Epic Poems

YES, write, if you want to, there's nothing like trying;
Who knows what a treasure your casket may hold?
I'll show you that rhyming's as easy as lying,
If you'll listen to me while the art I unfold.
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Did the people of Viet Nam
use lanterns of stone?
Did they hold ceremonies
to reverence the opening of buds?
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I have lived in important places, times
When great events were decided, who owned
That half a rood of rock, a no-man's land
Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims.
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I. THEIR BASIC SAVAGERY

Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,
Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable,
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His poems refuse
to mourn his passing, they
detach themselves from
books, magazines, wall hangings
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Was never form and never face
So sweet to SEYD as only grace
Which did not slumber like a stone,
But hovered gleaming and was gone.
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Dust in the winds
Shadows walking leaving trails
Eyes cocking navigate scents meddle the streets
Nightingale scans the sounds of thousands voices
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I THE DARK

In a worldless timeless lightless great emptiness
Four-faced Brahma broods.
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The arc of my brain reshaped for
The room to fill senses and madness
Acronyms and seduction amalgamated
Boundaries of essence essentials
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Watching baseball, sitting in the sun, eating popcorn,
reading Ezra Pound,
and wishing that Juan Marichal would hit a hole right through the
Anglo-Saxon tradition in the first Canto
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The Sacrificing Of The Poor Heroes For The Independence (Epic)
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Either they would be independent or martyred they told
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The heroic stars spending themselves,
Coining their very flesh into bullets for the lost battle,
They must burn out at length like used candles;
And Mother Night will weep in her triumph, taking home her heroes.
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Not for the love of women toil we, we of the craft,
Not for the people's praise;
Only because our goddess made us her own and laughed,
Claiming us all our days,
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Your love taught me to grieve
and I have been in need, for centuries
a woman to make me grieve
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I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
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The patriots are generally seen
In loving country
Loving nation
Thinking bigger of both
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HUMAN SHIELD
the order of the day with every cadre
BATTLE FIELD
brought into the habitant world
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We women teach our little sons how wrong
And how ignoble blows are; school and church
Support our precepts and inoculate
The growing minds with thoughts of love and peace.
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I

What new element before us unborn in nature? Is there
a new thing under the Sun?
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A Woman
(International woman's day)

Woman is a strange world,
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Book I: The Council of Study Groups
Mock Epic: The Gathering of the Learned
Sing, O Blackboard, chronicler of alliances,
Of Students forming bonds in quest for knowledge.
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Book I: The Hero vs. the Alarm Clock
Mock Epic: The Siege of Dawn
Sing, O Morning, herald of relentless alarms,
Of Heroes dragged from dream's enchanted halls,
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Sing, O Eye, herald of mortal illusion,
Of Heroes struck by the fleeting glance of destiny,
Where one moment, brief as lightning,
Transforms mundane corridors into fields of myth.
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Sing, O Hearth, witness to dynasties in miniature,
Of Heroes—siblings—waging epic wars over kingdoms small,
Where chairs become thrones, blankets are fortresses,
And every toy a relic of contested sovereignty.
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Mock Epic: The Cat's Conquest of the Sofa
Sing, O Cushions, witnesses to triumph and terror,
Of Heroes four-legged and furred,
Who wage wars not with swords, but with claws and cunning,
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Sing, O Desk, witness to tragedy of epic proportions,
Where Heroes—mortal writers—wield the Noble Pen,
Instrument of thought, sword of imagination,
And find it failing at the peak of destiny.
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Sing, O Podium, witness to mortal grandeur,
Where Heroes rise to deliver Serious Speeches
On matters petty, minuscule, absurd,
As if kingdoms hung upon the fate of teaspoons and napkins.
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epic

you spill stories— scattered leaves in your autumn breath, some thorns in the bush, others laughter in the wind. i gather each whisper, as if it were the epic carved on the walls of my soul.
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Encyclopediac Poetics

Poetry Of Mudanity is epic and stylistic experiencing poem in experienetalization of Solitude and uncreatively inventive of the present gift of human condition of Life_heat_and _dust assemblage.
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The Immortal Epics!

Early morning the cries of birds like Myna, parrots and crows
Led by single eagle give waking call to all having deep sleep;
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