Of Sirens

O mystic voices on that watery main
Where sailing men have made their pilgrimage,
I hear thy harpy voices quail
All on a sudden thro' a veil
Of clouds that bring forth sheets of screaming rain
And try to guage
Where ye in craven guile do hide,
and think on what lost island far ye witchingly abide.

For I am far upon my meager bark,
On the salt waves up-tossed, and fear to drown;
Now wan and hopeless, far from home,
Swept in my ocean dreams I roam
This watery jail, imprisoned in the dark,
Like chum out thrown
Across the briny deep, in fear
That thy queer magic song hath drawn my poor soul here.

I lift mine head and suddenly a mist
Is drawn about me, like a vaporous veil,
Which blinds me to the things I see;
I founder on the open sea
In utter blackness, but I haply list
And hear a wail
Of cries that sound not now afar
But close, a wretched screeching come from whence ye are.

I feel a pang down stricken on mine head
And swim to pitch of darkness, where I sleep
Til I awaken to a tune
Like unto Lutes that makes to swoon
Mine ears and heart, and deem that I am dead
Or yet asleep
When o'er me many flaxen curls
Hang down, and I behold a bevy of beauteous girls

In beauty like none other I have seen,
With supple breasts that make my heart beat mighty;
And they begin as one to sing
And charm me like none other thing
That charmed before. Athena would be green
And Aphrodite
Should shrivel up to see those broads
That put to shame a petty poet's paltry lauds.

They hover o'er me and give out their love
In wanton writhing there upon that isle;
The stars do glimmer distantly
And radiate soft light to see
Which like a band of fireflies flash above,
Whilst all the while
Me and the Sirens meld in flesh
And I am drowned in skin and tongues' hot tangled mesh.

O do not seek to find me, Mariners
That to and fro do gallop on the waves
In creaking galleons; leave me here
For I am living with great cheer,
And now no longer yearn to sail with curs
Nor salty knaves,
And do hereby forego my duty
To sail the sea, for I have found life's greatest booty.

life's greatest booty

Well, this is a rollicking good read. Hooray for Sirens!

Thanks, adamgray.

Thanks, adamgray.

Really cool. Was the double

Really cool. Was the double entendre in the last line intentional? Or am I just a sick bastard? I love the structure of this poem. Varying the beats like that makes its more fun to scan for sure. Plain old pentameter does get kind of repetitive after a while. And you can't go wrong with Greek mythology especially when you give it a twist.

- Mr. Moribund

Some few in that, but Numbers err in this,
Ten Censure wrong for one who Writes amiss;
A Fool might once himself alone expose,
Now One in Verse makes many more in Prose.
-- Alexander Pope

Mr. Moribund

"Was the double entendre in the last line intentional?"

Butt of course ;)

Thanks for the comments, Mr. Moribund. Now for another one of those confounded math questions. 12 + 2 is simple! Bolderdash!

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