in a barge
whose prow is a lion's
head, the king departs
for byzantium. he wears
an iron helmet, shaped
like an ice-cream cone
a grave expression
tattooed upon his eye-lids.
above his party
the sky is cloudless
the sea improbably
blue. a yellow-haired child
squirms in a dark-haired
woman's arms, the narrow shape
of a second crown
cut out against the azure.
the king, a vigorous
war-like old man, together with
the son & heir who kicks
in his mother's arms
is today departing
on a sea
improbably blue
beneath a cloud
less sky. departing
for byzantium, they say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sweet man! You do write poems! A lot of imagery going on here, and a story to boot. Loved it! S