Quotes about demigod, page 2
A Manufactured Mind
Prepped in perfect privilege
entrance here is gained
honor rules of 'etiquette'
from challenge we'll abstain
So posture brow and jaw
furrow nor clench be seen
then neutral here we'll learn
zip-lipped though minds be keen
Your err ~ a pompous flex;
'enlightened' egos teach then
stamp your student puppets,
an 'A' we're left to seek
For you have made it plain
oh far-left demigod
we'll not dual principles
nor dialogue to clog
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poem by Renee Marie
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PEGASUS and BELLEROPHONTE
His Creator was Sea God Poseidon
This winged-horse Pegasus demigod
Spiral horn on forehead his talisman
The Gods of Mt Olympus were awed
Pegasus delivered lightning bolts
When Zeus warred against men
When He put down their revolts
Men are prone to sin now n’ then
One day while drinking from a spring
Hero Bellerophonte captured Pegasus
As hero mounted, with deep voice did sing
“I’m coming for you Chimera”
Then tested flying horse flight n’agileness
They flew afar to slay a hideous monster…
Possessed of lion’s head, goat’s body, serpent’s tail
Whose breath could melt a fighting soldier’s armor
Confidently, astride Pegasus the hero could not fail
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poem by Ray Lucero
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The Menagerie
The rejected word 'peace'
At the beginning of an outraged era;
A church lamp in a grotto
And the air of mountain lands
An ether we did not want to,
Or would not breathe.
Again, with a goat-voice,
The shaggy reed-pipes sing.
While sheep and oxen grazed
On fertile pastures,
And friendly eagles perched
On the shoulders of sleepy crags --
A German reared an eagle,
A lion submitted to a Briton,
And a Gallic comb appeared
From a rooster's crest.
But now the savage has captured
The sacred mace of Heracles,
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poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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5. Death
He knocks
At the door of Death
Untiringly,
As the one question knocks
Persistently the walls of his living heart.
Death reveals Himself, seven suns later.
Death lives not in Hell, nor Heaven
Nor amid reeking carcass, nor amid purging souls.
No, Death embellishes the throne of his own Empire,
The King of Liberation and the Liberated.
Death is a kindly demigod, radiant and young.
His tongue speaks naught but the truest of the Truth.
Death smiles at the visitor, a human
Clothed in earthliness-a mortal.
The Human bows, and asks
“All conquering, all pervading Lord Death,
I seek answers!
What is Life? ”
“A choice between Good and Comfort.
All that is Good may not be a comfort,
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poem by Krishnarasa Seshadri
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I Am The American Eagle
I Am The American Eagle
I am the American Eagle
with a broken right Republican wing,
and a broken left Democrat wing,
its 'We the people' body tattered and torn.
It needs pledges of help
to its God Bless America body,
for the Eagle spirit to heal.
Its 10% White Collar head
has lost control of its 90%
Blue Collar welfare soul.
For the American Eagle
to become strong,
we must quit
outsourcing its welfare
and unite with its talons
saying NUTS
Never Under Tyranny Surrender
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poem by David Lester Young
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Aurobindo 67 Savitri Book 3
An appreciation on Savitri-
Book 3-The Book of the Divine Mother
Canto Four: The Vision and the Boon
Words within inverted commas are Aurobindo's
'A traveller in his oft-shifting home
Amid the tread of many infinities,
He has pitched a tent of life in desert Space.'
'Around him hungers the unpitying Void,
The eternal Darkness seeks him with her hands,
Inscrutable Energies drive him and deceive,
Immense implacable deities oppose.'
'Across his path sits the dim camp of Night.'
'His day is a moment in perpetual Time;
He is the prey of the minutes and the hours.'
'Assailed on earth and unassured of heaven,
Descended here unhappy and sublime, '
'A link between the demigod and the beast,
He knows not his own greatness nor his aim;
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poem by Indira Renganathan
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To James T. Fields
ON A BLANK LEAF OF 'POEMS PRINTED, NOT PUBLISHED.'
Well thought! who would not rather hear
The songs to Love and Friendship sung
Than those which move the stranger's tongue,
And feed his unselected ear?
Our social joys are more than fame;
Life withers in the public look.
Why mount the pillory of a book,
Or barter comfort for a name?
Who in a house of glass would dwell,
With curious eyes at every pane?
To ring him in and out again,
Who wants the public crier's bell?
To see the angel in one's way,
Who wants to play the ass's part,--
Bear on his back the wizard Art,
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Slither
1
slither here and slither their
he slides and glides every where
when he hississ the enemy pissess
with an unsteady zig zizga motion
where ever he goes he makes a comotion
2
slither slither come hither like a snake on his belly he movess
making his trackes on the surface of the moon
he is not an ordinary man this creature
he on the canvass of life paints his own feature
3
slither slither come to me
you are not yet as smart as you could be
respnosible for mans fall from grace
gliding thru the desert at his own pace
your ungainly walk is a silght to behold
you have so many stories which are untold
4
slither slither come hither
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poem by Anuj Tikku
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Three Graves
HOW did he live, this dead man here,
With the temple above his grave?
He lived as a great one, from cradle to bier
He was nursed in luxury, trained in pride,
When the wish was born, it was gratified;
Without thanks he took, without heed he gave.
The common man was to him a clod
From whom he was far as a demigod.
His duties? To see that his rents were paid;
His pleasure? To know that the crowd obeyed.
His pulse, if you felt it, throbbed apart,
With a separate stroke from the people's heart.
But whom did he love, and whom did he bless?
Was the life of him more than a man's, or less?
I know not. He died. There was none to blame,
And as few to weep; but these marbles came
For the temple that rose to preserve his name!
How did he live, that other dead man,
From the graves apart and alone?
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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Ode XII: To Sir Francis Henry Drake, Baronet
I.
Behold; the Balance in the sky
Swift on the wintry scale inclines:
To earthy caves the Dryads fly,
And the bare pastures Pan resigns.
Late did the farmer's fork o'erspread
With recent soil the twice-mown mead,
Tainting the bloom which autumn knows:
He whets the rusty coulter now,
He binds his oxen to the plough,
And wide his future harvest throws.
II.
Now, London's busy confines round,
By Kensington's imperial towers,
From Highgate's rough descent profound,
Essexian heaths, or Kentish bowers,
Where'er i pass, i see approach
Some rural statesman's eager coach
Hurried by senatorial cares:
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poem by Mark Akenside
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