Euridice, Euridice
daughter of mortals, sworn to divine;
the bell tolls, the bell rings
“I’m sorry, I miss you”
Orpheus turns; Euridice.
the unmade sheets, dog-eared pages
stacked, dishes scattered in the sink
sunlight splashes
I close my eyes
I see the ghost of where you’ve been
how long has it been
since the summer of your smile,
the spring of your voice.
twenty years waiting, your Penelope;
a shroud unwoven by time
tick, tick, tick. the clock continually ticks.
it drags me by the hands,
grabs me by the heart.
every grain falling through the hourglass,
a lifetime I once spent with you.
every word I never said,
a pomegranate never split;
I called your name too late.
Melpomene, my very own muse,
hear the swan song of my heart
three words we never got to say
i love you i love you i love you
i turn to you to confess
(don’t look don’t look don’t look)
and there you are. you’re gone.
we were two sides of the same fate,
half of each other; star-crossed, but
snip. your shears split the weave and.
Fates themselves can’t force supernovas
to align / when they’ve already long died
Categories:
melpomene, absence, allegory, death, fate,
Form: Free verse
LOOKING FOR LIGEIA
The last of feigning death, love now abides,
tuberculin, infectious, inside her breast.
She breaths emotion where your hope now hides,
and clings to what Melpomene knows best.
Dear tragedy of love, deep in her eyes,
to love we die, or never love one bit.
Your soul--once doomed to Hell--see now it flies
renouncing every hope of ending it.
Consuming as is love, the hate must flow,
each seething, creeping, loathing will to fly,
amongst what hope is left, one thought will show;
to know the deep of someone, one must die.
All of your will, which dieth, less for cause,
has ended short of knowing who she was.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestowqn poet
Categories:
melpomene, addiction, beautiful, betrayal, destiny,
Form: Sonnet
Melpomene, muse of tragedy…
Why must the world, so ugly be?
Man cutting down most every tree!
Man turning earth into a blight
How can they think that this is right
Why can’t they see? “They’ve lost their sight!”
And when the trees, they are all gone…
No shelter for the birds or fawn
What will be left with the new dawn?
All we can do is hope and pray
That man will wake and change some day
Let nature be, and hear her say…
“If not for me you’d have no place
To flourish as a human race
Why can’t you see beyond your face?”
Is it too late for us to try?
To heal the world and hear it’s cry…
“Why can’t we help? Oh why, Oh why!”
Categories:
melpomene, muse, nature,
Form: Verse
LOOKING FOR LIGEIA
The last of feigning death, love now abides,
tuberculin, infectious, inside her breast.
She breaths emotion where your hope now hides,
and clings to what Melpomene knows best.
Dear tragedy of love, deep in her eyes,
to love we die, or never love one bit.
Your soul--once doomed to Hell--see now it flies
renouncing every hope of ending it.
Consuming as is love, the hate must flow,
each seething, creeping, loathing will to fly,
amongst what hope is left, one thought will show;
to know the deep of someone, one must die.
All of your will, which dieth, less for cause,
has ended short of knowing who she was.
© ron arbuthnot aka ron wilson
aka veebdosa the doylestown poet
Categories:
melpomene, absence, death of a
Form: Sonnet
LOOKING FOR LIGEIA -- One poem that came out of Maya Angelou wanting and insisting to me to study Edgar Alan Poe, was my introduction to LIGEIA, for those who do not know, Ligeia was a beautiful wife of (Poe) as the narrator of the short story LIGEIA. (Of course not Poe's real wife just in the story, sort of like another Annabel Lee there never was either a real Annabel Lee nor was there a real Ligeia.) Anyway here is the poem I wrote based on Poe's immortal short story LIGEIA.
LOOKING FOR LIGEIA
The last of feigning death, love now abides,
tuburculin, infectious, inside her breast,
she breaths emotion where your hope now hides,
and clings to what Melpomene knows best.
Dear tragedy of love deep in her eyes,
to love we die, or never love one bit,
your soul--once doomed to Hell--see now it flies
renouncing every hope of ending it.
Consuming as is love, the hate must flow,
each seething, creeping, loathing will to fly,
against what hope is left to even show,
to know the deep of someone, is to die.
All of your will, which dieth not for cause,
has ended short of knowing who she was.
© ron wilson aka ron arbuthnot
aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Categories:
melpomene, addiction, anxiety, bereavement, evil,
Form: Sonnet
When one of inspiration is shorn
And every poetic thought stillborn
When every glimmer of light disappears
And every proud conceit ends in tears
Should I to my unheeding Muses turn
And offer holocausts for them to spurn?
Would Melpomene listen,Thalia heed
And grant help in my hour of need?
Why do they cast me so cruelly aside
In my own grim Hades to abide?
Prayers do I offer for this barren time
Wherein the empty page is branded crime.
Categories:
melpomene, angst, dark, pain,
Form: Rhyme
Was once inspired, but now too tired
To search for more expressive ways
To convey my Heart's inert Desires-
The place where my Ideas played
I beg of thee, sweet Calliope,
To fill my Mind with budding Prose
But I am touched by Melpomene-
In freezing Fires, thus reposed
My outlook dreary, I have a theory-
That I shall stay forever weary
And I see it, Oh! Quite clearly
That I shall miss them all so dearly!
My Muses Mute; But Atropos
The Fate that begged for one more post
With her Shears shorn ev'ry fear
That I might write as just a Ghost
*Be My Reason Contest Entry
Categories:
melpomene, heart, muse, mythology, poetry,
Form: Rhyme
Calliope, gives us epic poetry, but not to me
Erato, erotica I’d rather have a cup of tea,
Clio, gives us all that is past and gone
Euterpe, gave mythology the giver of legends, every one
Melpomene, the muse gave us tragedy and many tears
Terpsichore, gave us dance, down through the long years
Thalia, is my favourite she gave a good laugh
Urania, astronomy I love watching stars from my bath
Polyhymnia, muse number nine gave us song-not rhyme.
Contest Entry for Tracie's Nine poem, nine lines, nine words in each line
~GG~ 11/01/2013
Categories:
melpomene, history, muse,
Form: Rhyme
LOOKING FOR LIGEIA
The last of feigning death, love now abides,
tuberculin, infectious, inside her breast.
She breaths emotion where your hope now hides,
and clings to what Melpomene knows best.
Dear tragedy of love, deep in her eyes,
to love we die, or never love one bit.
Your soul--once doomed to Hell--see now it flies
renouncing every hope of ending it.
Consuming as is love, the hate must flow,
each seething, creeping, loathing will to fly,
amongst what hope is left, one thought will show;
to know the deep of someone, one must die.
All of your will, which dieth, less for cause,
has ended short of knowing who she was.
© ron wilson
Categories:
melpomene, angst, art, confusion, death,
Form: Sonnet
To one who places pen to paper,
one may work the whims of Terpsichore
Those who write a witty Chastushka,
may be hearing the voice of Polyhymnia
Those who give thought to a Fibonacci,
could possibly have heard of Melpomene
Those who claim fame to stanzas Ottava Rima,
pen with the hand of the Goddess Urania
Those who sing Limericks so funny you know,
are guided by laughter, the breeze of Erato
One of my favorites, the five line Lanterne,
inspiration may be given, from dear old Enterpe
If one were to write a poem of music you see,
could be hearing the tune from Calliope
Three lines of ten,seven and six, Kimo
could be writing the lines from the heavenly Clio
The last style I'll speak is that of Choka,
I get my vibes form Celestial Thalia
Here are a few of the forms, a poet uses,
with the inspiration from the Nine Mythical Muses
Categories:
melpomene, imagination, mystery, on writing
Form: Rhyme
Late at night
Losing all sense of time
Caught in the web's
Ghostly glow
A glimpse of an ad
During a sip of ruby red
A muse was born
(Amusin' illusion)
To tempt the Melpomene in me.
Dionysus let slip the flights of fancy.
A flirtation began.
It was love at first sight
As I drank deep of the Pierian spring
But my love she doth often unrequite.
It passeth all understanding.
Categories:
melpomene, imagination, introspection, love, mystery,
Form: Free verse