The Slain

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Ancient Greek Mythology, Australian poet, Homer, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The Iliad, The Trojan Plain, The Trojan War, Troy

The Slain

In ancient times a certain poet wrote
A mighty poem of a dreadful war:
The corpses on the battlefield will bloat
Until their comrades take that ground once more.
The gashes that the spears and arrows tore
Are here described in detail — every kill;
The splattered brains, the lifeless eyes, the gore,
The clattering armour — all flow from his quill.
The flower of youth all bloodied, wrecked and still;
Their beauty lost upon the hallowed plain
That lies before the city on the hill.
A catalogue of courage, death, and pain,
Yet not a tome where war is glorified —
A tale of love — of men — and how they died.

— D.N. O’Brien

Hector

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Achilles, Anger of Achilles, Aphrodite, Apollo, Cypris, Death of Hector, Greek Mythology, Hector, Hector's body, Homer, Ilion, poem, poetry, Priam, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The Iliad, Trojan War, Troy

Achilles’ anger was unquenched, and so,
Three times each day he dragged him through the dirt.
Yet he remained untarnished head to toe –
No bloodied flesh, no broken bones, no hurt
Showed on unblemished skin. Still and inert,
As if asleep, and no decay was seen.
It seemed by unseen armour he was girt,
For Cypris and Apollo kept him clean.
His wounds they’d closed, since, bloody and obscene,
His body had been taken from the field.
He’d fallen to the bronze so bright and keen,
Yet now the cuts that killed him were all healed.
Achilles longed to tear him limb from limb,
Whilst grieving Priam dreamed of burning him.

{Pic – The Triumph of Achilles by Franz von Matsch. {from Wikipedia}}

Alexandros

Tags

Alexander the Great, Alexandros, Australian traditional poetry, Death of Patroklas, Ecbatana, Formal poetry, Hepheistion, Patroklas, poem, poetry, Spenserian sonnet, The Illiad, Trojan War, Troy

The clouds obscure the sun in Babylon.
The young king lies grief-stricken on his bed.
His loyal friend, great general, is gone;
Hepheistion the warrior is dead.
The man who filled the Persian hordes with dread;
Cut down by fever – not by spear or bow.
No scimitar had slashed – no wound had bled.
No weapon, by man wielded, brought him low.
No armour bright, or shield, could foil a foe
That steals men’s lives unseen – a cunning thief.
But all these tears? Grave doubts take root and grow.
Why so unseemly is this show of grief?
You ask why? He’s Achilleus reborn!
And thus Patroklas he must duly mourn.

Troy Story – an inside job

Tags

Fifth Column, Greek Mythology, Homer, Odysseus, Priam, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet, The Illiad, Traitors, Trojan Horse, Trojan War, Troy

Resourceful Lord Odysseus, pray tell –
What is your plan to cause the fall of Troy?
For as you know, the war does not go well;
What tactics are you seeking to employ?
What trickery, what subterfuge, what ploy,
Have you, clever Odysseus, designed?
What cunning plan? What means will you deploy?
Odysseus – what do you have in mind?
So spoke Odysseus: “Priam is blind.
Achaeans wait without, but safe within
Troy’s stout defences, patiently, our kind,
Who went there long ago and settled in,
Now wait, embedded – an imposing force;
I call these warriors my Trojan Horse.“