Submissions by Astyanax (Ceejay)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
As a poet, I am an observer and a commentator, never a preacher.
STORY POEM
Published
19th Nov 2013 2:17pm
19th Nov 2013 2:17pm
Theseus and the Minotaur
Through darkness thick as blood he feels his way,
The tunnel wall beneath his hand is cold.
What horrors lie ahead, he cannot say;
Poor Theseus feels more terrified than bold.
A bovine stench assails his nostrils now,
Close by, a dreadful Something scrapes the ground,
Irresolute, but mindful of his vow
He stumbles on, alert for every sound.
With bellowing roar, the beast leaps in the gloom;
Theseus goes down, but thrusts his spear ahead:
Wildly he stabs, screams echo round the tomb.
The deed is done, the...
The tunnel wall beneath his hand is cold.
What horrors lie ahead, he cannot say;
Poor Theseus feels more terrified than bold.
A bovine stench assails his nostrils now,
Close by, a dreadful Something scrapes the ground,
Irresolute, but mindful of his vow
He stumbles on, alert for every sound.
With bellowing roar, the beast leaps in the gloom;
Theseus goes down, but thrusts his spear ahead:
Wildly he stabs, screams echo round the tomb.
The deed is done, the...
3231 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Sep 2013 12:31pm
18th Sep 2013 12:31pm
Black Widow
In threads of silk She hangs in wait,
Her hapless victims court their fate;
Around them, summer's flowers bloom,
Nature's glory, victims' doom.
They touch the web with carefree tread,
Alert, She feels the trembling thread;
The scuttling lunge, the terrible eyes,
The victim quivers, stiffens, dies.
With gossamer ropes She binds the kill,
She sucks the juices, takes her fill,
And leaves the tiny, blackened husk
Hanging in the gathering dusk.
Sated, deadly, proud, alone,
She hangs once more within her throne.
Unmoved by...
Her hapless victims court their fate;
Around them, summer's flowers bloom,
Nature's glory, victims' doom.
They touch the web with carefree tread,
Alert, She feels the trembling thread;
The scuttling lunge, the terrible eyes,
The victim quivers, stiffens, dies.
With gossamer ropes She binds the kill,
She sucks the juices, takes her fill,
And leaves the tiny, blackened husk
Hanging in the gathering dusk.
Sated, deadly, proud, alone,
She hangs once more within her throne.
Unmoved by...
910 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
10th Sep 2013 9:57am
10th Sep 2013 9:57am
Developments
Each year, during the soft gear-shift
Between late summer and early autumn,
A member of the briefly sun-tanned millions,
You download all your snaps, and cannot wait
To view them, avid for the truth
Of what they will reveal, or fail to show:
A myriad of foreign restaurant tables,
Shining faces grinning at the flash,
Dishes of exotic food, carafes of wine,
Colourful drinks, like trophies, waved aloft;
Sunsets, mountains, ruins, glass-blue sea,
Smiling loved ones posing on a wall;
Markets, fishing-boats, locals with no teeth, ...
Between late summer and early autumn,
A member of the briefly sun-tanned millions,
You download all your snaps, and cannot wait
To view them, avid for the truth
Of what they will reveal, or fail to show:
A myriad of foreign restaurant tables,
Shining faces grinning at the flash,
Dishes of exotic food, carafes of wine,
Colourful drinks, like trophies, waved aloft;
Sunsets, mountains, ruins, glass-blue sea,
Smiling loved ones posing on a wall;
Markets, fishing-boats, locals with no teeth, ...
864 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
14th Mar 2013 3:35pm
14th Mar 2013 3:35pm
L'esprit de l'escalier
The French call it l’esprit de l’escalier –
The answer that occurs to you too late,
The cutting words you didn’t think to say
In time to save you from a bitter fate.
The moment passed, you missed your chance, alas;
You didn't speak in time, you failed to score.
Too late to deal your foe the coup de grâce,
Red-faced, you creep downstairs and out the door.
You can’t return, burst in the room and cry:
‘I’ve just remembered what I should have said!’
Your enemy would look you in the eye
And sneer, and you’d just wish that you were...
The answer that occurs to you too late,
The cutting words you didn’t think to say
In time to save you from a bitter fate.
The moment passed, you missed your chance, alas;
You didn't speak in time, you failed to score.
Too late to deal your foe the coup de grâce,
Red-faced, you creep downstairs and out the door.
You can’t return, burst in the room and cry:
‘I’ve just remembered what I should have said!’
Your enemy would look you in the eye
And sneer, and you’d just wish that you were...
1039 reads
9 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
22nd Jan 2013 3:03pm
22nd Jan 2013 3:03pm
Overtaken by Events
We’re often overtaken by events;
‘We didn’t see that coming,’ we complain.
But gods of Fate are deaf to our laments
And heap upon us earthquakes, fire and rain.
We curse our fate, we shake our fists and cry,
But all to no avail - the waters rise,
The ocean heaves, the fire falls from the sky,
Our houses are engulfed before our eyes.
Some see it as a judgment for man’s sins;
‘Repent!’ they cry, ‘forswear your evil ways!’
But even good men die when Fate’s wheel spins,
And Death takes no account of pious praise.
So don’t let future fears bring...
‘We didn’t see that coming,’ we complain.
But gods of Fate are deaf to our laments
And heap upon us earthquakes, fire and rain.
We curse our fate, we shake our fists and cry,
But all to no avail - the waters rise,
The ocean heaves, the fire falls from the sky,
Our houses are engulfed before our eyes.
Some see it as a judgment for man’s sins;
‘Repent!’ they cry, ‘forswear your evil ways!’
But even good men die when Fate’s wheel spins,
And Death takes no account of pious praise.
So don’t let future fears bring...
781 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Dec 2012 12:54pm
28th Dec 2012 12:54pm
Evening Wind
A naked girl pauses, one knee on the bed,
And glances to the window
Where the filmy curtain
Has suddenly lifted
On a breeze which blows into the room
And cools her body.
And glances to the window
Where the filmy curtain
Has suddenly lifted
On a breeze which blows into the room
And cools her body.
773 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
27th Jan 2012 11:26am
27th Jan 2012 11:26am
January
Muffled, huddled, scarfed, with narrowed eyes,
Our shoulders hunched, our noses red and raw,
We trudge up Chiswick High Road for supplies,
Like troops after some hard-fought, bitter war.
We see the desolation all around,
The damage wrought by Winter’s long campaigns,
The bare, black trees, the barren, iron ground,
The floods and breakdowns, power cuts, cancelled trains.
Our uniforms of hats, caps, hoods, coats, boots
Are dull and shapeless, but we hardly care,
If you stay warm you couldn’t give two hoots ...
Our shoulders hunched, our noses red and raw,
We trudge up Chiswick High Road for supplies,
Like troops after some hard-fought, bitter war.
We see the desolation all around,
The damage wrought by Winter’s long campaigns,
The bare, black trees, the barren, iron ground,
The floods and breakdowns, power cuts, cancelled trains.
Our uniforms of hats, caps, hoods, coats, boots
Are dull and shapeless, but we hardly care,
If you stay warm you couldn’t give two hoots ...
899 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Nov 2011 9:56am
8th Nov 2011 9:56am
City School in Autumn
The streets around are indescribably filthy -
Bottles, cans, paper, dogshit, nameless sludge;
The cast-out ordure of modern life washes round kerbs and corners
In mediaeval abundance.
You soon learn where to hold your breath as you pass.
The school is a hybrid:
Sixties tasteless tacked messily on to Victorian dreary;
Slippery, bright corridors with banging, spring-loaded doors
Lead to dark, smelly staircases of narrow stone steps.
And yet, on this quiet afternoon, the children gone,
Autumn still works its old magic;
Leaves still shiver to...
Bottles, cans, paper, dogshit, nameless sludge;
The cast-out ordure of modern life washes round kerbs and corners
In mediaeval abundance.
You soon learn where to hold your breath as you pass.
The school is a hybrid:
Sixties tasteless tacked messily on to Victorian dreary;
Slippery, bright corridors with banging, spring-loaded doors
Lead to dark, smelly staircases of narrow stone steps.
And yet, on this quiet afternoon, the children gone,
Autumn still works its old magic;
Leaves still shiver to...
953 reads
7 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
17th Oct 2011 5:13pm
17th Oct 2011 5:13pm
The Journey
In the beginning all is new,
Our lives are filled with first events:
The first snow, the first summer,
The first maternal smile of boundless love.
As we grow up, we see the start of things around us:
A road built, a new hotel or store,
A clever new device to enhance our lives,
Which skip along, bright with novelty and innovation:
New feelings, new success, and then: first love.
But, cruelly, we start to see the ends of things:
Love fades, our bright ambitions come to nought,
What we saw built, we...
Our lives are filled with first events:
The first snow, the first summer,
The first maternal smile of boundless love.
As we grow up, we see the start of things around us:
A road built, a new hotel or store,
A clever new device to enhance our lives,
Which skip along, bright with novelty and innovation:
New feelings, new success, and then: first love.
But, cruelly, we start to see the ends of things:
Love fades, our bright ambitions come to nought,
What we saw built, we...
894 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
20th Aug 2011 12:56pm
20th Aug 2011 12:56pm
London Summer
High summer.
Trees mob the garden
With a silent green shout,
A frozen explosion of leaves.
The grass lies flat on its back,
Exhausted and yellow,
And the newly-trimmed hedges
Are embarrassed at the shortness of their tonsure.
Now is the time of the fliers:
A gang of gnats lives in the air by the lilac tree,
Bouncing up and down in a continuous, pointless party;
Bees lumber among the flowers,
Solemnly getting on with the job;
Flies buzz chaotically
From one unspeakable meal to another,
And wasps loiter wickedly,
Looking for...
Trees mob the garden
With a silent green shout,
A frozen explosion of leaves.
The grass lies flat on its back,
Exhausted and yellow,
And the newly-trimmed hedges
Are embarrassed at the shortness of their tonsure.
Now is the time of the fliers:
A gang of gnats lives in the air by the lilac tree,
Bouncing up and down in a continuous, pointless party;
Bees lumber among the flowers,
Solemnly getting on with the job;
Flies buzz chaotically
From one unspeakable meal to another,
And wasps loiter wickedly,
Looking for...
889 reads
6 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Aug 2011 1:39pm
8th Aug 2011 1:39pm
Building Ships
They start from seeming chaos,
Molten metal poured, moulded, hammered, rolled.
In machine shops, men hunch over lathes
And frown at slow-revolving shapes,
Engrossed in mysteries of size and tolerances,
Like alchemists who turn base metal into ships.
And somehow, one day, on the sloping slip,
Giant ribs stand stark, pointing skywards,
Like a carcass picked clean by colossal vultures.
Men swarm over them for weeks
Amid the endless din of drills and riveting,
And the hiss and spray of welders’ sparks.
Steel sides appear, decks are laid,...
Molten metal poured, moulded, hammered, rolled.
In machine shops, men hunch over lathes
And frown at slow-revolving shapes,
Engrossed in mysteries of size and tolerances,
Like alchemists who turn base metal into ships.
And somehow, one day, on the sloping slip,
Giant ribs stand stark, pointing skywards,
Like a carcass picked clean by colossal vultures.
Men swarm over them for weeks
Amid the endless din of drills and riveting,
And the hiss and spray of welders’ sparks.
Steel sides appear, decks are laid,...
1154 reads
7 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
21st Jul 2011 4:07pm
21st Jul 2011 4:07pm
The Shadow on the Blind
I thought I saw her shadow on the blind;
I looked again, but there was no-one there -
it must have been a cruel trick of the mind.
I thought I saw her shadow on the blind.
She's lost to memory - yet still I’d swear
I thought I saw her shadow on the blind;
I looked again, but there was no-one there.
I looked again, but there was no-one there -
it must have been a cruel trick of the mind.
I thought I saw her shadow on the blind.
She's lost to memory - yet still I’d swear
I thought I saw her shadow on the blind;
I looked again, but there was no-one there.
831 reads
6 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Astyanax (Ceejay)
