Chronos, he crawls up upon us
swallows us, without a drink
all god's children got until then
life as fleeting as a wink
Time is jealous of us fellas
since he cannot stop or stand
and our grief, however brief -- that
he will never understand
Helen, technically a Spartan
later claimed she had no part in
taken, by the brutal Paris
stolen, right from her own terrace
Menelaus, quick to anger
felt a kind of sluggish languor
for you see, he loved his Helen
let her off: some tepid yellin'
From then on, though, if you'll pardon
Sparta grows a lot more Spartan
and the riches that they plundered --
naught compared to the three hundred
Atlas, clever, got a lever,
Archimedes' design.
Now his shoulders, size of boulders
are as free as yours and mine.
"Why?" I asked him -- Zeus had tasked him
and he answered, kind of smug:
"Didn't plan it for the planet.
The capacity to shrug."
Agamemnon -- care for him, none
was a king among the Greeks.
rude and callous, in his palace
well, if one believes the leaks.
the narrator, no spectator
Homer, really brought it home
when Achilles took his fillies
and went absent from the poem
and Cassandra suffered under
as a concubine of sorts
Clytemnestra tried to best her
it all ended up in swords
horses whinny near Mycenae
and its king a masterclass
and the moral is: no laurel
makes it worth to be an ass
sweet Cassandra wouldn't pander
well, at least about the future
said that Troy was going under
and that Paris was a moocher
said that Hector won't respect her
and that Priam won't deny 'em
though they're bringing Troy to ruin
and they will be her undoin'
and of course that wooden horse is
gonna be a bad idea
she was yelling and foretelling
but the king kept saying see ya
get a princess that convinces
that is my advice to kings
not a flatterer that minces
using words to pull your strings
one look, kitten, and I'm smitten
who put you under the tree?
don't they know that once I'm bitten
I can't let you cutie free?
but we know their evil ilk!
well, come on, let's have some milk...
Author notes: image from thoughtcatalog.com
standing leafless, thin-skinned birches
steeples of abandoned churches
they await the rites of spring
when worshippers come back, and sing
god of creation
now that we've invented you
circle is complete
her swanlike neck and vacant stare
her gem tiara, scarlet hair
her chiseled features, facile grace
her lips, pursed shut as if to brace
against a rough, unwanted touch...
and mother's words: he's such a catch
Author notes: image from owlcation.com
a myriad planets up in heaven
for whom those sunrises and sets?
was each created just in seven?
are lamentations and regrets
and sacrifices for his glory,
or is it ours? Are we the story?
Author notes: image from theosophywatch.wordpress.com
we are living, as we must, on a tiny speck of dust
in a universe so vast it is yet to be amassed
but don't measure us in miles, though we haven't yet the wiles
through both trials and denials, through our sadness and our smiles
we are meant to be quite large
(and some even think, in charge!)
Author notes: image from Pinterest
she's no aurora borealis
though she will turn the dusk to dawn
nor does this goddess have a palace
no, not at all -- she's often drawn
up in the air besides Apollo,
or in a lover's swift embrace
a lover that would gladly follow
and join her as she lights the space
above our planet's blue horizon
up where mere mortals rarely dare
perhaps some youth, before they wizen
will catch Aurora...
I just stare
Author notes: wc 76