Athena's PromiseSway dost thee like an Ionian ship,Seduc’d by sinister Doubt’s siren songs,T’wards stubborn deafness to thine own spiritAs thy poor mind’s compass reads right for wrong.Anchor thyself with thy reason’s aegis:Neglect not fruits of a decade’s labour,Farmer of victory, nor the firmnessOf thy polis’ soil long long’d for;Patiently awaits immortalityGarnish’d in green laurels and golden fameAnd cemented in concrete certainty,So long as false inhibitions be tame; So, may yon horizon serve as thy mast, And when cast astray, know this, too, shall pass.
OdysseiaDear Love,The rift of Destiny is soon to yawnAnd sever us forever like Dusk and Dawn,Yearning together t’wards a hopeless hopeWith t’morrow’s promise as reason to cope;Though sweet solitude but bitters with age,I need not pray for this young love’s salvage,For a deep-rooted rose fears less a storm,Than the loss of Life’s will it once adorn’d.Yet, though I ask thee decade’s worth of faithIn protecting our love’s future estate,I confess that I wish for thy weakness too,So that thou mayst recall my love’s true virtue,And in moments of reflective silenceThat only serve to lengthen our distance,May memories of me embitter theeInto saying, at least once, thou miss’st me.
Yomigaeru KibouForsake to flames my forgettable name:Syllables to cinders, a taste once yearn’d,Embitter’d by committed wrongs unnam’d,Fades to a chanted dirge of “Burn, burn, burn!”Burn I shall—to ashes resurrected,Returning with a phoenix’s freshnessT’ sublime thy mind’s confines unwelcomedAnd incin’rate thine hate so merciless;I’ll rekindle in cremated Hate’s placeThe hymn to Love we sung once ‘pon a time,And prove a faith above all Time and Space—And, thus, from tainted waters, ferment wine. With one heart unsing’d, let it love for two; With our hope reviv’d, let our bond renew.
LapsusO! To what depths this name has plung’d—Extinguish’d! A flame stolenBy frowning Acheron—And yet, how its bright remembrance,Without a moment’s wax or wane,Shames even proud Phoebus;Injustice! Unjust injusticeTo be once son of Peleus,Now his mere concubine—A wench unnam’d, unclean, unlov’d,And unable t’ satisfyE’en the most uncouth taste!O! Flicker not, teasing memory!Remind me of this name’s past worth—Spoil me with nostalgia!But, alas; neither beaten breastNor hairs yank’d may restoreSeraphic grace fallenBeyond CocytusAnd naïve hope,As cold steelCalls myName.
A Love PoemThough well thou know’st it, I’ll say it againSo thou may’st chuckle in the face of Doubt:‘Tis thee, my love, who art my fair maiden,And ‘tis thee whose love I couldn’t live without.Love do I thy “perfect imperfections”:Peasants may be imperfectly perfectBut thou art queen of natural selection—This e’en a fool’s fool would surely admit;Thus, other girls must be dead in my eyes,And a “true love” not mine mustn’t be true;And should such silly sonnets not suffice,Then plainly I can say “I love you” too. So, find another who says he loves thee, For I doubt he can write it quite like me.
To My Coy MistressMen, my coy mistress, thrive upon conquest:Animals unmov’d from their primal past,They graze on thoughts of their once bloodi’d shaftsWhen scalp’d heads spake destiny manifest;A brutish day lends a night of unrest,So to-day they prey ’pon young maidenheads,Wielding a whetted ego further fedBy fresh and unchart’d feminine flesh;Though I may dream unplatonicallyAt times, Love preserves my steadfast temp’ranceBeyond all Freudian experiment;Fasten’d by innocent integrity,Like art, I’ll savour thee metres apart,Nay, not for thy shape, but for thy coy heart.
Abayo, yamamusumeGrant me, heavenly Euterpe,Light words as set I to verseDays in miracle immers’d,Bidding adieu my blue magpie:Like Delphic daffodil just ripe,Didst thou spring in wintry clime;O, with coy bloom but fairness bright,Thaw’d fruitless times thy shine.Thus, cometh a poet’s summer:Endow’d Pygmalion skill,T’ward thy name’s youth I endeavour’dWith forever pregnant quill.Yet, like th’harvest’s sickl’d lanternRais’d ‘bove tempting fall’s embrace:From far shade a fickle return,Whilst hid elsewhere thy true face.Now, as fleeing Proserpine,Fixt Fates dictate thee to fly;Aye, good-bye; for free thee do IAs how cam’st thou to me, gaily.