Long Iliad Poems
Long Iliad Poems. Below are the most popular long Iliad by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Iliad poems by poem length and keyword.
Dossier (doze heir) About This Sleepy Head
Unable to shake off drowsiness
iz not ease zee,
hence, as a night owl, no
(not that you
give a hoot) ye
may be share compatible
(i.e. nocturnal) circadian
rhythm with this wee
Willy Weber,
but more particularly
one po' somnambulant,
whose square noggin resembles
a flat screen tee vee
actually receiving signals
from the outer limits
of the twilight zone
quite clear reception,
especially after three
o'clock in the morning
slightly before scree
ching roosters announce,
the break of dawn re
lush hing, the
poignant hush pre
seeding the sudden
onset of que
kin ning hullaballoo
amidst hectic pre
dominant hustle,
and bustle to and fro,
hither and yon nee
sis aery frantic
pace to maintain
21st century
technological light
(reo speed wagon) rush,
this lifestyle not for me,
hence I favor
knuckle scraping,
bloodied hand to mouth,
bare subsistence
existence my lee
ving no wiggle room
for adverse sit tee,
thus very mindful to maintain
laser focus key
ping astutely attentive visa
vis discover ring je
nais sais quois,
(the only French I know)
hee...hee...hee
well nigh conk
clue ding goofy
dwarfed poem (compared
to the Iliad,
or Odyssey), now
time to put this old
Scottish matted
(swiftly tailored,
haired styled)
puppy (i.e. me)
to the land without
my wordy wizard - Doctor dre,
but alive with
a Rob'n Zombie!
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.
To read or watch movies, that is the question.
When tired at workday's end, depressed about death's
certainty and my recent surgery
unable to contribute purpose
i.e., figure out whether to bomb Iran
or worship Krshna
and other gods such as Homer gives us in the Iliad
I lack vision therefore I choose television.
Chemistry text, bifurcated plant key
esp. grasses, intro to calculus, physics
unopened time slides by inexorably.
That's the dilemma with no resolution,
drooping rachis, striations on the lemma.
Dying chooses you. You don't choose dying.
So go slow as the day will allow.
The cancer patient's real work is facing
harsh realities and making adjustments:
getting the most out of life, considering
what his children will need after he's gone,
preparing his wife, parents, colleagues and friends,
and completing important professional tasks.
Get the most out of life. That's all God asks.
In Life of Pi the tiger is tiresome, short-sighted
eating everything in sight today, no plan for tomorrow.
The boy, however, is beautiful, reading
the lifeboat manual, building a resting place on the ocean
from oars and life vests, writing about his emotions,
loneliness and observations. The tiger's obsession
with killing keeps our boy alive with fear,
an aphrodisiac, a distraction from any hint
of hopelessness. And then there is the ultimate unknown,
the boy's conversations with Krshna which explain
the innumerable stars and their gentle glow.
On the wings of her 21th derail
Of Shakespearean and Vigil's asked thee her name
Who is she?
Bolder she is a clemency!
Of her atoms glowing her frontier
Arena's of fortune teller
Seized no name
But she's living now in literatus gleam
She the metaphor and irony
In expressive ways of stylistics
Carry herself like Atlas above all ages
And yes bolder she is a clemency!
She the five foot iambics scheme
Thats her height in rhythym
When she'll be the ancient?
Of William's midsummer nights dream
The Iliad of an epic events
Calling her to a narrative scenes
Believe her in
Bolder she is a clemency lies within.
Feed your goldfish before you leave
Love them as you love yourself
The bible tells us all fish are created equal
Some people prefer baby guppies
Because their mouths move slow and oval
They are smaller and talk in pantomime
Can breath underwater
And even look like one another all the time
Never throw small things in the toilet
Bony creatures can get stuck when flushing
Fish go better in a soup
Don't tell them that
Or add too much seasoning without a reason
Be truthful to your fish
Be faithful as you wish them to be
They swim about for a living
The Iliad and Odyssey are recommended reading
For people, not aquatic types
Anything other than Greek might suffice
Goldfish don't speak Greek
Don't know about the Trojans either
Luwian is foreign and hard to pronounce
Too many vowels and consonants
Along with cuneiform and hieroglyphic characters
Goldfish are not conversant in such languages
We recommend leaving them in a bowl
Preferably filled with water
That way they can grow old
Don't confuse them with gray guppies
Goldfish are gold
Some say orange or red
Love your fishes any way
Like the good book says
….or was it the cook book?
She was eminently qualified in numbers
Held fast to the beliefs in physical objects
Felt every molecule down to her mortal soul
Religion guided Sue through water and soil
Down in the mud of love
Prayer lined up on the side of God
A tool most useful in the invisible realm
If not
She was locked in tangibles
Sherlocked away to wait for Easter
Buried under a stone most uncomfortable
Undetected
To be deduced, from what is and what is not
Thereby order could be restored on Sunday
Drilled down to the atomic level of abomination
Established first by logic in the seventeenth century
Light won't pass through the ways of reason
Being solid as it stands
Where souls split into the Adam unnatural at Evening
All men are created equal to their mortal core
The Iliad and Odyssey are read and dead
In another language long and gone
Sue knows Greek as a 5 letter word
Greek know Sue more than you know
Trojans were of another kind of clan
Spoke Luwian at length
Cuneiform or hieroglyphic characters carved
Souls starved for more attention than misunderstanding
Stood out in their own reflection
Crawled home in a holy hole for protection
Flashlights are not prescribed for reading Homer
We recommend Sue's interpretation of the past
Objects in Archeological pockets are counted
Sins glow in the dark inspected
Calculated to the numerical physicality of being
Extolled by Sue who knows such things
Gold is found without tools to grasp the meaning
Souls unearthed remain with words unspoken
English is not an ancient tongue
Extensions take the dig
Can only go so far
Sue knows who you are
Before it starts
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'll soon lose interest in walking
and talking and wearing the cap
of a fool. You'll.
Words: walk, talk, wear, cap, fool, you, soon, lose.
Idea!: Four word poems, ten
syllables per line, six
lines per paragraph. Graph.
Words: idea, word, poem, syllable, line, paragraph, per, graph.
The night I wrecked my father's car
necking with my date after the dance
inching forward into traffic
foot tapping the brake like an ********.
Words: night, car, father, wreck, date, dance, neck, traffic, inch,
foot, tap, brake.
The USFS issued paper sleeping bags
like tissues during forest fires and fed us
steak and pop. All you could eat.
Words: paper, bag, sleep, tissue, fire, steak, pop, eat, food,
forest, us.
Things hurt. Pain is a message
to shut up and slow down.
Breathe deep, take care. Wait and see.
Words: hurt, pain, shut, slow, breathe, care, wait, see, deep,
message.
Just as the war
in the Iliad goes back
and forth according to Hector's
fortunes, so does marriage and a truck in mud.
Words: just, war, back, forth, fortune, marriage, truck, mud.
Fear destroys the last free assessment of life.
But what is there to fear. Death
is most of all like sleep. Death
is but a dream missed.
Words: fear, free, assess, destroy, life, death, sleep, dream, like,
but, miss.
Words are to writers like flowers to bees,
Oil to engines and thank you to please.
They may be as heavy as concrete or lead
Or light as feather and thoughts in our heads.
They may cut like a knife and bite like a snake,
Or purr like a kitten and calm all our aches.
Letters combined in word perfect tense
Lift humanity higher like pauper to prince.
Words are like paint before canvas lay bare
In the hands of the artist, eternity’s there.
Waiting to brush one more story-book tale
From right of nowhere, words take to sail.
With wind from the writer and ink from the pen,
Destinies change for women and men.
From The Iliad and Odyssey to Paine’s Common Sense,
Plato’s Apology to Shelley’s Poetic Defense.
From Genesis to Leviticus and Matthew to St. John,
Aristotle’s Ethics to White’s Trumpet of the Swan.
From the US Constitution to King’s “I Have a Dream,”
Words are to writers as air is to breath.
They transcend human consciousness
And send us well past Mars,
Making movies, plays and music move us
To the moon and stars.
The possibilities are limitless
When words are focused clear;
If one merely stops to think it through:
They’re always waiting near.
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