Tithonus

“It is the burden of life to be many ages

without seeing the end of time.”

–Jim Harrison, From “Seven in the Woods,” in Dead Man’s Float

 

Dawn pursues him–

Play me a song on your lyre.

Look at me! Over here,

I’m a goddess,

be with me, my dear.

I’ll be your wife

and you’ll be granted eternal life.

It will be grand–

we’ll promenade upon the strands

of space and time–

always in our prime,

oh, it’s wonderful to be a god.

Oh, no.

Oops.

Sorry, my mistake.

I was so taken by your beauty–

(remember that time at the lake?)

I forgot to ask that you

be given eternal youth.

A sad truth, I’m afraid,

you’ll have to be brave

to see many ages

without seeing the end of time.

I’m not sure I can bear it—

but I’ll see that you have some care

when I have to lock you up away somewhere. . .

Ah, how we gods suffer

the curse of the divine.

 

A bit of fun this time for Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason based on Jim Harrison’s poetry. Today is Day 5.

 

 

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Waves Again (and Again), NaPoWriMo, Day 27

No flask, no wine, no book of verse, this night

We reach for stars and moon, seek gleams of light

Hear the silver streams from the humming moon

Time and rhythms flow, in eternal rites

 

Upon the sand, waves pitch and break and roar

While spindrift flicks in salted breeze to shore

And you with me, now standing hand in hand

Watching the sea, waiting for dreams, and more.

 

Ilya Repin, “What Freedom”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m off prompt for today’s NaPoWriMo challenge. I took bits of yesterday’s NaPoWriMo poem and tribute line from Omar Khayyam’s famous verse for this attempt at a Rubaiyat for Frank Hubeny’s challenge on dVerse.

 

 

 

 

 

Under the Druid Moon: Yeats Challenge, Day Eleven

This poem is for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats Challenge, Day Eleven.

Here is today’s quotation:

“Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds
And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs”

I was dreaming of the ghost in the movie A Ghost Story that my husband and I saw earlier this year. I wrote about it here.

 

I dreamt last night of a ghostly figure

hovering in the air, floating, lost in time,

his silent presence, growing ever bigger

echoing, echoing, like a chime.

What mysterious moments has he seen

while drifting through star-glimmered winds

worlds, ancient, or untouched and pristine?

Or is he here only, stuck, to one spot pinned,

waiting, watching  for something new to begin?

A quiet sentry, under a Druid moon–

was he born too late, or did he die too soon?

 

 

 

 

Hidden in the Wind: Tanka

hidden in the wind

shimmering music, love

drifting from the stars

 

through time, hunting and haunting

lost and found over again

 

The_Future_Began_Here

By ESO/B. Tafreshi (http://www.eso.org/public/images/potw1637a/) [CC BY 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

This if for Colleen’s Weekly Poetry Challenge. The prompt words were hunt and find.

 

 

 

 

Time’s Glow: NaPoWriMo

 

We sojourn on between the moons

climbing full and white and bright and clear

but still the dark I feel is near

though here there is more luminous light

where comes the song of ancient sprites

wandering through shade, illuminating sight,

nearby, a diamond girl shimmers and glows,

ensorcelling face, radiant clothes,

her tongue sings music of forest and glen

urging spring and summer, again, again,

and time is endless here and always

with shadows splashed by sun-shining blazes

and roses bloom with sweet perfume

like golden apples of the sun, yet unconsumed

and gleaming, Earth seesaws now between beginning and done,

we’re dreaming, spindrift from slipstream, time’s run

 

1024px-Beatrice-1885

Odilon Redon, Beatrice,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Day 29, WaPoWriMo. The penultimate day.  The prompt was to take a word or phrase from a favorite poem, free associate, and then write a poem. I took some words and phrases from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle and went from there.

I’ve borrowed an image idea–using one that is similar to the one Jane Dougherty used in her dreamy vision–because I thought this golden Beatrice fit the poem. So thanks, Jane. 😉