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.
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.
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.
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.
It had something to do with American hostages in Iran was all I knew.
Some political complication that required a showing of the flag.
But Iran had been our ally? I’d seen their sailors train at our base,
And their uniforms looked even nicer than ours.
Now they were the enemy? OK. I don’t ask questions.
It hadn’t been my habit to think above my pay grade,
Or grasp beyond the sphere of parochial concerns.
I was there to serve my country. “Ask not…” and all that nonsense.
Nor had I questioned the tenure of Ferdinand Marcos,
With his beautiful island nation under martial law,
His wife holding all their shoes hostage.
Like the Shah, I’d been told he was one of the good guys.
It was a cold war.
I hadn’t yet questioned a lot of things.
I was there to serve my country,
Not a common motivation in the post-Vietnam disco era,
When civilians didn’t thank you for your service,
But rather branded you a loser
For giving up your freedom in order to take orders from others.
But that’s why it’s called the service, duh!
Thank you, America. Thank you all to hell.
Well, during our time on Gonzo Station,
Records were set for time underway.
Kelly’s wife divorced him.
Thompson’s had a kid that wasn’t his.
Jimmy Liquor lived up to his name
And was ordered into drydock, just like so many others.
Gypsy Joe Pilotti died of an overdose.
Airman Dillon was sentenced to life for dealing.
Operation Eagle Claw ended up
With Desert One a total cluster f*ck.
I had the feeling things weren’t on the level.
I felt I’d earned the right to ask questions and seek answers.
So, my Iliad was ended, and my Odyssey began.
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
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.
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.
REALITY HUNGRY
When others’ joy is merely peering over the wall
Those who relish real experiences, good and bad
The taste of life’s disappointments is as bitter gall
But for the lucky few, the best they’ve ever had
Sometimes life can feel empty, like nothing at all
There is always surplus time and room to be sad
Perhaps by hitting the brakes the engine will stall
And for that sudden quiet one may even be glad
Hearing echoes of footsteps along an empty hall
This may be the first sign that one is going mad
One realises being alone can make one feel small
And would not have been mentioned in the Iliad
Life is not always about having a masquerade ball
Take a breath, ignore what may be the latest fad
Yet for most, the same routine each day can pall
Especially when finding oneself to be armour clad
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 crazy 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 pizza party will this little ditty win for the likes of me.
But this something silly might make you laugh-wickedly.
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.