enemies as friends monitoring,
Friends as enemies watching.
This path not by Choice.
I lived through it,
A thousand bands of beasts assaulting,
Into this war, enlisted.
I was born there, buoyed by troubadour,
Somewhere in Africa,
My right are taken away from me,
Where laws are drafted by criminals,
Where the police pay themselves on the streets,
Where certificate are mere papers with payments,
I was born there ,
Where criminals are protected and sanity deemed madness,
Somewhere in West Africa
where compassion is extinct
The survival of the fittest,
Street boys kills to survive,
Scholars abandon politics to simpleton,
Where the brightest are critics and cadres prevents the ambitious
I live there,
Where certificate is a document to escape,
Lawyers now charge and bail for survival,
Doctors protesting like urchins
Poets selling cosmetics,
bankers riding "Okada",
Amongst drug peddlers,
Amongst cultist,
Where clergymen induce the gullible,
In this cage we call country.
I was born there.
The lion, as king of the jungle, did convene
the biggest meeting of animals you have ever seen.
There were rhinos and kangaroos from down south,
and a polar bear with forty-two teeth in his mouth.
Fish swam in from the sea, and birds flew from the sky.
Even the turtle set his watch and, on time, dropped by.
The news was carried by the waves and the breeze.
In solidarity, they were joined by plankton and trees.
Yep, everyone was there, from predator to prey.
The lion had some serious concerns to convey.
He opened his great mouth. He spoke and he roared,
"We must solve our problem. Are you all aboard?
A virus has spread across the planet of earth.
We must join forces to fight it for all we are worth.
This coward will kill us with guns and greenhouse gasses.
It's time for the rising of the animal masses,
or the only plant or animal that remains
will live in an ugly city or farm, domesticated in chains.
We've identified the pathogen. We now need a plan
to eradicate the ape who calls himself man.
We must locate this creature's Achilles heel
and take down the one who thinks he's a big deal.
Let's send him to kingdom come, leaving not a trace,
to give earth's kingdom back to us, its rightful place.
We know the beast is morally bankrupt and cruel.
How can we purge him and start our renewal?"
An owl said, "man is uniquely dumb and deluded.
Have you ever seen such stupidity exuded?
All we have to do is leave the humans be.
Our enemy will do himself in, don't you see?",
and then he added with a hoot and a sigh,
"but first, how many of us will have to die?"
"Heel"
Another language speaks its truth
one’s truth is another’s war
Agamemnon and his achilles
to heel a virtue
to heal a cause
such an odyssey
styx and stones
Clytemnestra, silent
spartan subdued
a loss, a child
innocence stolen, spilt
on another’s alter for Troy
a loss, a sacrifice,
unfavourable weather
a familiar familial war
gods like mortals
mortals like gods
blood, not water spilt
the Odds,
two sides of a coin
another language speaks its truth
one’s truth is another’s war
Iphigénie
spared by Racine
l'orangerie du tribunal
de Versailles,
a muse
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“Dans le fond des forêts votre image me suit.”
RACINE
(“Pursuit”/Sylvia Plath)
heel. (noun, verb, noun dated•informal slang)
heal. (verb)
Nothing boot toe till rot and duff feet...
Attempting nightly ritual
nsync with sole and
instep of beat
January second 21:08
two thousand twenty
footwear equipped with
custom made cleat
proudly standing tall
(think) as an elite
able, eager, and ready
to sprint skyhigh fleet
ting into netherlands
(towering well over
other wiry antennae thin contestants,
hence exception to
maximum height waved
outrageous illegitimate forfeit
chore blithely Atlas shrugged off),
whereby said marathoner Olympian
amidst godly pantheon did greet,
competitors crouched tigerlike
ironically melting starter blocks
deftly gunning generating barreling heat
fast as greased lightning
Achilles catapulted courtesy blur,
zee mist tree (oak kay)
man, i.e. helpmeet,
he roundly squared off
accompanied by his wifely entreat.
Thus situated, positioned, and finagled
husbandry duty obliging the misses,
no matter she kick started
(think thrashing outsize overgrown toddler)
childish task deemed
markedly cockameemie design,
subsequently these little feet (mine)
stood stolid upon bedroom floor
she did man date me,
I supplicated, necessitated,
implored, and decried divine
intercession, cuz thee mademoiselle
did authoritatively assign,
thee mister getting mine
handy dandy grip upon her supine
corpulent physique
outstretched leaden legs
awaiting (Abby) salute perfect sign
to commence powerfully
prying and pulling
first straight then nine
tee degrees practically prostrating self
footloose and eventually
detaching fancy free
thunder thighs, what strong
amazing anatomical design
nearly defying might
of super Matt nein
bird brainer heron,
an ill eagle cro-magnon scheme
to untie clodhoppers
snug as a bug in a rug,
whence laces got knotted
freaking me out clearly
out this world,
wide webbed formerly
Gordian tangled skein.
A final song to sing
Life is getting hard
Not a thing you can do
Day dreaming
Thinking of what tomorrow may bring you
One more song to sing
Voice of an asylum forager
Choice to become a cultural voyager
Pictures are taken
But perfection is split and edited
I move mountains if I could
But that state of mind is not understood
The price you pay
For having a small paradise in hell
Like loving a widower
An Achilles with a sense of compassion
Minus the expense and lashings
Was going to sell my bed to pay rent
Some of us appreciate the absence of zero
But no one truly admires a fictional hero
If all A is B and all B is C
but doesn’t equal something
Then C is the unsound value of nothing
An outcast because I have a sense of morals
A list of things to do, plural
Only in triumph
Will you find a cure for your fall
Hitting walls in my mind
Did you forget you were human
Brush your hair away from your eyes
For god doesn’t cry
Poets getting scarce
I’m starting to paint
Portraits of where you are
I’m beginning to faint
Repent
Ask your lord for help
No Mercy
He’s not listening to you
Enjoy your final breath
Are you worthy
The worlds a fast place
But you’re in no hurry
I’m alone
No tomorrow
To reach for
And I miss you
What I see in stars above is extremely wearisome,
with useless inane details that I wish I never knew.
Light years, space-time, black holes, big bangs,
myriads of pricks 'n specks a billion miles away - who cares?
I've been over-dubbed, deluded, and robbed,
of the romance, songs, stories,
and delightful spiritual legends
that ancient master star gazers saw
in stars above.
Hunter and archers with sword, belt, arrows and shield,
A veritable zoo of animals - lion, ram, bull, bear, llama, emu,
goat, scorpion, fish and severed heads, under arms.
Pots and pans, the scrub-a-dub dish that
ran away with the spoon.
Regal Heracles, Achilles and Troy in battles raging skyward
Bickering Gods, Virgins, Kings and Queens with kids and twins.
Action-men Pharaohs, wannabee Gods,
leaping from pyramid tops,
onto the ladder of the Milky Way, which is -
The River of Heaven, Road of Souls
The Spilled Breast Milk of Hera the Mother God
The seed-strew pathway the mighty Emus trod,
pecking their way,
In stars above.
We all should get out and look up more!
Gazing with ancient eyes into the sky above,
reveling to see and enjoy what they saw,
in stars above.
Deep within, settle our diamonds of hate;
Descending, slowly through our mind, heart and soul.
Hurts refined and ignored, forgotten in fate;
At first nothing but, a burning lump of coal.
The black-sooted singed wound, is hidden within;
We put on a smile and voice, 'nothing is wrong.'
The battle of flesh, rages with slash and din;
The coal's journey to diamond, moves along.
Rough in shape, we cut a gem to perfection;
Overcome with our deftness, we hold dearly.
Slipping down toward heel, without detection;
Hurt pressed to hate, remaining a hurt merely.
Some diamonds sparkle, destined to adorn;
Ours collect in mass, near the Achilles' heel;
Grinding and cutting, until tendon is torn.
We slam to the earth, only able to kneel.
Confused and dazed, we simply don't understand;
Calling God, we are given the strength needed,
To pass these stones, as easily as grains of sand;
Only then, can we stand, and proceed unheeded.