Friday, September 23, 2005

Poem - Calliope

Here's a poem I toyed with for awhile. It tells the tale of the Siren (from the Odyssey), but from her point of view.


The wind sighed and grew calm, to pay heed to the song
Of the maiden there by the shore.
It had toured the earth, and heard many a verse
But never so lovely before.
Although quite well traveled, it could not unravel
The mystery of each sigh and moan.
A thing only of sound, but strong imagery bound
Within those dulcet tones.

Like an angel of Byron, her name simply Siren
She pleased both the ear and eye.
And when at her leisure it gave her great pleasure
To sing her song to the sky.
With no competition, no dark inhibition
The beauty of song and eye
Did each intermingle both dual and single
That none could ever decry.

And anyone there could not possibly swear
Which of the two was more sweet,
For before such a blend had never been penned
And surely would never repeat.
And Siren did sing for the joy it would bring
To herself, and all who could hear.
Her heart pure and kind, but inside she pined
For a man who would hold her dear.

Often before, off her distant shore
She’d spot a ship sailing by
But they never landed, they just left her stranded
And quietly she’d sit and cry.
She prayed to the gods who dwelt up above
One day her love would arrive
Led here by her song, he’d stay and belong
Forever by her side.

After many a year, and many a tear
A ship sailed close to shore.
As they drew near, their eyes wide with fear
One man stood to the fore.
Through his rugged pallor his eyes shone with valour,
As he strode onto the sand
Siren looked to the skies and gave thanks with her cries,
For finally, here was her man.

He was handsome and fair, wind blew through blonde hair
As he marched towards the lass
But his eyes they were hard, and his glance was a shard
That pierced her like broken glass.
“My love,” she did sing, “The gods they did bring
You to me here by my side.”
But he made no answer, and swift like a dancer
Pulled his sword and he did chide.

“Foul enchantress, for your death I am anxious,
“Your song has brought much pain.
“Your silken breath has sung men to their death
“But this shall not happen again.”
His sword glittered bright as a sudden light
Flashed within her eyes
Her love, this young man, had come with a plan
In which the young maiden would die.

She sung to her love, to the gods up above,
She sung to her only friend.
She sung of her pain, her sorrow, her strain,
Trusting her song to defend.
But her love’s cruel eyes did her song defy
He ignored her final request.
With a howl most fierce, his sword it did pierce
Through lovely Siren’s breast.

“My darling, how cruel,” Siren dying love’s fool,
“My song does not touch your heart.
“I would grant you my soul, your virtues extol
“I gave you my love from the start.”
The light in her eyes grew dim, and then died,
And she sang her final note.
The hero relaxed, and from his ears he pulled wax
And turned back towards his boat.


Bernie said...

I hate you.

Asher Hunter said...

Pour quoi?

Anonymous said...

You made Bernie cry.
You made Bernie Cry!
Bernie is a cry baby!
Bernie is a cry--sound of kitten approaching from behind--