Long Erebus Poems
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There come those nights—you know the sort:
The ones where the moon is a tear-stained cheek, pressed to heaven’s passenger seat window,
Toying with the tides to the rhythm of some melancholy song that only she knows.
She’s lonely, and you know she is, because
You can feel her tugging at your ankles with each pleading surge she pushes ashore.
Homer’s words revive, and the sea is as dark
Beneath Erebus as the bottom of the glass
That you left unfinished at your hotel.
Salt leaves chalky fingerprints up your calves, but you forgive it,
Because how often, really, does the moon have a shoulder to cry on like this?
She’s confessing to you with every rasp of the water,
Lapping over the sand like the bodies of un-shy lovers, and you stand
Quiet in the fading froth.
No voice rises to cut the night as Selene sobs to you on that midnight beach, and
As above, so below, the waves weep;
Stuttering susurrations at your feet, supplications to take you under for dinner
So that the moon may pour you another glass and whisper her finer secrets where your neck
Meets your shoulder:
She loves you, but she can only say it with the silence and the solemn
Murmur of the sea tasting the sand, that rasping language
Older than writing that all the poets know.
But you’re no poet, and you are not living in a Salinger story
Where you see the evil of man tucked away in the shallows, bananas in its mouth,
Compelling you to raise your revolver like a kiss to your temple.
The night breathes, and so do you, surging in time with the surf and the rising—
Falling of that deep chest above.
The silver light, bare of her clouds
Sees you at your whollest, and longs to show you the worlds beyond your own.
She has no concept of drowning—no concept of pressures deep and fragile lungs.
She knows only starlight and starboard, and weightless things that thrive where air cannot.
Lonely, vast, she loves you.
She loves you.
She loves you, she just can’t say it.
When drifting water of the river Hebrus murmurs
a heartrending cry surges from the bottom of the river,
and when this cry reaches the midsummer night’s sky
the stars echo and a lyre in the constellation by Zeus’ throne
plays sad music. And when tone adds pathos to deepen the darkness,
a nocturnal bird soars in the dark air, too, singing a sad song over
a grave in Libethra.
The reason the river weeps with a plaintive requiem is,
not because Erebus is too far or Styx is too wide,
but the stern ferryman denies Orpheus’ passage
to netherworld where he once passed with the crowds of the dead.
Although he once made the Furies cheeks wet with tears,
won a Proserpine’s sympathy and made Hades himself gave way,
why Orpheus has to cry a heartrending cry over Eurydice again
with his plaintive tuned lyre and song of touching story of his beloved wife?
It’s because he couldn’t cross Styx for second time.
He cried through the weeks of sleepless nights,
regretting why he turned his face back to assure
Eurydice followed, and therefore, heard her last cry of farewell.
He called Eurydice’s name for the weeks of agonizing days and
nights without food stretching his arms in air as if trying to hold her,
though she is not there.
Since his second farewell to his beloved wife on the dark and steep passage
of Erebus, Orpheus played his lyre and sang sad songs unceasingly. He sang
to tell his regretful experience on the way to this world at Erebus to the rocks
with melancholic but touching tunes, he chanted an account of the tragic life
he underwent with a gloomy but moving sound to the trees.
A viper, therefore, struck Eurydice with its sharp fangs again,
a horror that of the Maenads’ desire to capture Orpheus
tore him limb from limb.
And when the river murmurs, Orpheus’ limbs fell in water
parted from his body call to one another wishing to come in one again,
Orpheus’ keenness to see his beloved Eurydice grows more and more.
carried by the wind, where have you been the lonely soul
who returned to the riverside; and now, why are you asking
the way to Erebus to the swaying reeds over and over again
with the sighs deeper than the bottom of the water
with the sighs more than the countless stars in the sky
for growing tired from seeking the way too far,
the lonely soul stayed for a while in the valley
where the flowers bloom in the early evening’s soft sunlight;
however, the touch of cold starlight at dawn makes the flowers
withered in the chilling dew drops before sunrise; the valley where
the lonely soul dwelt may be the way to Erebus where he once roamed
after all, as if pushed by the high wind,
the sorrowful soul left hurriedly
in the way of no need for haste,
and crossed over the river that carries no promise,
counting the days without tomorrow
now is the time to let your eyes close to rest the lonely soul
let, therefore, the tormenting soul, the pointless eyes
that always seek something but aimlessly
to put an end their wandering
although once you cross the river named no-pathos
nothing can be seen even if you turn your face back
or return to the world where your footprints may still remain
or to restore what you have left in the opposite shore,
why don’t you, therefore, close the eyes
even though no one follows with bewailing your departure
or holds your trembling hand with tearful eyes
even though it’s a lonely journey
the miserable funeral to the nether world
why don’t you close your eyes while crying with the drifting water
while listening to the dirge
the murmuring water chants in a sorrowful tone
Written: February 14, 2025 for Brian Strand Contest
***********
In twilight, specks become stars,
bridges locked in gold,
Engraved whispers on walls
painted with diamond tears.
Singing hearts weave veins of
lilac and jasmine,
A serenade of soul waves,
ebbing through arid shadows.
Dark alleys paint a carnival of
spectral silhouettes,
Roots entwined in forlorn twilight colors,
wine-stained breaths.
Sorrow’s perfume lingers
like raindrops on roses,
Hushed epicedes echo
in the cinereous horizon.
Herbs waltz with heartbeats
beneath a canopy of trees,
Nestled nests console the forlorn
shorebirds at dusk.
Paranoia flickers like sparks
in a delicately hushed night,
Love’s choir sings an elusive refrain of
integrity and sins.
Delirium dances with
egoistic ghosts in the dark,
Tears pirouette like phantasmagoric
mist over steel syntax.
Blurring edges between serenity
and abyssal flare,
spheres clash in capricious vortices
under Gaia's winged gaze.
A whimsical trance catapults dreams
to an eldritch nebulae,
vortices float serenely,
weaving cosmic whispers into the night sky;
hushed murmurs from Eros to Erebus
blend seamlessly with somber threnodies;
in Gemini's embrace they linger
as wisps across Pyxis' burning calyx;
and while Maelstrom gnashes
within Tartarus' volcanic depths;
velleity blooms amidst fervent altar prayers
Echoes waft through Nexus' cavernous voids
to quench desires caught betwixt Chaos &
Gaia's visceral nexus hallucinations.
He helped himself up to the wind's foremost blow
On a hillock where the moon searched his impecunious pockets,
Waking a flood in his eyes like swelled teats.
He opened wide to receive the Lady, this Endymion cheats,
No worm-wood virus but sweet philtre phials.
Finishing, he is a lover...
He sought the bosom of Erebus in her wildest glow.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
A scavenger cat clawing a bushman's billy-can
Some hard laid by in his work, purred with surveillance
In disgust over him turning tins over in the bin.
Together he cast the lid by to biltong and raisin:
The cat devours, he abandons the prandial dance.
Pausing, he is a server...
He ate them all like yams those starved seamen.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
Over the mellowy orchard, for a while he blotted,
Down the glen he skied on the mossy rock
And rubbed clean in the steamy fume of the fall.
Clambering on the paddock, the love-grass over him gall
His rag-patches, bee-combed, mock.
Swearing, he is a dreamer...
He tore tearfully through the palliasse of touch-me-not.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
Now upon the road of life, he chanced
And espied himself the mutest spectre dust,
Cruising his hour in the propelled sleep of night.
He saw himself waft from this mount to that bight
And saw it was not wont or just.
Laughing, he is a god...
But this infidel purpose of man be countenanced.
He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.
(c) T. Wignesan - 1948 in Tracks of a Tramp. Singapore-Kuala Lumpur: Rayirath Publications, 1961.
O kabab merchant, thy skewer!
Fresh fish on the line!
And, moreover, in a blur -
Life, be unrefined!
Tangled are the strands of Fate?
Causality, roam!
Make a meal of small, ye great?
Lie down in the loam?
Well, we hope not, young fellow.
Let's keep it mellow.
Otherwise the killing blow?
Mine or thine below?
That is how it tends toward.
Yes, but why this time?
O ye tigers, how you purred!
Sirens, sing sublime!
Poverty for poets?
Depends on how they write.
Songwriter, sing well thy hits!
Erebus means Night!
Think it through. Tomorrow.
Surcease of sorrow?
O ye beggars, doth borrow?
Whiskey, flies, thy jar o'?
Formulate or fix? Foment?
Liquor? Liniment?
O Queen Dido, thy lament?
Roundabout repent?
I, the fabled Carthage Queen!
All that I have seen!
Automaton, thy machine!
Frog-skins wrought a-green!
This I tell ye, O wild youth!
Flicker as ye fall!
Woman Night, thy cold phone booth!
Funeral, thy pall!
Agony. It comes and goes?
Waits for tomorrows?
O for carrion feeding crows!
Blessed roads a-chose!
But! Great queens about me stand!
Hard be not our hand!
Aryan King, thy path is manned?
Blighted by the banned?
We say not! Give it no thought!
Sparks in wire a-wrought!
Buried treasure, are you bought?
Foreign wars a-fought?
You have our love, and each ear!
Therefore nothing fear!
O for those who don't hold dear!
Whisper in thy beer!
Madam, thy best blessing...!
I trial and tumult seek?
No more time for guessing!
Plant one on my cheek...
Before the Light of the Sun and the stars began to shine,
Dwelled the Winged Chaos, in pitch as darkened as red wine,
His companions were Nyx the Night, Erebus the Darkness,
And Tartarus the Abyss, the dungeon for wickedness.
Soon Night with black wings opened, laid a sterile egg inside,
The bosom of Darkness which existed far and wide.
From this strange egg came the beautiful Eros God of Love.
Who bore the Human race the first to see the light above.
Robert paced his room trying to summon enough courage,
To go to the dance, and ask for Leah’s hand in marriage.
He had loved Leah from first sight but had hardly spoken.
Tonight he felt that his lonely heart would rise unbroken.
Leah wore a pink taffeta ball gown and looked divine,
She flirted with all the boys with conversations benign,
As Robert come close to her she giggled and ignored him,
Robert took a deep breath and said “This is not just a whim,
But will you make me the happiest man and marry me?”
People in the hall erupted with laughter at his plea.
The crazy, loudest laugh came from Leah herself sadly,
And Robert ran from the hall into the wild storm madly.
In the darkness he walked lost and alone down the highway,
Eros with sun golden wings appeared at the break of day.
Please come with me my son and I will put your heart to rest,
The darkness came in and covered everything heaven blessed.
The Erebus Experiment
The Lewis effect......
Oyster flour by the ton
mixed with phosfus and sulfur
and ground iron particles
mixed with acidic oxide
to make a cheap version of natures
"Air-eye-Kore-Reccion Metomorphosisation"
CaCO3Plus Acidic Oxide
The Making of Stone Jam
Rubberey Otters Mold
to make the Sealion Envy
make the dishes squeal
and all crustains sing
clam up lobster guy
the dooral supported fishes
sand in your brittez
all ya'll sunbaked
giant prawned diamonds
24 caret gold
smooth talking woman
pour slurry into
the mold
don't cast bo demons
don't sound up no hell
we're all Gods People
we wish ya'll well
yeah we wish you well
ooh:ooh;ooh!
Gal in the pink Bikini
got dogs all around
towelling off front of many
people
only to lay nack on the ground
Pretty enough to get attention
sexy enough to be lefted alone
smart enough to see tommorrow
tell the guy to leave her alone
she said she was thirsty
ten fools bought
her drinks
three more got her a sandwich
thats how her freinds get there food and drink
but it's alright
we all having fun here
In our world plenty of light has got brutally put out
In our faces a lot of orange leaves no more sprout
In your sorrow just hollow floral bunch I hand out
The dark shadow of Erebus becoming more stout
Prayer for concord are burnt out and hospitalized
Had there been around today the famous Orpheus
In our tongue and lips and the restive unconscious
Had there been some scraps of broken lyre wires
Our music could have somewhat cured our distrust
Escalating with the universe in its space and time
With your lyre as you would walk the paths of pain
Like the mother of night the stars in a sweet strain
Like the palm of morning a harmony would contain
All the lions and tigers that we nurture in our brain
And they would all act like their blond and mild fur
This very Orpheus however got wobbly and fragile
As his partner Eurydice he looked back at to fondle
She vanished in the air leaving a pain and puzzle
Gloomy and vagabond he was slain by a scoundrel
Though eminent our cognitive poise we mustn’t lose
October 10, 2017
For Poems that paint a picture Poetry Contest 4
Sponsored Contest by Silent One
Earthen songs! from handsome angel throngs, opsoletus
Intervals and spells of the scope of temporal rondure,
A surging of the populus in singulari confluentia
So the book does diagram guthan, guð, and god,
Khute gaia, of poured earth, where legend sleeps
The burial dunes of Zeus, Aether, Erebus, and Chaos
Seasons advance with a tempering of wind’s instruments,
Sweltering bloom to hyperborean calm of frozen seed
Daughters and sons! from cildhama, fruit of the womb
Roaming deeds, of sin and samaritan, per omne spatium
Space of continental breadth or old borough border rings
Century to century in continuo, each end to seamless end
non vigilemus et dormimus in aeternum, of briefest history,
We do not speak of ages dissolved in lights of admiration
Stygian time cannot lie, and there will be other Dark Ages
We now originate and architect machines from the earth
Greater eyes and senses than what natura dedit nobis
What have we committed that we can conceivably survive?
nihil est quod in dulcedinem originis non evanescatin,
There is nothing that does not fade into the sweetness of its origin.