29 lines
940 B
Markdown
29 lines
940 B
Markdown
|
%title As seen in Kakiphony's journal
|
||
|
|
%date 2010-03-03 00:50:41
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<strong>When you see this, post a poem in your journal</strong>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
Polyphemus at Morning
|
||
|
|
<em>Richard Threadgall</em>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
The blind Cyclops rose, wound clotted,
|
||
|
|
To the bleating of his rams--who called
|
||
|
|
To the cloth-dyer Aurora, day, day.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
He crawled in his cave, clutched Greeks;
|
||
|
|
Wine-pots splintered beneath his palms--
|
||
|
|
The blown-glass dark between Sicilian pines
|
||
|
|
Bleached, colored, and bubbled up toward blue.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
And his goats, greedy for sunlight
|
||
|
|
And the white Ausonian glare, bleated
|
||
|
|
And drooped their ticked ears while he counted--
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
He missed the ropes; his bleeding hands
|
||
|
|
Were two mauled despots stumbling under chains.
|
||
|
|
Dry wind salts his forehead, and his flock
|
||
|
|
Stamps down through the herd-paths, unburdened.
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
So was that savage chastened. Yet here am I,
|
||
|
|
Who will ever be master of you--and while I sleep
|
||
|
|
You look at the olive log, but never free me.
|