Hyacinth

Photos: Villa Adriana, Tivoli, Italia.

Antipodes

Antipodes of mutual man

Set upon discordant land

In amongst your filth and greed

Liberty lying to be freed...

To whom does the hammer speak?

Set alone dying in your sleep...

Lead guitar: Kostas

Rhythm guitar/ Vocals: Leigh

Video Footage: Euripides' Bacchae

Ελλαδα XIII-XVIII

The third part of my ode to Greece in the stanza of Spencer.

Argument: Orestes, the son of Agamemnon, born into power cannot expect to escape its depravities.

XIII.
There is a rupture, a moment of bleak
  Empty wilderness a time lost to all,
  Before whence all idealists did seek,
  To test their skills unprepared for the fall,
  The house of old Mycenae’s blood drenched hall,
  Familiar bonds not always so dear,
  A king though in stature may be quite tall,
  Orestes’ doom, to complacently hear,
Furies’ cry for lifeblood, his lineage clear.

XIV.
Tell me how could any such Delphic bard,
  Make song of sparse eons’ austerity?
  When even muses themselves find it hard,
  The act of fine vocal dexterity?
  Long gone are days of kind sincerity,
  A feature so common among equals,
  Fully knowing harsh pending levity,
  That weight of a Bronze age that now appalls,
The pending curtain call which upon greatness falls.

XV.
Orestes, son of family dispute,
  To whom it fell the burden of vengeance,
  Against his own kindred, to raise his boot,
  Blot out the life that gave him essence.
  Electra too, in his sister’s presence,
  Brought down retribution on his own head,
  Furies sought unremitting repentance,
  They drove him forth to Athens, where it’s said,
Trial by reason! Passions soothed and put to bed!

XVI.
Barely come of age, the soft hairy down
  Of his chin still smooth, quite easily seen.
  Such youth commits matricide for the crown,
  For Clytemnestra’s end he was too keen.
  The hot-headed impatience of a teen,
  Brought about further dynastic shift.
  She having been in turn also too mean,
  Orestes merely repeating to lift
The knife by which his father too was set adrift.

XVII.
Hardly avoidable his destiny,
  Punish a mother of so little love,
  For a husband long lost at war away,
  Agamemnon returning felt her shove
  His war weary personage from above,
  Down into Hades’ waters thereabout,
  Polluted bloodshed the peace of a dove,
  Long since denied during Troy’s tragic rout,
Likewise, nobody cared for his own final shout.

XVIII.
Despite his depravity, such an act,
  The duty of honour should deserve praise,
  To avenge a father who but lacked,
  Nothing to a son which should amaze,
  Agamemnon’s vengeance he obeys,
  A brother & sister seem justified,
  Forgetting that father’s very own craze,
  Iphigenia, their sibling once sighed,
Ritual sacrifice! The Greek cause obliged!


Poetry/ Music/ Photos: Leigh David Cobley

Al-Andalus' Flame

Out of the south Al-Andalus' flame

Bitter reproach despite the rules of the game,

Regret thee not the pilgrimage made from thy land...

Hadrian's homeland from here he came,

Sleepy Italica on a rustic plane...

The Alcazar, much written of you hast been

A quiet shady spot below the green

The weeping wail of a guitar did there pass...

There calle Betis was found

That for which Hispalis is well renowned

With your feet stomping the ground...

The dancing girls swing their way

On you their eyes curl and play...

The procession moves on

The pace past applaudable...