Long Athenian Poems
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Plato's Retreat
I want to be just like Socrates,
Grow a long beard and do as I please.
And be asking you allot of questions . . . .
For a Living.
I want to be just like Socrates
And not know for sure
If I'm real merely some altar in Plato's temple.
I want to be just like Socrates
And stand in the forum all day.
In the blazing sun that surround us all
Under the the azure Athenian skies
And philosophize to anyone who bothers to listen . . .
For a Living.
I want to be just like Socrates
Corrupting my youth with a hemlock cocktail
Every Friday night;
2, 4 1 before 7.
I want to be just like Socrates on a Saturday night
Asking you, at the bar:
"What is Justice?"
And where can I score some tonight?
After hours,
Long after the widening sliver of
your mind's eternal dawning.
In the agora or out on the street
Wherever public figures he did meet
In conversation he loved to engage
Only to find his questions would enrage
He chipped and chipped at their exterior
Their words hollow with no interior
His young disciples would heartily laugh
At his victims' unease and ev'ry gaffe
Good Socrates'deft manner quizzical
Drove them to plot a bitter reprisal
His daemon urged him to expose deceit
His mission became to puncture conceit
Fake news his furious foes spread about
And brought him to court his campaign to rout
Charged with corrupting Athenian youth
In defence he spoke nothing but the truth
They turned a deaf ear and they paid no heed
So inflamed were they by this irksome deed
The verdict of guilty came as no shock
His sentence-to die by drinking hemlock
They hoped he would flee his condemnation
He chose to keep the laws of his nation
To the shame of Athens, he preferred death
Affirming his content with his last breath
In his drinking of the draught down ,they saw
How much he honoured the virtue of law.
Through this sacrifice his soul did strive
That in public the truth would survive
Utter brainless nincompoop
in this poem heretofore addressing
I wanna be forever free
and clear from mortal anguish,
and need more than a blessing -
I need a miracle worker after confessing
behavior causing depressing
wretched state of mind
self incriminating admission expressing
emptying out checking
and savings accounts.
Gross negligence fomented morass
of monetary hemorrhage,
thus yours truly speculating
imagining peaceful easy feeling
after quaffing hemlock beverage
(considerably less expensive
than trained masseuse
administering head to toe effleurage)
the former painless demise
popularized courtesy Socrates
whereby Athenian democracy
charged said philosopher
with impiety and corrupting
the youth of Athens
unlike him I feel mental,
physical, and spiritual states
devastated, jackknifed, and shattered
into a million little pieces,
hence appealing notion shucking off
western civilization equipage,
and concomitant linkedin
corporeal defrauded earthling
and author of these words.
The importance of money
or lack thereof smarts,
especially when series
of unfortunate events
even Lemony Snicket,
would be flabbergasted
at such blatant and flagrant stupidity
exhibited courtesy yours truly.
Herr dummkopf did not function
with one iota of his brain
case in point entire
financial cushion he did drain
anonymous, barbarous, egregious,
ferocious, iniquitous jerks
re: cyber crooks enriched their coffers
in previous poems I did explain
how yours truly got sucker punched
to surrender substantial capital
subsequently severe depression
washes over me like floodplain
after a major hurricane
thus another shout out,
though I feel quite insane
to drum up buffer (in) zone
excedrin also sought
to bring temporary relief
far fetched likelihood in dough main
despite moon shot
to witness philanthropic boost,
I keep praying Meg Found
will pull thru and ordain
(fiasco from fraudster frazzles father)
one ordinarily perspicacious primate
who financially doth strain.
(for: Those who go by New Tarzan)
We have heard many of those lofty tales;
Of her toying with our golden rule:
Of her flying strength across the roads,
When some fawning dogs of buses come
Wagging their tails of old horns
Wagging at her smiling inmates;
When some privates come, ready
To lead her into some controversies
Through their vulgar speed of competition!
O we have heard many wild tales
Which commission more works of wages
Like sands for our road safety;
Sadly – we salute the inmates of New Tarzan,
We greet from our lonely V-Boots!
With louder and clearer voice,
Greet Confucious, the wisest
And deepest thinker of Old China,
Stood like a prophet warning mankind:
“Try to live by the golden rule!”
But we dwell by the river’s waves
Near the wonders of taste-and-cost;
Now her trumpet rouses a brother:
“Behold New Tarzan has gone up;
Yet we dwell in these far north’s hills!”
What we hear – is it true:
She is our Phoenician purple-dyed cloth,
Famed from each ancient shore to another,
That pride of all ancient kings and queens?
It is like table-talks of comfort and joy?
What we hear – is it true:
She is the first-rate story,
Novel to roads that lie in quietness,
Captious of her speed and noise?
Fast like the Athenian Pheidippides,
In the newest race for technology
She visits us from her far away horizon;
Now, what we hear – is it true:
She is a growing dogma for the roads,
Or, is it table-talks of comfort and joy?
Then – to those who go by New Tarzan,
To these joy-lipped inmates of a gome of comfort,
We greet from our lonely V-Boots!
Form:
I've traveled from the farm in Indiana, the place of my humble birth,
To places I never dreamed of seeing all around this earth!
On ships, trains and airplanes visiting fascinating ports of call,
And dining in hoity-toity eateries, more than I can ever recall!
I've dined on such exotic dishes as Beef Eterhazy and Athenian Moussaka,
Nasi Goreng, Halibut Cheeks, Paht Thai and Linguine Bugatta;
Linguine Primavera, Mahi Mahi, Lobster Thermidor and Cordon Blue,
Canard a L'Orange, Chateaubriand and savory Fillet of Wahoo!
I enjoyed those epicurean delights, but they'll never compare,
To the simple, wholesome dining on good old country fare!
I salivate thinking about a heaping plate of cornbread and beans,
With a salad on the side of fresh garden picked lettuce greens!
I drool just thinking about a hearty meal of meat and taters,
With stuff fresh from the garden like sweet peas and 'maters,
Home-made oven baked biscuits and heaps of fried chicken.
Ah, the very thought makes my old ticker begin to quicken!
Just to contemplate a repast of Bermuda onions and fried liver,
Gets my mouth watering and sets my old bones aquiver!
May you enjoy your Pate de Fois Gras at the country club;
I'll settle anytime for good old nourishing country grub!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
yogi comes first
my old companion burr-backed hearth-warmed
his peat-dark spring fur shedding summer’s presence
he lies on the fireplace rug squirrel-dream naps
muzzle silvered as a frost-split hickory post
a soft whine mute devotion
shadowing me keeping a keen watch
honest kind sportive soul
glued to my side even in sickness
another briar-choked ridge
to crest
hunter and chocolate lab
and then gurty
sovereign aloof moon-milk calico-born riddle
velvet paws and stealthy grace
a small Athenian goddess of the numinous
who appears vanishes wistful-eyed
moon fragment star-salt morning breeze
she prowls each rooms edge dust-mice
soft-footed serene indifferent
granting affection, rationing light
withheld offered only the queen knows
a small sheathed killer
making the world right
by choosing not to strike
between them household diplomacy
two philosophies sharing sunbeams
a duet of difference
two cultures thickening smoothing
yogi with his fawning tail-drunk joy
gurty with her vigilance her whisker-quiver
reading each moment for oneness
he presses close
she circles observing rubbing
a synthesis of presence
unconditional
i have seen her groom herself
in the soft ritual of sandy-tongue washing
and him pause trustful patient
her calm steadying him
i have watched them soften
the sandpaper-and-silk
collision
become friends family belonging
where the good life abides
night settles
they lie in parallel lives at my feet
yogi breathing his gentle snore
gurty a moon fragment curled in thought
and i smile loosen breathe
mercy can curl or bound
love a dog’s warm flank-heat
a cats purring sovereign gaze
and the small miracle
of both choosing the same rug
in the same
deepening hour
sweet yo-gurt
Many years ago,
Before yours or my time,
When the only way to
Travel to and fro
Was not with automobiles,
Or cars or trains,
Or even planes.
But with a horse or a donkey.
This happened in the villages
In Greece, donkeys were a
Cheap mode of transport,
But stubbornly would sit
On their paunches and snarl
Showing yellow teeth,
There was no way,
The donkey would budge
Another step, on that day
The aristocracy from
Athens With horses,
And their breeches and braces,
Made fun of the peasants
And donkeys, what monkeys!
But one Athenian
Stopped by the old
Man with his donkey
The poor donkey was saddled,
With so much,
His walking was wonky!
Hey my friend,
Said the city man,
To the old peasant
Would you sell me
A pheasant,
And your donkey
Would he carry the same
load for me?
Of course he would but
There is one thing you should know
He don’t look so good!
Said the honest old man!
But the buyer ignored this
And put a bridle
On the poor animal, and
Tied him with rope to his saddle!
A week passed, and there
Suddenly appeared the Athenian
Who had bought the donkey.
Hey mister he said,
Did you know your donkey was blind,
Yes, but told you,
It was you who misunderstood
“He don’t look so good!’
August in Athens is always confusing
I spent the evening looking at a white wall the moon had lit up,
waiting for the movie to start.
Staggered into a church where bearded priests handed out bags
of yesterday’s cake.
The elderly lady behind me got none, it was her second time
she had been in the line
I gave her my bag and felt good about my act of charity.
In the deep shadows of the park, I found a grotto displaying
Jesus in he looked like a sleeping angel, one painted by Caravaggio.
The painted Jesus opened his eyes smiled like an urchin selling himself to a paederast.
Behind two nuns giggled and I fled this religious horror.
Came to a lone bar run by a horse that had fled a Russian circus.
As Alice Walker said,” horses make the landscape more beautiful.”
I drank ouzo, she had hay.
At midnight we rode through the summer night.
Nick's descent,
his thoughts neutralized
words that spill out, hobbled
nonsensical
dementia stifles all intentions,
reason eroding
wounded bewilderment
sometimes he slips into Greek
his first language that crosses an invisible
border
self propelled
unexpected
a weightless swim through memory's deepest weeds
once was the warm smell of happiness
once he had his footing
a toughness that knew few limits
warrior worthy,
an emblem of defiance
but things creep beyond the fence of normal
he holds his proud visage still
Athenian brow, marbled composition
complex dynamics to fight submission
a gentle dignity
even as the recognizable world moves
like a mudslide
pressing in
Poem written November 21, 2021 (revised Jan. 1st/22)
Contest: This or That Volume 8
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
It is thy wanton gestures that contrive inside long auburn
curls -
Wherefore to diminish the pleas of a warm, lustful
breeze!
For though gilded rays shall grace all thy sunlit days
Tis Moonstrucks cast beams, your mischiefs,
That did so deceive.
Happily ye wander through Midnights velvet vales...
Thus to bathe in the still of deep glades shimmering pools;
Gently smile as the White Hart confuses at the Nightjar,
Laugh joyfully as he gleefully barks within a Huntresses
muse.
Whence, entwining abouts your lithe-liken limbs,
Enchanting currents that confound upon like curvaceous
streams:-
Flawlessly proportioned, highbred, temperate form
Of palest earthborn Athenian figurine.
And ere those coy sighs should but just once countenance
Mortal compromise
Through your countless ages of fair queens and fabled kings -
Then, at some singular point in trickling sands spatial time,
If my heart beat against thine...wouldst thy charge me astride
Great Pegasusus wings?
So recline thou, betwixt sharp earth and Heavens eternal
skies,
Thoust art serenaded by forlorn winds that forsakenly
Beseech upon your divine name -
For the raging fires of burning stars were lit to blaze
In thine eyes
By thee fearful architect who moulded immortal clay
To thy perfectly sculptured frame!