polyxena

2005-02-26T11:23:00.000Z

We know it's tedious, but we've moved to....

Minerva Victrix poetry blogs

thank you for your consideration

2.29

2004-10-07T19:39:00.000Z

The median is the strangest in this world,
Those doubly hemmed by cambia of gold and dross, two deaths for the
middle human,
They have an ease but they have eyes to see,
They struggle to protect, in their vigilance they lose themselves.
Doubly hemmed and of it doubly irritable.

2.28

2004-10-06T22:37:00.000Z

Thymoetes climbed the rainbow to sit as keystone,
Waited, thought of himself as the opposite to Faustian,
With a good forewarning of the chute, the slide,

Refraction, although existing in colour, no essence, no esse,
As if the parabola, as if the hyperbola might mean some thing,
The rainbow can enter the mind freely, lacking any harsh body.

The covenant of our Lord that Thymoetes saw, climbed,
Resplendent, and regarding it and the crock of gold,
Despite the talk, meeting the earth never.

2.27

2004-10-05T18:27:00.000Z

At the crossroads, the governor imposed from a far capital
As a Pilate or Quisling or Seyss-Inquart,
And for him too many had on their lips collaborator,
The creak of torsion,
The twisting links caught and played by zephyrs,
Phineus turns as random as the dice,

At the crossroads the cadaver has done five hundred years,
orbits aimed at the advance,
In death, this fingerpost will inform the traveller,
Who thinks they have a choice,

Three times Bellerophon strikes the oracle,
Three times the oracle comes to rest,
Telling of the road just done, return.

2.26

2004-10-04T19:17:00.000Z

Beauty, the lode discovered on the poor farmer's land, making
     riches overnight,
Galatea from a cottage or croft, transfigured immediately from
     her incongruous place,
The world shall not allow beauty in such disguising rags,

Has she shut off her low birth,
That might cause her to be agenda'd emissary from below to
     above,
And when she detonates, no betrayer—has she?

2.25

2004-10-03T17:48:00.000Z

Love, especially that love torrential, founded on polarity and the
exploration of difference,
Too often can become a universal key,
And once it has opened any dark and deplorable vaults in the
psyche,
Having no consonance between the parties,
For them to sense, and to impede their rush, disaster awaits.

2.24

2004-10-02T22:46:00.000Z

Pygmalion in the railway delta, having selected,
Roulette of the tracks, will lie and wait,
with throat and ankles meeting the straights, across the span
sometimes the metal sounds are near, sometimes far,

I calculate with infinitesimals because purity is my grail, he says,
Whether the tonnes of iron will choose the same,
Where is the one true outcome inside a multitude of false?

The Perils of Pauline, The Exploits of Elaine,
Pacific 6-2-2 will mince him fine, Mogul 6-2-0 will have his soul,
The chancery is no different to always, he says,
To home or heaven, one or the other tonight.

Tonight, he will go to his home,
Or he will go to heaven, one or the other tonight.

2.22

2004-09-30T18:38:00.000Z

Says Electra:

—I need a moral good and evil now,
Something above the quotidian good and bad,
Something above the puritan right and wrong,
And if such shou’d not prove available,
Then this is much more serious than I thought.

2.21

2004-09-29T19:48:00.000Z

Arachne, gathering more concisely her anger:
—I see them in their black sarcophagi,
Above the people so efficiently,
Untouchable, the dead kings of the land.

The world's so slowly made, says Arachne,
And with its truths so slowly turned to use.

2.20

2004-09-28T18:18:00.000Z

Got leaders, got a great many leaders declined, superannuated,
tested to destruction,
These odd little autocrats, great steersmen, helmsmen,
Whether men of steel or princes of peace,
The overkill not only in the adjectives but in the nouns as
well.

2.19

2004-09-27T17:37:00.000Z

Says Iphigenia:

Each year I greet as though my lover arrived,
Well-favoured and debonair, I feel,
And he's got swoonsome written all over him,
Champagne and roses and warmth in the cold,
I welcome him as the year that will sweep me from my
feet.

But as each year in succession predeceases,
Badly let down, betrayed, I must shuffle to the next.

2.18

2004-09-26T21:01:00.000Z

Sometimes the road from gulch and Tombstone lifts and Providence
large-lettered blares; debate at this, but there is no debate.

2.17

2004-09-25T18:14:00.000Z

The Muses, strange in the dotted clouds and skys,
Strange in the jumbled rocks and hills,
Strange in the threading boulevards,
Strange in the solid houses placed on addresses all their long
lives,
Strange in all lands as fleeting visitors, vortices, engrossing
what is known,
Straight lines shivered in their certainty,
The Muses create—the Muses also destroy.

2.16

2004-09-24T18:38:00.000Z

Repentance, too lascivious,
Nor consolation, which ices the passions to unusable.

2.15

2004-09-23T19:32:00.000Z

As for our glorious leader...
As for Aquila, apology, he doesn’t know, but talks of we
and everyone, when truly should say I.

2.14

2004-09-22T17:58:00.000Z

Everyman is home and ensconced while Heracles demonstrates
himself against dogs and fire-breathers,
Everyman watches, Everyman has good envy,
That their envy unites with frisson and fetish in them is their
original sin.

2.13

2004-09-21T19:40:00.000Z

This land a land where simpletons hang from gibbets,
The hemp as firm, the death as perfectly complete
As if the hangman thought the guilt were so.

2.12

2004-09-20T17:22:00.000Z

Says Bellerophon:
Turned in the night a bobsleigh ride and sweated,
Asked of Vendetta that the cup be taken from me,
She smiled.
I avert my eyes constantly from her proposition,
Poised there irremovable, nothing that cou’d be replaced
in my soul.

2.11

2004-09-19T16:21:00.000Z

Electra, she ‘s always at the balancing of her sword on any
fulcrum, that the hilt is near and the point is far,
The hand is balanced to the sword because the eye has
watched the sword,
The will is prepared, without blemish;
The twittering of draughts and breezes,
The shiver of passing pedestrians,
The quiver of Richter two or three, far, antipodean,
The chaos of a butterfly beating its wings,
She ‘s got the job of Klaitemnestra on her mind.

2.10

2004-09-18T17:17:00.000Z

The Alban dispute between sacred and pauper, which
is a mixed matter,
One is prosperous, the other unholy,
Surely they do not commute, but Alba swears that they do.

2.9

2004-09-17T18:50:00.000Z

They say Democracy, the people enthroned, but the word
arrives peculiar,
As if warped to opposite just to gain an exit from their
crooked mouths.

2.8

2004-09-16T20:26:00.000Z

Where then the gods, on your person,
Or behind, as the backdrop you could never evade?

2.7

2004-09-15T18:41:00.000Z

Hell must be a place of laughter,
Which rolls the caverns in everlasting oratorio brilliant
bashing against the shriven heads sweat-streamed,
A grand marquis of Hell twinkling with sedentary noblesse
oblige while his minions enjoy their fun,
The sinner and their shame, that double act.

2.6

2004-09-14T17:36:00.000Z

Says Minerva:
—Great Deus created the sexes as an abyss,
And betrays her fury, that the resplendence of the earth
shou’d point so directly at war.

2.5

2004-09-13T19:31:00.000Z

Eighth-day creation, thirteenth tribe, involuntarily in this
deposited,
Born and it is a citizen who is born—instantly, a gift not
begged for.

2.4

2004-09-12T20:03:00.000Z

Whereas each day is the province of a single god, at night
     they copulate,
And so to lie between the two, in the strife between
     Woden and Thor,
Or a bashful Freya and Saturn in their indecision,
When the drop of the date, that trauma, is a desparation at
     deepest midnight,
While humans sleep through and wake numbed to the doing.

2.3

2004-09-11T05:23:00.000Z

Bellerophon said:
I will make no monster in my path,
Refusing both fear and anger, which are the births of
monsters;
By knowledge, I defeat the process ordained.

2.2

2004-09-10T19:33:00.000Z

To be the way the wind is blowing—
Atop the high steeple, its weathervane of tin, a shark, whether mako,
reef, or white,
No special species or denomination, but Icthys, the people enter
through its jaws.

2.1

2004-09-09T17:23:00.000Z

The Furies say: Travel, only travel,
Through this small world whose monarch is decay,
Only in movement can there be life.
And Bellerophon: I have nothing to mourn, nothing to
celebrate,
Nothing to emulate and nothing to reject,
I am the blue blank mirror of a lake,
I am the exact face of snow on the glacier,
No action is put upon me, and no reaction to this,
I have nothing to move towards and nothing to gain.
The Furies say: Be within Time.

1.39

2004-09-08T19:14:00.000Z

Diana is warden of the panoptikon,
Heaven, the core, sleeplessly informed of the outer, wilder
ambit of earth,
The outpost of empire, where vice and sedition grow best
their bloom,
And if one termite mortal so stealthy
Should think to use the emerald crevices of forest,
The opal confusions of stream,
Or any such obscurity for a hidingplace,
The archeress has a barbed gaze to penetrate,
Demagogue who made the paths, equally to be negotiated.

1.38

2004-09-07T18:16:00.000Z

A vault in your head, Electra, that is discredited,
Just the one among several, chambers full of logical propositions
bent,
You are far too sentimental,
Accept the liquidations of the State, the showtrials, the necessary
absences,
Something to buoy the people, they are making grace.

1.37

2004-09-06T19:18:00.000Z

Since I am only a skeleton,
Patriotism slips between my bones and is soon gone.

1.36

2004-09-05T07:40:00.000Z

We shall have to kill you, if you refuse to believe,
They said, as the uncroyable finally caught up.
—Non l’avrei giammai creduto, ma farò quel que potrò,
as Orestes the Dissoluto
lights last cigarette
from their pentecostal flames.

—I shall stand firm, though it means the long drop,
Too late now for any different—a different me, I ‘d not live
     happily with him,
And still seems to own something of a smirk,
Dissoluto, is it to be the drab burger and fries the posse decree
     for you,
In their expeditiousness, now that they ‘ve arrived,
Or will you demand such caviares as Beluga and make them
     take another vile long time in the assembling?

1.35

2004-09-04T18:22:00.000Z

Neptune has frozen the sea,
From the green mass carves imitation thunderbolts, hurls
them at the people,
And though he kills one or two with these weapons that melt,
The people laugh at him—
You are only an uncle and brother, let 's laugh at you, they say.

1.34

2004-09-03T19:00:00.000Z

The rain is become snow, and the city's towers,
Wraithed by the storm, to their evil more exactly;
Knowing nothing else, they will continue
Even though their obituary is on the stocks.

The snow will take away the reticulation of avenues,
Maps murdered under the white, but the people will walk the same
track,
They will go to their same old homes,
They will greet their same partner,
They will sleep a while longer,
But labours done without salary will be a disorder,
Humans will be their own confusion, such disarray.

1.33

2004-09-02T18:53:00.000Z

Those three rather ripened mothers in their beauty contest, locked
suspicious each on each,
Lively, but with their signs of decomposition,
And Paris, wading in foolishness long-craved, now starts for
fright, noticing.

1.32

2004-09-01T19:10:00.000Z

In medias res unweave a way of sure return
This saga at its middle, to survey by clues
What has been achievement
What has been delay
And from the halfway chaos predict the finished human.
Then not to call a halt, continue and dissect
The precocious egg, find what was sprung ab ovo
What was personally done to personal detriment
And what was done by force majeure.

1.31

2004-08-31T21:20:00.000Z

Of the Oriental Five Blessings,
Longevity, wealth, serenity, virtue, and an easy death,
One material, four abstract.

1.30

2004-08-30T17:15:00.000Z

Fev'rish gods take down the world behind,
Erect some certain thing in front,
The noia is presumably the not-quite-perfect stealth
of their labour.

1.29

2004-08-29T19:04:00.000Z

Of Electra

Asleep, she is all of her times at the once,
They amalgamate, and the requirement is for some higher
     narrator to call them her,
Asleep, calamitous rides, far lighthouse gleams, minuets
     important then,
Asleep, licences, disputes, dishonest fabilieux, sleek dace
     turned uppermost in the stream,

Compressed by the grand outside to be circles in circles
Observant of herself
Observant of all others in their foreign activitys
Impressions gained
Circles concentric, the siege walls.

1.28

2004-08-28T20:54:00.000Z

There ‘s a hitch to the doing of miracles, even if the
process is natural they cannot be undone,
We live among these stubborn miracles, that we wou'd
walk away from if we cou’d.

1.27

2004-08-27T21:10:00.000Z

What say the windows in these white walls, when the
sky is utter cumulus of white?
A wink with a blind eye signifying nothing.

1.26

2004-08-26T18:50:00.000Z

Electra, with maleficence, to Orestes:
—What scares you of the virtuoso?

—That they are perfect, but they are never whole.

—I am frightened by a world in which the most talented
     are the most damaged.

—And I am frightened by their attempt to go naked
     in their singularity.

—But I say that Deus is more frightened by the virtuoso
     than ever was any human.

1.25

2004-08-25T18:08:00.000Z

At twilight, when the sights evinced are half-intense in
various blues and indigos
And not dependable,
Dionysus rides, Dionysus of the fixed idea,
Who rams the glass hard to the corners of his mouth,
Who darkly swallows obsession to match obsession, in the
idea they must neutralize.

1.24

2004-08-24T19:05:00.000Z

The great city of Alba, surely, is a person—
However, one unfamiliar with her denizens.

1.23

2004-08-23T18:04:00.000Z

Sometimes I forget the slavery in a community requires,
Each son agrees, each daughter keeps the faith,
They go in chains of luxurious silk.

Sometimes I forget the peril a community brings,
Each son agrees, each daughter keeps the faith,
Their shrunken heads are sewn to the Jivaro’s belt.

1.22

2004-08-22T10:04:00.000Z

Said Ajax on his return, obsessed almost wise,
—See the coastlines that make Alba in its region,
What the Lord hath writ, I ‘ll vehemently take hold,
I ‘ll heave against those affronting scrawls, those
infant efforts,
I ‘ll haul the coastlines straight, this world requires
its cleansing.

1.21

2004-08-21T17:57:00.000Z

So humans are composed of nature, soft nature,
And Deus & Dione fall as rain, or whitened manna snow,
as pesticide or fertilizer depending.

1.20

2004-08-20T14:23:00.000Z

Regarding the fruit of the tree, lustrous sin, appealing sin, two
I saw in Eden,
Playful and without care,
I saw an Eve blameless, and an Adam blameless,
Saw them alive without dismay,
These are not first parents, these are first children.

1.19

2004-08-19T18:01:00.000Z

I create a melancholy, so Jacobean and modish,
I am the implacable hawk, hung in the sky without ripple
of spectacle,
I create an air of menace, richly flavoured,
Monsters fear to attack me, until I bid them come.

1.18

2004-08-18T20:59:00.000Z

On a lapis sea, perhaps the lascivious Terrene sea,
On wavelets made scintillant at their peaks by sunlight
Bellerophon floats and freewheel drifts.
Microclime winds and currents will carry him far,
Without a need to be quenched by his arrival.

To the wharf, the stevedores haul the jetsam intercepted,
Lost these many years, a hulk, a huddle,
A man drowned, too weak for the immensitys of the sea.
Back in worming rivulets to its aggregate, the ocean drains
Between the wooden boards, leaving black ignorance,
As the last of sleep is gone from him.

1.17

2004-08-17T18:29:00.000Z

A pearl may be dissolved in the juice of a lemon,
An emerald is easily shattered on the ground, even a diamond too
     at times,
Gold can gain or lose in an afternoon,
While silver can be rubbed thin, losing its weight to the cloth, or
     take a tarnish from the sulphur in the air,
That morals are equally mutable, even to melting down and
     making anew, is gratifying.

1.16

2004-08-16T19:16:00.000Z

Deus harvests the weak—and why shou’d He take
such pleasure in so pitiable a harvest?

1.15

2004-08-15T18:02:00.000Z

I am the Ark of the Covenant, the tablets of the Law inside
     me,
When the covenant is broken I feel it as a distinct sickness
     within,
And if the Ark despoiled, the people despatched to Babylon,
When, by press of power, the scales are held permanently
     against me, inconsolable, I become mad.

1.14

2004-08-14T20:04:00.000Z

With portico of grey and columniation stark against the foe,
this unbent magnificence, which took down Galileo, down
Bruno,
And handed death to the insolent fool Socrates,
This courthouse is, and whether the felons and thieves
Who pass from street to prison through, were
Or were not, its potent demonstration wou’d have to be.

1.13

2004-08-13T19:31:00.000Z

When comes the winter of a human, and the former lords return,
Dragging back to the scholar, freshgreen and laden with books,
What beacons lit?
What unseen lands explored?
Any diamonds in the audit are covered by sterile snow.

So, says Bellerophon, child of war:
I will eye the old for the gall they perpetrate,
In fact, I will consider all for their mirror.

1.12

2004-08-12T18:23:00.000Z

It would be libidinous to feel the trickle of time if contrition were
part of the divine chromosome
And some final apology were available at the last—
But instead this is a voyage of reprimand and reproach,
And the approaching port an apprehension.

1.11

2004-08-11T17:41:00.000Z

Of their cardinal virtues,
I know that their hope bears a strong resemblance to their greed,
And that their faith moves never very far from prejudice,
But Caritas, even without vanity, is conditional and complex, how
     the volition might receive the subtle sights of cases deserving of
     her care.
Perhaps this, another thing of belonging,
Their charity begins at customs out, and not at home,
Because there can be none in this fair land who does not share in its
     bountys.

1.10

2004-08-10T19:35:00.000Z

Caulked selfish, I have to be, against receipt of love,
And if the donation of love must lapse in concert, then so be it.
Siegfried is not an interesting figure until he has my blood,
The type who owns the perversity, the impudence, the audacious
friponnerie, a controlled intoxication,
Only a one freer than Wotan.

1.9

2004-08-09T22:02:00.000Z

My vehemence has destroyed my return,
Footfalls flamed the planks to ashes beneath,
As over the bridges I ran, too fast to be tumbled myself,
Until, in my career, I needed no bridge.

1.8

2004-08-08T15:28:00.000Z

Achilles, whom others called cruel, said this:
There are many days in a life, many turnings in the world, and on
     a day of mundane action;
Nothing to presage that day above its two neighbours;
During its afternoon, with the sun threequarters ready to touch
     her ocean baths,
Death will come to the son of Peleus. A single arrow sniping,
     loosed without great plan,
Will pierce his chest; and maybe he feels his heart tapping against
     the wooden pole atime,
As if this last muscle attempts to repulse the threat,
But after that, he said, Achilles will be dead.

1.7

2004-08-07T19:27:00.000Z

Always, I suppose it unlucky to be born,
But am kind towards those of the opposite view,
Who labour long under their disadvantage.

1.6

2004-08-06T17:55:00.000Z

A black and turquoise dragonfly alit on aspen leaf, resplendent
of his gauzy wing,
Only for the thorax to shuddering split and a malodorous grub
crawl out upon the world;
So is the collision of sex and death.

1.5

2004-08-05T22:43:00.000Z

Says Orestes,
—Tyranny I oppose, because once I was weak,

But Electra, made into his enemy, replys,
—Once all were weak, and some become tyrants,

While both of them look up against the same Orion
of the sky.

1.4

2004-08-04T19:53:00.000Z

The parallax of Orestes, and how to keep the two worlds
adhering?
That bitter flintstrewn valley, authentic, unbearable,
And, comfort, that speck on the map of which he is Potentate,
Surrounded by riches, sandalwood and sardonyx,
Magnificence unprepared, unearned, before the end of the road.
Two that refuse to coincide,
Two that will never find a resonance,
Their moorings struck, a mishmash of umbra, penumbra and
their doubled confusions.

1.3

2004-08-03T23:40:00.000Z

Faith, yes, faith—if just the slightest once my hand cou’d
slip into their wallets,
And feel the cold uncirculated coin.

1.2

2004-08-02T20:36:00.000Z

We meander among the mistakes of the Lord,
Paths sawn-off by cliff-edge drops,
Marshes that snare the traveller to disease,
Wide tundra devoid of natural life in any possibility;

Areas awaiting His construction,
All the non sequiturs that unravel His universe if thought
about too much;
Polite it would be not mention His embarrassment,
Though the fault seems a striving for perfection.

Give us, we petition you, Prometheus,
Pallid and introspective where the Lord is brash,
A world more guarded, pragmatic more,
A field to suit the human above the immortal.

1.1

2004-08-01T14:51:00.000Z

With stylus I cou’d tick through the Decalogue my wickedness,
primus, secundus, tertius, through five,
To reach, by mortal dispensation, the second five,
which are the same.