Submissions by Astyanax (Ceejay)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
As a poet, I am an observer and a commentator, never a preacher.
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
6th Jul 2011 1:59pm
6th Jul 2011 1:59pm
Candles
Cool, aloof, austere,
They stood behind the altar, three and three,
White amid white flowers,
Tall amid tall fronds.
We ministered to them,
Small boys in solemn white and black,
Caught up for this brief time in ritual.
I liked to wield the long pole with the taper,
Carrying the clean, pale flame from wick to wick,
To leave a copy of itself on each, still and small:
One, two, three - one, two, three.
And later, after 'Ite, missa est',
After the faithful had filed silently away,
In the empty, echoing space,
I'd go again...
They stood behind the altar, three and three,
White amid white flowers,
Tall amid tall fronds.
We ministered to them,
Small boys in solemn white and black,
Caught up for this brief time in ritual.
I liked to wield the long pole with the taper,
Carrying the clean, pale flame from wick to wick,
To leave a copy of itself on each, still and small:
One, two, three - one, two, three.
And later, after 'Ite, missa est',
After the faithful had filed silently away,
In the empty, echoing space,
I'd go again...
1033 reads
7 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Jun 2011 5:26pm
30th Jun 2011 5:26pm
A Man Alone
She used to scold him endlessly each day
while tidying up his scattered detritus:
messed-up papers, clothes left crumpled in a heap,
and dishes piled at random in the sink.
But now, as he returns home from an aimless walk,
the newspapers, the dishes and the clothes
remain just as he left them hours before,
and he, un-nagged, will tidy them away
in silence, but for the ticking of the clock,
his only conversation of the day
a muttered ‘Thank you’ to a checkout girl.
while tidying up his scattered detritus:
messed-up papers, clothes left crumpled in a heap,
and dishes piled at random in the sink.
But now, as he returns home from an aimless walk,
the newspapers, the dishes and the clothes
remain just as he left them hours before,
and he, un-nagged, will tidy them away
in silence, but for the ticking of the clock,
his only conversation of the day
a muttered ‘Thank you’ to a checkout girl.
1006 reads
6 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
24th Jun 2011 12:05pm
24th Jun 2011 12:05pm
Από την θάλασσα στη νοτιά, ένα κοιμισμένο λεοντάρι,
Οι πελώριες μυές ρυτώνοντας υπό τις κοκκινόξανθες πλαγιές ...
Οι πελώριες μυές ρυτώνοντας υπό τις κοκκινόξανθες πλαγιές ...
1036 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
14th Jun 2011 3:05pm
14th Jun 2011 3:05pm
Crete
From the sea to the south, a sleeping lion.
The mighty muscles rippling beneath its tawny flanks
sweep down to the water;
its long, humped spine is white with snow.
From the air, a strange, ruined longboat,
its prow to the west, thrusting towards Sicily,
an upright helmsman clinging to its stern in the east,
and Akrotiri Lathinos at the point of its great keel.
On the ground, a landscape broken, fissured,
tortured into mountains and crevasses, cracks and caves,
aplace for hiding and escape,
where the eagle soars in...
The mighty muscles rippling beneath its tawny flanks
sweep down to the water;
its long, humped spine is white with snow.
From the air, a strange, ruined longboat,
its prow to the west, thrusting towards Sicily,
an upright helmsman clinging to its stern in the east,
and Akrotiri Lathinos at the point of its great keel.
On the ground, a landscape broken, fissured,
tortured into mountains and crevasses, cracks and caves,
aplace for hiding and escape,
where the eagle soars in...
1152 reads
9 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th May 2011 10:10am
30th May 2011 10:10am
The Company of Gods
Who’d want to keep the company of gods?
They’re vain, ill-tempered, selfish and unfair;
In any game they’ll always rig the odds.
They never lose, they don’t know how to share.
The Greek lot never played by any rules,
Zeus lied and cheated, threw his weight about,
Sated his lust, treated men like fools,
Devoid of pity, conscience or self-doubt.
But would the Bible’s God be to your taste?
Can you imagine having Him round to dinner?
Vindictive, vengeful, always laying waste,
And it’s hell for ever for the poor, weak sinner.
No, gods, I...
They’re vain, ill-tempered, selfish and unfair;
In any game they’ll always rig the odds.
They never lose, they don’t know how to share.
The Greek lot never played by any rules,
Zeus lied and cheated, threw his weight about,
Sated his lust, treated men like fools,
Devoid of pity, conscience or self-doubt.
But would the Bible’s God be to your taste?
Can you imagine having Him round to dinner?
Vindictive, vengeful, always laying waste,
And it’s hell for ever for the poor, weak sinner.
No, gods, I...
1111 reads
4 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
23rd May 2011 5:52pm
23rd May 2011 5:52pm
A Sense of Irony
Hamlet and Laertes vied to outdo each other
In grief over dead Ophelia.
They leapt into her grave and grappled,
Each proclaiming the vastness of his desolation.
But was this true emotion?
Or was it rather the self-dramatization
Which can afflict us all
When we feel in the presence
Of momentous happenings?
In other lands, we see the crowds
Around a leader's funeral.
They wail, they tear their hair,
They are beside themselves with grief,
They throng the streets and will not be...
In grief over dead Ophelia.
They leapt into her grave and grappled,
Each proclaiming the vastness of his desolation.
But was this true emotion?
Or was it rather the self-dramatization
Which can afflict us all
When we feel in the presence
Of momentous happenings?
In other lands, we see the crowds
Around a leader's funeral.
They wail, they tear their hair,
They are beside themselves with grief,
They throng the streets and will not be...
996 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
22nd May 2011 11:19am
22nd May 2011 11:19am
Tabula Rasa
Pristine, new-fallen,
Blank with expectation,
The untrod snow invites us
To make our mark with foot and sledge and plough,
To etch upon its waiting whiteness: 'We are here.'
Bright, still, glass-clear,
The pool at dawn awaits us.
We plunge, and all is broken;
We leave it churned and heaving in our wake.
Through turmoil we have stated: ‘We are here.’
We pause awhile
Above the empty page.
What boundless possibilities are there.
We cannot leave it void, we must respond:
Scribimus ergo sumus. We are here.
And being thus,...
Blank with expectation,
The untrod snow invites us
To make our mark with foot and sledge and plough,
To etch upon its waiting whiteness: 'We are here.'
Bright, still, glass-clear,
The pool at dawn awaits us.
We plunge, and all is broken;
We leave it churned and heaving in our wake.
Through turmoil we have stated: ‘We are here.’
We pause awhile
Above the empty page.
What boundless possibilities are there.
We cannot leave it void, we must respond:
Scribimus ergo sumus. We are here.
And being thus,...
1022 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
3rd Mar 2011 4:46pm
3rd Mar 2011 4:46pm
The Word
Consider the word.
Relish it. Turn it. Marvel at it.
Thought made sound,
It lingers for its moment on the air
And then is gone.
Yet still it lingers in the mind,
Thought returned to thought.
Or, silent on the page,
Captured in the coils and curves
Of alphabets and ideograms,
Marks, signs and symbols,
It lies in wait to catch the passer-by
And leave its gift of knowledge or despair.
Examine its machinery:
Its hooks, its springs, its universal joints,
Its subtle movements and its fertile power.
See...
Relish it. Turn it. Marvel at it.
Thought made sound,
It lingers for its moment on the air
And then is gone.
Yet still it lingers in the mind,
Thought returned to thought.
Or, silent on the page,
Captured in the coils and curves
Of alphabets and ideograms,
Marks, signs and symbols,
It lies in wait to catch the passer-by
And leave its gift of knowledge or despair.
Examine its machinery:
Its hooks, its springs, its universal joints,
Its subtle movements and its fertile power.
See...
871 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th Nov 2010 10:44am
11th Nov 2010 10:44am
Abroad Thoughts from Home
The drooping four o’clock sun paints its sad orange light
on red brick and stucco walls
as I walk home along the river
on this clear, chill, November afternoon.
Underfoot, a russet tumble of leaves
turns to brown slick on the corners,
and the clear sky shades to smoky indigo
around the city’s towered and chimneyed horizon.
The closing of the year is looming once again.
And yet, amid my self-indulgent gloom,
achild’s clear laugh reminds me
that beyond the fast-approaching Yuletide‘s maw,
beyond the iron-clad days and ice-gripped...
on red brick and stucco walls
as I walk home along the river
on this clear, chill, November afternoon.
Underfoot, a russet tumble of leaves
turns to brown slick on the corners,
and the clear sky shades to smoky indigo
around the city’s towered and chimneyed horizon.
The closing of the year is looming once again.
And yet, amid my self-indulgent gloom,
achild’s clear laugh reminds me
that beyond the fast-approaching Yuletide‘s maw,
beyond the iron-clad days and ice-gripped...
931 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
13th Oct 2010 9:27am
13th Oct 2010 9:27am
Talking
When you ask her to talk,
She talks --
About her dreams and fears,
Her feelings for her mother,
Her feelings of herself,
Her sense of loss,
Her feelings for her child,
Her sense of loneliness,
Her lack of self-fulfilment,
Her being made invisible,
Her being pushed aside,
Her rejection at the hands of those she loves,
Her friendships and her friends,
Her sense of being she.
When you ask him to talk,
He says --
'What about?'
She talks --
About her dreams and fears,
Her feelings for her mother,
Her feelings of herself,
Her sense of loss,
Her feelings for her child,
Her sense of loneliness,
Her lack of self-fulfilment,
Her being made invisible,
Her being pushed aside,
Her rejection at the hands of those she loves,
Her friendships and her friends,
Her sense of being she.
When you ask him to talk,
He says --
'What about?'
963 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
12th Oct 2010 9:53am
12th Oct 2010 9:53am
Mind the Gap
How do we fill in the gap between being born and dying?
With sleeping and talking and thinking and walking and shopping and driving
and flying;
With meeting friends, making amends, trying to put things right,
Wishing we'd done things differently in the middle of the night.
Some of us kill, some of us swill, some of us cheat on our wives,
Some of us nurture our children, some of us ruin their lives.
Some fill the...
With sleeping and talking and thinking and walking and shopping and driving
and flying;
With meeting friends, making amends, trying to put things right,
Wishing we'd done things differently in the middle of the night.
Some of us kill, some of us swill, some of us cheat on our wives,
Some of us nurture our children, some of us ruin their lives.
Some fill the...
1131 reads
9 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th Aug 2010 10:09am
10th Aug 2010 10:09am
2 poems translated from Greek
Love Song
My love, when we kissed it was night; who saw us?
The evening star saw us, the moon saw us,
And the moon bent down and told it to the sea;
The sea told it to the oar, and the oar told the sailor,
And the sailor sang it to the slender girl in the doorway.
Lullaby
Sleep, who takes the children, come and receive this child
I gave him to you very small, bring him to me grown large,
Large like the high mountain, straight like the cypress tree,
And let his branches stretch...
My love, when we kissed it was night; who saw us?
The evening star saw us, the moon saw us,
And the moon bent down and told it to the sea;
The sea told it to the oar, and the oar told the sailor,
And the sailor sang it to the slender girl in the doorway.
Lullaby
Sleep, who takes the children, come and receive this child
I gave him to you very small, bring him to me grown large,
Large like the high mountain, straight like the cypress tree,
And let his branches stretch...
820 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Astyanax (Ceejay)
