team-mate

Prefiguring Peleides to come,
brave Diomedes drove the Trojans back,
in shining gold, a blazing earth-bound sun
against a battlefield in red, and black.
Onlookers are excused if they mistook
this apparition for Apollo's face.
But less than halfway through this epic book,
apotheosis would be out of place.
This mortal hero--not the super sort--
can't hold a candle to the sea nymph's son.
His aristeia's glorious, but short
this nova'd peaked before the siege was done.
Stout bulwark when Achilles quit the game,
but only specialists still know his name.

Xenia

The golden armor Glaucos gave in trade,
sealed obligations to his dad's friend's son.
Where no constabulary renders aid,
through kinship ties, the Grecian works was run.
Absconding with the Spartan's lovely queen,
the Trojan's faux pas couldn't be ignored.
Such damage to the cuckold's self-esteem,
would doom the whole Aegean world to war.
While Priam got no succor from his liege
to drive marauders from his city gate,
the ad hoc coalition laying siege,
had not yet dreamt that Greeks might form a State.
To Homer, social mores don't exclude
those Asians Greeks had sailed so far to fight.
To stint on hospitality's just rude,
and worthy adversaries do what's right.
Outstanding in the company of kings
proud Diomedes shines in golden bling.

impertinence

Sweet Aphrodite did fair Helen dirt;
her chosen marriage never earned this test.
Before it's over, everyone gets hurt;
unsparing of the meanest, or the best.
Great Hector calls his brother out by name
an emissary mustn't play the hick
no son of Priam can deflect such blame;
disaster follows thinking with one's dick.
To reprimand a goddess took real grit;
the other Greeks were far more circumspect.
But they're not bartered like some gambler's chit
no knowing in whose bed they'll end up next.
The wall that Plato drew between two worlds,

meant nothing to this Mycenaean girl.

on Excellence

the subtlety that Agamemnon lacked,
Odysseus brought to the camp, in spades.
One bore the scepter, but can't stop an ax;
his wife took care that old accounts get paid.
For Trojans, leadership's more unified;
their project isn't subject to debate.
Great Hector isn't blinded by his pride;
Achaeans face his unitary State.
The largest fleet might be the biggest thing
that set Atreides above the rest.
A scant foundation to proclaim him'King',
when all acclaimed Peleides the best.
Before Athenians defined who's"free",
blind Homer saw the faults of monarchy.

protoDualism

When Agamemnon starts to think he's Zeus
there's Klytemnestra with her subtle net.
Where Hera must endure her Lord's abuse
this mortal won't forgive, and won't forget.
Aegysthos frolicked in his cousin's bed,
while better Greeks probed Troy's high walls for cracks.
but it's the Queen who claimed the cuckold's head.
His glory proved no proof against her ax.
Penelope with Pallas shares the bond;
one step behind, she won't--quite--touch her foe.
Two realms, untouching somehow correspond;
the script on High is played out here, Below.
What's platonists would later formalize
was clear enough to sightless Homer's eyes.

Wanax

The maiden glowed to think she'd be the bride
to great Achilles, though he's overseas.
Too soon, she'll learn that Agamemnon lied;
he'd sold his daughter for a friendly breeze.
At Aulis, there's no swag to pay the fleet;
the great adventure's looking like a bust.
To salvage honor through this rank deceit,
his marriage foundered on a dearth of trust.
His Klytemnestra's not one to forget.
A war to get his brother's woman back,
entangled him in his own wife's silk net.
The victor's victim to her gleaming ax.
Since Tantalus, this dynasty's been cursed;
each generation seems to wear it worse.

Marry well

Her sister'd maddened half the men of Greece,
but Klytemnestra's no great prize to wed.
Her husband won at war, but died in peace;
that garland's useless when you've lost your head.
Twin Tyndarids proved equally unchaste;
One ran off with a pretty Asian lad.
To marry for a famously fair face,
to Homer's mind, is bound to turn out bad.
Odysseus brought home the best of wives,
Penelope, who matched his famous wit.
While other paid for glory with their lives,
the man of many ways proved the most fit.
When we recall the Mycenaean world
the tales turn on Tyndareus' girls.

the Agamemnon

Her sentinels report: the watchfires flare;
king Agamemnon's coming home from war!
Aegysthos, who had shirked his duty there,
starts planning to slink out the postern door.
It's Klytemnestra lays the bolder plan:
she'll lay the crimson carpet for his tread,
surpassing Helen to betray her man;
she'll take not just his honor, but his head.
Cassandra's prophecy's a waste of breath;
they put no credence in such future facts.
She's heard the swirling blood; she's smelled the death
She's seen the subtle net, the gleaming ax.
Peleides died young, but won renown;
Odysseus pushed through to win long life.
But Atreus' heir just gets hewn down
mere barnyard livestock to his fancy wife.
The meta-narrative can criticize
heroic figures, painting them life-sized.

Who Governs?

The camp falls silent;Nestor stands to speak
this Argonaut knows much that's gone before.
Experience is precious to these Greeks,
who'd never contemplated ten years' war.
He'd left a son Telemachus' age
to fight for Helen, whom he'd never wooed.
But with Achilles seething in his rage
the enterprise may utterly be screwed.
The ego Agamemnon can't control
precludes commanding loyalty from men
who see which kings could better play the role
without inflaming rancor, yet again.
If leadership's not vested in the wise,
the greatest squabble, for the merest prize.

Crown Prince

bin Salman's virtue's nowhere to be found;
his failures heap up stinking to the sky.
No resume that justifies a crown,
when Salman must inevitably die.
He got away with murdering Mansour,
and still Khashoggi's body won't stay hid.
No honest judge could deem his hands are pure,
if they knew just a hundredth what he did.
Yemeni orphans starving, curse his name;
Qataris he'd blockaded didn't fold.
For these, and more he's utterly to blame
Without a brain, it's parlous to be bold.
Allied to Trump, he's doomed to sink or swim
And Vegas isn't taking odds on him.

the good wife

No towel dried her husband from his bath;
fair Klytemnestra swathed him in her net.
The victor's victim to his woman's wrath;
their firstborn's not some kid whom she'd forget.
Aegysthos lurked just off the killing floor;
no royal blood would stain his dainty hand.
To stay at home while others sailed to war,
the playwright marks this one as not a man.
Her cousin labors tireless to reweave
the shroud that she'd unpicked by candlelight.
The faithful wife who's careful to deceive
the villains violating what is right.
The textile arts, deployed for good, or ill,
no less than bronze, can bind a wound...or kill.

Conflagration

Great swathes of central Oregon ablaze,
a million acres, near as we can tell.
Horizons dwindle in this toxic haze;
myopically, we navigate through Hell.
Fire policies embraced in 1910
that felt so forward-looking, now seem cruel.
We've queued the same catastrophe again
Suppressing every fire, we banked up fuel.
A managed forest, leaving room to drive
more like the climax woodland long before,
might flare up briefly, yet go on to thrive.
Instead, each August smells like baleful war.
Until--improbably--we really learn
we'll build more wooden houses, and they'll burn.

Reparations

The reparations Trump proposed to pay,
like Kaiser Wilhelm, humbled at Versailles,
can't make his Persian folly go away;
Iranians would pay to watch him die.
The war he'd pledged he wasn't gonna start,
now holds a dagger to his party's throat.
His coalition's poised to fall apart,
when We, the People rouse ourselves to vote.
Three dozen times, he's bragged we're at the end
a glorious success all due to him!
But Congress holds the only pow'r to spend
those billions won't be doled out at his whim.
If this is "winning", we can't bear the cost;
historians will tally this "Trump's Loss".

Waterloo

Iranians have Trump against a wall,
as midterms loom, he's got to end this fast.
Reserves of crude have nowhere left to fall,
and voters' patience isn't gonna last.
Until elections, missile strike won't cease
to drive the costs of gas and diesel higher.
The urgency is all on Trump for peace,
as Persians hold his feet in his own fire.
Our Pentagon had gamed this out before;
that Persian Gulf fits like a jacket (strait).

Our navy's ill-configured for this war,
and all Iranians need do is wait.
The reparations Trump proposed to pay
can't make mistakes this heinous go away.

irreversibility

Six weeks and more, there's no one in that seat;
there's no one at the galas, chasing checks.
Kentuckians inured to ceaseless heat
deserve some slightest clue of what comes next.
The spirit's fled; the empty house of clay
might be sustained as labs would culture cells.
What's crossed the river Styx goes just one way
and can't rebook the slated date with Hell.
Heroics no one undertakes for fun:
machines to breath, and pump, and cleanse the blood...
But after everything's been said, and done,
this turtle's not emerging from the mud.
McConnell's damned us with his dying breath;
he even falsified his date of death.

Past tense

The mind that stole Supreme Court seats for fun
no longer animates the turtle's shell.
McConnell's rule in Washington is done;
but he's reserved a special place in Hell.
Tripartite governments been known to work
"ambition [can] be made to counteract..."
but not collaborating with a jerk,
who won't concede the plainest point of fact.
Kentuckians deserve to have a voice
in how we're gonna divvy up the tab.
Beshears must let them verbalize their choice
since Mitch is chilling out on his morgue slab.
A shell as empty as an angler's float
must not control the Senate in a vote.

Let it go

McConnell's gone; his party won't admit
that nothing animates the Turtle's shell.
Todd Blanche's nomination takes the hit;
his chance of confirmation trends towards Hell.
Beshears now feels the urgency to act
to fill the Seat that corpse still occupies.
Behind the smoke and mirrors, there's a fact;
what had been Mitch, is now attracting flies.
Kentuckians have rights we can't forget
by propping up a stiff to fill the seat,
their basic needs just aren't being met
where leaders have no motive to compete.
Tripartite government's had a good run
but if we let this stand, our day is done.

humiliation

The reparations Trump agreed to pay
-- outrageously, it's far beyond his writ --
won't make the IRGC go away.
They've got him by the balls; he's in deep shit.
Elections loom; no candidate will stand
for spending that acknowledges this loss.
The country's bigger than one orange man,
and nothing justifies such grievous cost.
Humiliated by the better man
like when his daddy spanked him as a boy.
Trump's getting throat-fucked daily in Iran.
And only Putin knows what he enjoys.
Two parties, neither one is in control
and no one's speaking to our nation's soul.

new Treaty of Versailles

Iranians see leverage increase;
with passing weeks, the US mid-terms loom.
Trump's allies will be doomed if there's no peace,
and that's a world away from MoU.
The foreign war he'd sworn he wouldn't start
won't be resolve just 'cause he offers cash.
The MAGA base is apt to fall apart
if we're still paying through the nose for gas.
Humiliated in the shipping lanes,
Trump vents his wrath on Bibi in his turn.
As doomed as Putin's venture in Ukraine,
each gets to pay for everything he's burned.
'Though Congress may repudiate this cost
one must be blind to not perceive this loss.

Heroism

Proud Boromir appealed to Denethor
like Isaac's first-born, skilled at Fish and Game.
The kind of guy men follow into war,
but ever thirsting for the mob's acclaim.
Covertly, Faramir sustains their world
without his brother's appetite for praise.
Not incidentally, he'll get the girl
who rescued Gondor in its darkest days.
Core Christian virtues, Milton would endorse
must undergird the core of MIddleEarth.
Humility, not showy feats of force
characterize the hero of great worth.
Big men might find Redemption as they died
but Sam's the hero wholly purged of Pride.