Urban Olympus
It was upon the hour the world is caught
then bitten by the brute which hunts its heavens.
Rooftops accommodate the hanging jaw
of this unsated beast—whatever it may be.
Whatever creature ancient tales have said
has great enough a greed to chew our skies.
Who—coarse of manners, gnaws with open maw
that we may watch him swallow daytime’s light.
Where the longings of severed skyscrapers
seemed fierce to us below—as flowing wind
buffeting our hoods with their lovesick blows.
Where buildings of unnumbered glassy gazes
fawned so openly for one another,
the moistures smeared along their panes had let
them seem as teary Arguses—with equal eyes.
I spied poor Icarus and his demise
neglected in mankind’s ambition. When,
although they strap no waxen wings to fly,
they force the reins of Phoebus aside
and join his course with metal pinions.
A pantheon of buildings and machines.
Deities with the providence of old
encircling us each day—and yet “Olympus
long has fallen,” fools persist to say.
~~~~~
Apollo And Daphne
*An inversion of the myth.
Arisen from the blushes of the earth:
shades for which I cannot assuredly
assign a cause—the privilege or the bloodshed,
in having touched you—caught you in your fall.
Arisen are the flowers, sprung from where
my truant arrow felled you. Tardiness,
posthumous portraitures of you in rosebeds
beneath a tree that bowers your eternal
slumber dear—Daphne—dear. I fail to please
the charge of this contrition. Hours I have
already offered for a pitying
regression of the grief—the guilt, for having
misfired amidst our play. Amidst a wicked day
where sunlight caused my imprecision; when
it blinded me. Since no amount of tears
assuage this demand of sorrow—I
at the least must wear the foliage of that
which supplants me: the royal tree
stewarding you as I have done in life.
Let it bedeck my brow—the laurel’ s leaf—
knowing I endorse your newer watchman…
Rest well below his shade, as fragrant roses
perfume your earthen grave, those birthed from you.
Such beauty in excess—you decorate the earth in death.
Rueben De’Marco is a twenty-year-old poet from Birmingham, England. Deeply drawn to myth, he explores modern parallels to the ancient world, whose legends continue to inspire his work.
