FIFTY WORD STORY – Dryad’s Song

The voice hung in the air like a leaf, drifting over fields of grass until it landed in Arin’s ears like a whisper. He turned to the trees to see who had spoken the wooden song, but the forest of bark held no mouths—only the faint outline of bodies.

——

 

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Caesar at the Rubicon – A Poem

Caesar at the Rubicon

 

I wonder if Caesar felt pride

behind the lines of his falcon eyes

as his phalanx crossed the Rubicon

into the open plains of Italy.

 

Did he picture a neo-Aeneas

imbued by the glory of Poseidon?

One who would stayed the winds of Aeolus

as his crew sailed into Carthage?

 

Or perhaps as he mounted his horse

he thought of the stable boys

unable to escape the fires of Troy

‘cause Paris wouldn’t relinquish his lust;

 

and as he cast his steel dice

he felt bound to the empty bellies

of the half-buried families

he had left behind in the Gallics

 

instead of those empty oaths

spat from gluttonous orifices

by the wine-soaked Republicans

seated in their golden high chairs.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #124 – Sunrise

Sunrise

 

Just as the sun peeks over the mountains,

before it comes blazing across the skies

like the chariot of fire and blood

that burned Phaethon above the bright clouds,

 

such was it when your eyes fluttered open

while morning broke between the grey shutters

and for a moment you seemed so fatigued

that I thought the sun might not rise today.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #120 – Baby Steps

Baby Steps

 

Do you miss his pitter-patter

on the wood floors? His feet were like

rain drops stumbling on the roof

after lightning had cracked the sky.

 

Now his steps would be the thunder;

his shoes a mountain to the hills

of booties we kept when he left

to chase Ulysses on the sea.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #117 – Our Last Supper

Our Last Supper

 

She left from the dinner table,

spilling bills for her half of the check

onto the black leather folio

as though to apologize

for her abrupt renegation.

 

Is this how quiet Virgil felt

when he watched Dante cross the Lethe,

his words written out of existence

like Dido, when Aeneas saw her

walking back to kindly Sychaeus?

 

Did he wait behind, out of sight,

drinking a last draught of ruby wine

before slipping his tender next to hers

and walking briskly out the side door,

not even bothering to grab his coat?

——

 

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LOVE POEM #116 – Serenades

Serenades

 

The echoes down the corridor

called out to my wandering eyes

as though my cold bench was a ship

clasped by a siren’s serenade.

 

Is this how lonely Dido felt

when she heard the crunch of dry leaves

beneath the pious Aeneas

before he parted the forest?

 

For when he rounded the corner,

that song of Cupid ignited,

turning my metal caravan

into a bed of burning coals.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #115 – A Lighter

Lighter

 

As sparks from a lighter will fly

when fingers scrape against the flint

then ignite, like the morning light

when the fiery steeds escaped,

 

so do you stoke those spoken flames;

your thumb held tight to my button

‘til your cigarette starts to smoke

and in the ash you taste release.

——

 

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MUSIC SERIES – Under the Wheel

This poem was inspired by Time by Pink Floyd! Let me know if there are any songs you’d like me to write about.

 

Under the Wheel

 

When my skin began to shrivel

I knew Fortune’s spinning wheel

had snared me in its crooked spokes

and sentenced me to my last years.

 

The somber day came when I slipped;

the strength I’d used to climb her rungs

was at last sapped from my muscles

and she rolled o’er my shrunken form.

——

 

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LOVE POEM #100 – Greed

WOW! 100 love poems! Someone bring out the party blowers! Thanks for all your support everyone. Lets wrap up this mini series I’ve been doing for the 7 Sins with my favorite (least favorite?) sin: Greed.

 

Greed

 

An eager glint in those green eyes

glows like the Elysian Fields,

yet as they gleam in the eve’s light

my own glimmer evaporates.

 

Check out all the other sins here: Sloth, Lust, Envy, Wrath, Gluttony, Pride.

Oh, and hopefully it goes without saying, but all of these poems are about the bad parts of love and romance, which is both beautiful and terrible. They represent a kind of abuse, or abuses, and while I’ve somewhat romanticized them, or poeticized them, that is for emphasis, and not because they are good or positive.

——

 

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If Atlas Could Run

If Atlas Could Run

 

I wonder if Atlas could run

with all that weight on his shoulders.

 

There must have been a time

before his knees were locked in combat

with the eternal burden of gravity

that he could run about, carefree.

 

I have known such times

where the sun shines on blue skies

and Gaea’s warmth embraced my soles.

Days half-remembered from window panes

 

drinking coffee under the constellations

before the myth became reality.

——

 

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