#ttcpoems

Poem for Apollon ☀️ regarding his epithet Dionysiodotes, or "giver of Dionysus" 🍇. As the god of music and song, Apollon provided the atmosphere for Dionysus' rituals, trances, and drunken parties.

Kind of...blended that with ideas about frenzied artistry lol

Oh Mousagetes, send me

one of your maidens dear

to infect me with expression

like Maenad's madness

Invoke in my veins

scrawling text, scrawling

arteries, thousands of words

and ink for blood

Graphite soot line my lungs

for hacking onto bone-

white pages, make a smoker

out of me

How much of you is Reason,

really, Dionysiodotes?

should Kalliope bury all of Homer

in my throat, if Kleo forced my hand

to hold all of history, would I not stumble,

drunkenly hit the ground for another sip

from your katharos?

Devotional Poem for Apollon, who has been granting me guidance and truths as of late, that I feel ill-equipped to return in kind.

To Say χάριν (Thank you)

What am I meant to say

When Helios breaks from Lady Eos:

from a cracked eggshell his rays --

your light -- pours down my head,

gracing my pan with molten yolk?

What Kharis can I return in Hemera's

brief hours -- before Phaeton hurtles down

to Iapetus, before You whisper Nyxian

Truth to me, Phoebus?

Your pierce my heart with light,

Fair Archer, and once again,

to say χάριν is not enough.

Khaire Lord Apollon!

The halls of Olympos are peaceful. Nyx has embraced the world with Her starry quilt; all is hushed save for a gentle tune and summer crickets.

The tune is Apollon- slender fingers plucking lyre strings in the glow of Hestia's hearth. Her light wraps around the smooth pillars of Zeus' palace, warming the timeless walls with midnight sunset.

Up, up, up rise the pure tones of Erato, honeyed vibrato caressing the domed ceiling. Soprano, so gentle it might break, melds with the rumbling strum of Mousagetes' lyre. She sings of

love, center stage. There in the night, Zeus & Hera dance. The world asleep, Helios at rest: they sway from side to side, the folds of Her dress brushing the tops of His sandals. They hold each other close, cheek to cheek, shoulder to shoulder.

Bathed in light, Hera cannot help but smile. Light sparkles from Her jewels, Her wine-dark eyes. This brings content to the Pater's face - no lightning strike in his gaze, no storm clouds brew on his brow. He holds Her closer, whispering beauty and love to her ear. Tonight the sky is clear.