12-30-2012, 10:44 PM
There’s a bit of rosy blood
in the first morning hour of the boulevard,
dashed with pencils red and blue,
but the colors are rehearsing still.*
Rosy-fingered dawn, Ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς
kisses him softly awake
to a world he finds hard to love
at first sight, at least.
He needs a warm coat of booze or smack
or best of all: both
to make it again out on the streets
cackling with arrogant disgust.
He can quote Homer to himself
(Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
οὐλομένην, ... )
but that does not buy him
a bowl of soup nor cigarettes
nor a friendly bottle of Rum.
He must refill his tank
of senseless but meaningful
hope again.
He grabs the glass filled
to the brim with a musical Jinn
and consoles himself by
listening to Sappho's praise
of Atthis, unique among
Lydian women.
The Lesbian queen of poetry
stole the rosy-fingered epithet
from Homer's dawn-young sun
only to give it to her blue love-thirsty
moon: σελάννα.
--------------------------------------
* stole that stanza from another poem of mine:
in the first morning hour of the boulevard,
dashed with pencils red and blue,
but the colors are rehearsing still.*
Rosy-fingered dawn, Ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς
kisses him softly awake
to a world he finds hard to love
at first sight, at least.
He needs a warm coat of booze or smack
or best of all: both
to make it again out on the streets
cackling with arrogant disgust.
He can quote Homer to himself
(Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
οὐλομένην, ... )
but that does not buy him
a bowl of soup nor cigarettes
nor a friendly bottle of Rum.
He must refill his tank
of senseless but meaningful
hope again.
He grabs the glass filled
to the brim with a musical Jinn
and consoles himself by
listening to Sappho's praise
of Atthis, unique among
Lydian women.
The Lesbian queen of poetry
stole the rosy-fingered epithet
from Homer's dawn-young sun
only to give it to her blue love-thirsty
moon: σελάννα.
--------------------------------------
* stole that stanza from another poem of mine: