Homer Attempts the Next Epic by Michele Battiste

Quiet your limbs, Hyperion.
The wild wrath of your
flailing slaps breath from our lungs,

addles the clearest thinking among us.
The waters glints, threatening
combustion. We are not

capricious, knowing one stray crack
in the siphon will rout our reclaimed
asylum: power. Does that smack

of hubris? When Prometheus stole
fire from Zeus, were you, like your upstart
king, enraged? The few prophets left

cite omens of anger, but they also suffer
Cassandra’s bane. Tonight I walk
among the exhausted, hunting

breezes that recall wine-dark sea.
I dream of a hero sailing
the currents, his black ship raising

spray from ancient depths. Beneath
the burning stars, streetlights like embers,
I invoke a rescued dawn and I sing.

From: http://poetsgulfcoast.wordpress.com/2010/06/08/two-poems-by-michele-battiste/

Date: 2010

By: Michele Battiste (19??- )