Saturday, October 10, 2015

October 10

Waterhouse's world of Ulysses


  1. Circe Offering the Cup to Ulysses, Andrew Llyod Weber
    (non-traditional sonnet)

    throne of power, mirrored backing, her wand
    is an infernal artifact, a song
    like a spell enslaving lovers— soldiers
    run through with daggers— a remolding
    primordial libations to fill her
    cup a constant run, overflowing. power,
    the roots of country writhe beneath her neck
    an upturned chin— eyes a refusal
    to break contact is a game, stamina
    and a young lifetime’s worth of practice,
    but still her framed lions wait in pose
    mouths open begging to animate
    sniffing out the revolt, a young man draws
    a murderous eternity to a sharpened point.

  2. Weber

    She seduces her victims
    With her promises and favors
    Spilling her wine on their face
    To savor the pigs as they swig
    And witness in the mirror
    Their forlorn scorn and all of
    Their fears going under her spell
    As the wand in her palm
    Tells of hell becoming her ponds
    The temptress of mythological lore
    Loving the hero diabolically more
    Than the others as she discovers
    Her plan dethroned
    As Ulysses kisses her hand alone
    To save his men from her clutches
    As she gave them her sin
    Grinning like a seductress

  3. A Web For Swine

    Perched at the edge of her island rock
    she spy's a brand new toy
    shifting the bust of her silken frock
    Circe plots and schemes with joy

    She lays out the cushions so soft
    and drenches the tables in gold
    soon her prey will be so aloft
    they'll believe anything they're told

    His body is so young and deliciously hard
    but there is wisdom in his face
    in this game she'll play her very best card
    of mistakes, there can be no trace

    She beckons them now with drink
    the goblet filled right to the line
    and while she woos him to the brink
    the others are cast out as swine

    The boy in man's clothing is caught
    ensnared by his own lusty desire
    to escape her will be a battle hard fought
    should he choose to leap into that fire

    1. I love how you've used rhyme here. It takes me a long time to teach someone to use it this well.

  4. You wait and watch the game
    Wand high, lips red, cup still
    Gown loose, eyes low, air chill
    As he draws to your flame.

    His breath is stale with sea
    His shirt open to pounce
    He waits to announce
    His lusty righteous plea.

    Quick wand you strike his heart
    Now startled eyes are still
    His mouth loses its pride

    His power at last departs
    Still pour the cup until
    The hauntings opens wide.

  5. Hi! This is a sort of sonnet form I've worked a lot in. Taking the 14 lines and considering them as 14 inter-relationships. Looking at the sentence level as if it were a "line," then using subject rhyme to organize those sentences into a "Petrarchan" sonnet structure. I'm not sure it works, but I like it and its a fun way to write.

    Who is this woman

    who holds the power of wine and the rod. "How does one succeed in getting under the skin of a decadent? How does one reveal to vulgar people the catastrophic effects of their vulgarity?" And she, looking down her nose at you, there, some late-comer.

    And she: gun-metal gown sheer and open—breast-feeding the light; the lion knee’d thrown, languors into its own zinc-colored tarnish; behind them, the great open throated mirror, sparking more than her lips made red. "How does one effect any truly radical conversion in people’s consciousness, especially if they are not particularly unhappy? Only it would seem, by producing in them an experience so devastating that our paramount example of it is Saint Paul’s experience on the road to Damascus." She: eyes; censers burn the decaying flowers swung; defiance twice bloomed time strewn at her feet like charred newspaper.

    This I not the Circe I knew in college. And under her arm in the vanity, creeps the man unchanged—we believe hero? When she received us, all of us pigs, left her, as able husbands. This is not Circe in this painting at all: stiff-backed and false postured for viewing delight. Will you creep or watch the creeper make statues of himself—bracketed by 2 colonnades; or do you take your chances with her and drink. When you come unto love ask her, am I your jackal or swine.

    *The sentences under quote are from Michael Tanner’s introduction to Twilight of the Idols and The Anti-Christ, by Friedrich Nietzche.

    1. That's great man. Did you invent the form or did you find it?

    2. I would love to claim it, its more of an idea, really. I'm sure other folks have used something similar. I think about form now in terms of relationships between different time sets. Switching what used to be a "line" of iambic pentameter, for a single syllable, sentence, paragraph/verse/or even a whole "poem" set within a series of poems. It's a bit weird maybe, I dunno. It is expanding the definition of time, just like we can expand rhyme from end rhyme to front, exact, syntax and subject(etc.).

      I'm glad you liked it!

  6. Circe

    her potions lure
    the weary travelers
    in swine stupor