Eumenides

Restricted thoughts of a forgotten race

Eumenides chase us from place to place

Apollo leads us on to waste

Dionysus set the pace.

Destruction was wrought by Furies far and wide

Bliss in negations, never besides

Ulterior mind frames, all can be left to pride...

Kostas: Pontian lyre

Leigh: Guitar & Vocals

Ελλάδα III-VIII

An ancient bard makes his debut at the sanctuary of Epidaurus...

III.
Frail uncertainty of future life 
   Has no bearing on an opponent’s fight, 
   Many noble souls’ unrepenting strife, 
   Each attempt descends into darkest night, 
   Every free spirit enchained, denied sight
   Of passions, took us away from that bond,
   Servitude has known not of wrong nor right,
   Deep embittered patience still remained fond
For conceptual beauty! We forever longed!

IV.
Then as now stumbling through an era, 
   Eventually to go by the name, 
   A classical age, Apollo’s lyre, 
   Or affinities holding true, the same, 
   Reminiscences, most have always been tame
   Followers, few deserve remembrance, 
   Those who invent another type of game, 
   Set the dice rolling until decadence 
Misuses cultural riches through fat opulence!

V.
All institutions plagiarize anew, 
   Give ethical clarity, sense denied,
   The family where sons & daughters grew, 
   Was founded on a stone deep red blood dyed, 
   Against the instincts obligingly lied, 
   Suit propriety, avoid provocation, 
   True loves passion, forgotten, pushed aside.
   Deadly union, honour’s destitution, 
Mutual wealth poached into cold extinction!

VI.
Our world is abound with divine pretenses, 
   That have always sought to hold their harsh sway, 
   Divide unequally, raising fences, 
   To show who is banished and who can stay, 
   Invoking difference between those who’d say,
   That we have no quarrel with each other, no!
   Rather they would try to keep us at bay. 
   Final indictment their weak powers show, 
Lofty in abundance! Yet spiritually low!

VII.
High-minded princes, bravery’s fountain, 
   Not always the case we see poets told.
   Men suspicious, unbelieving, doubting, 
   Mythology cut off in days of old.
   The relevance that such tales should hold, 
   Over disparity of meager ways,
   Not caring for eloquence unless sold.
   Something fit to wile away idle days,
The genius amongst us grudgingly displays!

VIII.
The now ruined city of Mycenae
   Was once founded by Perseus of fame, 
   Who rode the wingèd horse elegantly
   And the snakes of Medusa’s hair did tame, 
   He brought low the Kraken, that very same
   Threat to Andromeda, African bride, 
   Whose former suitor he was forced to maim,
   Only the hauntiness of such Greek pride, 
Could indulge romantic rivalry to be set aside.

Virgil: The Golden Age Returns.

Muses of Sicily, let us attempt a rather more exalted theme. Hedgerow and humble tamarisk do not appeal to all. If we must sing of woodlands, let them be such as may do a consul honour.

We have reached the last era in Sibylline song. Time has conceived and the great Sequence of the Ages starts afresh. Justice, the virgin, comes back to dwell with us, and the rule of Saturn is restored. The firstborn of the New Age is already on his way from high heaven down to earth.

With him, the Iron Race shall end and Golden Man inherit all the World. Smile on the Baby's birth, immaculate Lucina; your own Apollo is enthroned at last.

And it is in your consulship, yours, Pollio, that this glorious Age will dawn and the processing of the great months begin. Under your leadership all traces that remain of our iniquity will be effaced and, as they vanish, free the world from its long night of horror.

He will foregather with the gods; he will see the great men of the past consorting with them, and be himself observed by these, guiding a world to which his father's virtues have brought peace.

Free-roaming ivy, foxgloves in every dell, and smiling acanthus mingled with Egyptian lilies - these, little one, are the first gifts that the earth, unprompted by the hoe, will lavish on you. The goats, unsheparded, will make for home with udders full of milk, and the ox will not be frightened of the lion, for all his might. Your very cradle will adorn itself with blossoms to caress you. The snake will come to grief, and poison lurk no more in the weed. Perfumes of Assyria will breathe from every hedge.

Later, when you have learnt to read the praises of the great and what your father achieved, come to understand what manhood is, the waving corn will slowly flood the plains with gold, grapes hang in ruby clusters on the neglected thorn, and honey-dew exude from the hard trunk of the oak.

Even so, faint traces of our former wickedness will linger on, to make us venture on the sea in ships, build walls around our cities, and plough the soil. With a new Tiphys at the helm, a second Argo will set out, manned by a picked heroic crew. Wars will even repeat themselves and the great Achilles be dispatched to Troy once more.

Later again, when the strengthening years have made a man of you, even the trader will forsake the sea, pine-wood ships will cease to carry merchandise for barter, each land producing all it needs. No mattock will molest the soil, no pruning-knife the vine; and then at last the study ploughman will free his oxen from the yoke. Wool will be taught no more to cheat the eye with this tint or with that, but the ram himself in his own meadows will change the colour of his fleece, now to the soft glow of a purple dye, now to a saffron yellow. Lambs at their pastures will find themselves in scarlet coats.

The fates have spoken, in concord with the unalterable decree of destiny. "Run spindles", they have said. "This is the pattern of the age to come."

Enter - for the hour is close at hand - on your illustrious career, dear child of the gods, great increment of Jove. Look at the world, rocked by the weight of its overhanging dome; look at the lands, the far-flung seas and the unfathomable sky. See how the whole of creation rejoices in the age that is to be!

Ah, if the last days of my life could only be prolonged, and breath enough remain, for me to chronicle your acts, then neither Thracian Orpheus nor Linus could outsing me, not though the one had his mother and the other had his father at his side, Orpheus, his Calliope, and Linus, Apollo in all his beauty. If Pan himself, with Arcady for judge, were to contend with me, the great god Pan, with Arcady for judge, would own defeat.

Begin, then, little boy, to greet you mother with a smile: the ten long months have left her sick at heart. Begin, little boy: no one who has not given his mother a smile has ever been thought worthy of his table by a god, or by a goddess of her bed.

Tree shelving

Blinkie.

1.

Her dark eyes speak of a deep madness

That fulfills itself through burning lust;

Breaking free from a painful sadness,

Their inner nature which desperately must

Unite the elements until reduced to dust

When only true feelings survive this plain;

Love’s essence she carries on her bust

Beyond the trappings of mortal strain,

Idealic beauty leads to passions insane.

2.

Like a playful child of the night

She brings out the best in his being;

Where sweet ecstasy takes soaring flight

Above past woes from them freeing

The love lorn spirit inside awakening

A new dawn with flowering desire;

Full of wanton need and longing,

Those passions set alight, on fire

Taking them, away from the depths, ever higher.

3.

Her breath beguiles an innocent air,

Soft flowing hair in the breeze;

Of love’s fond caresses she takes her share,

Which none but Venus would deem to seize,

Strokes that aim to passionately please

And gently warm the erratic beats

Of a heart thawing from a deep freeze;

Finding fertile ground in loving treats,

Sheer joy brought through amorous feats.

4.

Like a frightful dealer in souls’ delights

She steals the heart of folly’s nerves;

The battle of sexes serenely fights

Its war against unimpassioned births;

Loyal romance she alone serves

The goddess who rewards all open deeds;

Giving what beauty truly deserves,

Day by day delightfully sowing seeds

Of future harmony wherever it leads.

The Pleasant Deception.

Listen to the heartbeat of the earth,

To put out the sun at will,

Enjoy the cruelty of your eyes,

To see by the soft gleam of the lightning,

Search the searchlights of night's brain,

Shadows in flight are left to the seas.

Pull them to pieces,

It's all just for show,

You can't go on leave,

No eternally no,

Truth's not for us,

Oh so high,

Merely a failure in the use of the lie.

Acceptance of the deed,

We'll never see our inherent need,

Of a self deceptive and a sickly creed,

We'll never see our inherent greed.

Appearance of the morbid, mindless cheerfulness,

Just modest mitigation of the mind.

Viracocha.

Kon Tiki Viracocha.

I.
Hear we of imminently needed change,

Climactic battle & enduring strife,

World weary citizens of an age

Fed up with such a struggle for life

Precariously balanced on the edge of a knife,

Knowing not from whence come new ways,

Old orders out of touch where civil strife is rife,

Holding back the future of different days,

The people will be kept no more in a dark haze.

II.
The time is always now: when to act

Yet with a sense of urgency, we hope

To bring about the shift, make it fact

Taking no notice of wretched lies spoke

To keep us dependent on a cruel joke,

Preventing potential from being realized,

Another chapter long should have been wrote,

No economic solution can be prized,

At the cost of true humanity, ignored & despised.

III.
See now what days of light

Are brought forth when we think

The limits of the past left to the night,

At the moment we here are on the brink

Of finding our first clear minded sight

Beyond the trappings of wrong or right,

A new age can lift us further still,

Self knowing will take us to that height,

Consciously ascending by force of will,

Possibilities with which our hearts we fill.

IV.
Out from the lake come ye hence,

To partake of servile days no more,

Titicaca thy dwelling place immense,

Back to the land of men, come to the fore

Where decadent rulers little know what’s in store

For them and theirs, in these times

The bearded civilizer of ancient folklore

Stands amongst us, his hour chimes,

Setting to right centuries of accepted crimes.

V.
Viracocha, not a god as once told,

Yet a hero of the populace was he

A figure in a tight garment of white & gold,

Who cometh forth to remind us that we could be

More than mere beasts, creatively free,

Seeing as we are not in the end of days,

But before a new direction we agree

That if you set a new path, it pays

To follow that which thy heart inside says.

VI.
Residing in the long abandoned remains

Of Tiawanaku’s forfeited greatness,

A land casting a shadow on former pains,

The loss of history left memoryless,

Prompting the inner search upon us to press,

Finding solace in an ancient message

Far from materiality, we now digress

Delving deeper into an unspoken language,

A fractured aeon lost to an archaic past age.

VII.
Emerging from the lake with the sun’s rays,

Upon a savage earth, bearing down,

Any such one seemeth to pave new ways

Towards a higher state for the city or town,

And to new ways we’ll gradually come round,

Accepting the wisdom of a new word,

Despite the old order’s spiteful frown,

The gentle teacher’s thoughts are heard,

Knowledge given wings akin to a bird.

VIII.
The bloody rituals of carnivorous meals,

All grow to despise that which they once ate,

The folly of a primitive group that feels

The need to deny their natural state,

Keeping them fixed on base things not great,

Enlightened beings move far beyond,

The trappings of local ignorance & hate,

The old asked only to react & respond,

Rather than finding that for which all are truly fond.

IX.
Venturing forth through Cuzco’s valley,

Viracocha found the fertile ground

Where crude building blocks lay

And so could be reset, turned right around,

Where now Saqsayhuaman’s temple is found

Our testimony to that earliest time,

Before the Inca’s panpipe was ever to sound,

When spirited man still stood in his prime,

From whence came this sorry state of decline?

X.
As the Milky Way’s void aligns itself

With our father the sun on high,

Saturn & Jupiter also bring us health,

Their Andean counterparts also lie

At the heart of new ideals, we’ll try

To bring out the best in our nature,

As the cosmic Pachakuti lights up the sky

On the final solstice of rupture

The overturning of space/time’s sacred architecture.