Plausible Deniability

Zeus nods his head; Olympus toes the line;
gods won't engage this combat any more.
Hereafter, they'll just meddle with men's minds,
while Greeks and Trojans prosecute their war.
Athena deems this ruling went her way;
the contest will be played out on her field.
She's picked the champions whom she can sway
and doesn't need the fools who doubt She's real.
That leaves the demigod; what man could stand
against Achilles, when he deigns to fight?
Apollo wrought a bow for Paris' hand;
His breath just nudged an arrow in its flight.
Our hands are all gods have, to work their will
but Eros plays us all like puppets, still.

family feud

Dire Klytemnestra's not one to forgive
her husband gallivanting like he's Zeus,
with Trojan women, thinking they might live
beneath her roof! She won't take such abuse.
If Agamemnon ever could forget
Iphigenia, pleading for her life,
he can't escape his own Queen's well-knit net.
Surviving war, he's fodder for his wife.
"Great King" abroad, proved mortal once back home
No loyal minions guard the royal neck.
Pink from his bath, unarmored, and alone,
her axe proved more than towels could deflect.
While better men won fame at distant Troy,
Thyestes was avenged by his glib boy.

What endures

Immortal horses balked at being blamed,
and told Achilles what Apollo'd done.
No Trojan spearman'd stained his boyfriend's name;
against Olympus, no man could have won.
Too young to bid for Helen's fabled charms,
no oaths compelled this pair to sail to war.
Each happy to sleep in the other's arms,
they'd come to settle Sparta's cuckold's score.
The Trojans never really stood a chance,
once Agamemnon'd rallied all of Greece.
Since Paris failed to keep it in his pants,
the House of Priam'd nevermore know peace.
Domestic bliss was never in their fates;
their mingled ashes guard the trade-route straits.

as Below, so Above

Fleet Hermes offered to take Ares' place
snared by Hephaestos in the smith-god's bed.
Imagining the Goddess' embrace
bright ichor floods his visage hectic red.
The cuckold seems less sanguine for his part
deluded he might be the only one
to stoke the fires in Aphrodite's heart.
As if she'd given thought beyond what's fun.
Athena saw no reason here for mirth;
she'd seen such passions playing out before.
On high Olympus, or on lowly Earth
the fleeting love's prelude to grinding war.
No less than his Achaean kings and queens
Homeric gods seem hormone-addled teens.

fame

Had Menelaus satisfied the wife
who'd chosen him from all the lords of Greece,
his generation might have skipped the strife,
and frittered lives away in boring peace.
Had Paris died, or--better--not been born,
catastrophe need not have smitten Troy.
The Spartan King would not have earned those horns
from some perfidious young sailor boy.
Had Agamemnon been less insecure,
Achilles would have kept his trophy girl.
They'd be forgotten; nothing would endure
to edify the Hellenistic world.
But stars aligned, and Homer found his theme:
the Western Canon's oldest fever-dream.

generation gap

Immortal Thetis can't have aged a day
since Peleus first claimed her for his bed.
Her first-born's flesh had mouldered into clay,
before she would concede that he lay dead.
Mortality's a "gift" in Tolkien's eyes
to never weary of the tolling years.
A sacred thing, to love what has to die;
to season feasts of pleasure with hot tears.
The immortality Achilles won
was not the sort a mother'd hoped to share.
His glory glows as long as songs are sung,
but she prefers he'd left one heir, one Spare.
Fleet-footed sea-nymph brooding in her fjord
know all too much of mortals, and their wars.

values

Sing, Goddess of the man-destroying wrath
Peleides unloaded on his liege.
'Though Aphrodite'd set them on this path,
Her brother Ares revels in this siege.
When Agamemnon seized his better's girl
he gave offense, no less than Priam's son.
For Homer's audience, in Homer's world,
one had to know what simply isn't done.
Exquisite Helen only dimly grasps
the carnage men inflicted in her name.
Whole worlds pre-empted for a piece of ass,
while paltry few won literary fame.
Penelope's the only worthy prize;
the poet's insight's clear, despite blind eyes.

"Women are like crystals"

Fleet Hermes laughed at Ares, snared by Love.
For now, the latter's spear seems safely sheathed.
Suspended from the brazen springe above,
while Aphrodite cursed and writhed beneath.
The cuckold's not as sanguine at their plight
he'd hoped to come up empty with this net.
Consorting with the Cypriote one night
no god nor mortal's likely to forget.
Loud Menelaos dared, 'though he'd been warned
to wed the fairest maiden in all Greece.
Predictably, his brow's adorned with horns,
his generation's not cut out for peace.
The Western canon's grandest epic text
makes no pretense that war's not twin to sex.

count no woman happy until she be dead

Andromache endured the fall of Troy;
her heir and husband brutally struck dead.
Awarded to the victor's tween-aged son,
expected to consort with him in bed.
When Paris judged one goddess to be best
set his whole city-state against long odds.
To snatch a wife's a grave sin for a guest,
outraging not just Greece, but all the gods.
Fair Helen turned the heads of all the guys,
except Achilles, far off in the North.
Condemned to always be some master's prize,
a thing of value, bartered back and forth.
As ornamental parts to fill a scene;
the role was perilous, to play the queen.

the editor's art

Achilles let fair Thetis teach his son
fierce hatred for the royal house of Troy.
Andromache had hoped the worst was done
until she met the feral red-haired boy.
Sage Chiron'd taught his father how to heal;
nine Muses taught him song, and dance, and more.
This lion's cub seems not so much to feel
as to subsist on carnage, gore, and war.
It's not enough her lord and son lie dead;
the tyke will never get a proper pyre.
She's now consigned to warm her victor's bed;
her high estate now rides the sucking gyre.
Euripides leaves such a scene off-stage;
what Homer wouldn't treat, he too won't touch.
The hero's scion's plainly not of age;
to picture him with women's just too much.
The artist frames his work with end, and start;
and Homer's still unrivaled in this art.

prologue

Achilles found the harem kinda fun;
his mother'd never dressed him in such bling!
A hundred foster mothers for his son
repaid the nights he had to serve the king.
Tiresias foretold; he must be found
to fetch fair Helen back from strong-walled Troy.
Those battlements were never coming down
unless they brought the sea nymph's darling boy.
Odysseus stepped up (disguised, of course)
to dangle high adventure to the lad
before he'd dreamed to build a wooden horse
or thought to duck the draft by playing mad.
The audience should know what went before
to understand blind Homer's song of War.

injudicious

Barbaric Hector gave Greek values voice
upbraiding Paris for the fall of Troy.
Olympians had punted on this choice,
demurring to a Trojan shepherd boy.
When goddesses contend, no choice is right;
the Special Master's doomed before he speaks.
To claim the dame deemed best in mortals' sight
condemns his city-State to death by Greeks.
Fair Aphrodite tried to shield her whelp
down in the melee, where the blows fell thick.
not even Ares could have been much help;
there's no good end to thinking with one's dick.
Penelope works tireless at her loom;
she'll wait another lifetime, if she must.
Two souls so knit, they share a single doom
True love's not predicated on mere lust.
Blind Homer's not enthralled by flashy looks;
His vision's clear--to those who'll plumb his books.

Of arms, and the man

No sumptuary laws constrain a king;
Hephaistos wasn't sparing any cost.
Achilles took the field, in epic bling!
His enemies must know just whom they've crossed.
To flee, or fight once they'd strayed near his path
was all the same, before this day is done.
This godling, incandescent in his wrath
consumed them all, like aspic in the sun.
Patroklos stemmed the tide in borrowed gear
but failed to fool Apollo, so he died.
To counterfeit the prince that god held dear
mere armor can't ennoble what's inside.
The wine-dark sea, the burnished bronze's sheen...
Blind Homer conjured worlds he'd never seen.

Love and Death

Fleet-footed Thetis just can't understand
how could her darling love what's doomed to die?
The gods had given her to such a man,
but she'd felt no affection for the guy.
This demi-god's more rooted in the world;
eternity's for deities above.
While Zeus fucks every pretty boy and girl
In Patrocles, he's lost his one true love.
Fair Helen launched the action on our stage,
but then retreated to a minor role.
Achilles is the wonder of his age;
the all-consuming war's his to control.
The paragon that Greeks aspired to be
mourns for his therapon, like it was he.

Funerary Games

His mother urged Achilles to get laid;
a woman's love might ease him through the night.
But now his partner's dead, his world's unmade.
No drive remains for life, or love, or fight.
Let Trojans do for Hector as seems fit;
that uncorrupted corpse is theirs to burn.
Our hero's too soul-numb to give a shit;
He'll see the forms played out, 'til it's his turn.
The fatal arrow's artfully off-stage;
we only learn he'd died in volume II.
He'll never know the aches of middle-age
or taste diminishment, as mortals do.
Peleides blazed bright by burning fast 
among Achaeans, foremost, first, and last.

always tip the bard

The Spartan cuckold's never lived it down;
new generations snicker at his name.
Fair Helen's dowry brought a bonus crown,
and an eternity of tainted fame.
The epic's hero'd never sought her hand
when all of Greece contested such a prize.
He knows that war's the measure of a man
and glory won there neither fades, nor dies.
Loud Menelaus lived his fill of life
while great Achilles never can grow old.
The one's remembered for his errant wife;
The other lives as long as tales are told.
Great bards demolish jerks with just their breath,
unstoppable by force of arms, or death.

changing fortunes

Great Hector did his best, then turned and ran,
confronting Achilleos in his rage.
Enflamed with grief, he's no mere mortal man;
this demigod's the terror of his age.
This Trojan king's a very Zeus-on-Earth
no less than Agamemnon for the Greeks.
But any soul of wholly mortal birth
against Peleides, is up a creek.
Andromache looks on, atop the wall
and understands that for their toddler son
should he survive at all, it's as a thrall.
One blow means Priam's dynasty's undone.
Her sister-in-law shakes her empty head;
her cuckold king still wants her back in bed.

Hisarlik

Carl Blegen figured out they'd dug too far;
this stone-age village can't be fabled Troy.
The House of Priam long predates the war
when Helen ran off with her Asian boy.
A modern archaeologist's appalled;
he'd do it differently were he a mensch.
The Schliemann crew demolished storied walls;
defenses gods had built, smashed for a trench.
Four levels up, they found the storage bins
securing siege-time rations in hewn stone.
The gold he photographed Sophia in
was found somewhere; location still unknown.
A site like Troy's gets built, and built again
more valuable than battlements, or men.

used and rebuilt

Poseidon took sweet Pelops by the arm,
and Hermes held his luscious slow-braised head.
Hephaistos undid Tantalus' harm
to prep this dainty for the Sea god's bed.
Let Zeus snatch playthings from the walls of Troy;
Mycenae has enough for most gods' need.
Be that a blushing maid, or smooth-cheeked boy,
no cause to shop abroad for Ganymede.
Cassandra told Apollo to get lost;
she'd rather dally with some Asian youth.
Integrity like hers bears a grave cost;
she wins no kudos for unwelcome truth.
When paths of gods and mortals intersect
our lives seem just their smorgasbord of sex.

in Man's image

Apollo was rebuffed; he took it ill.
Cassandra's meat to Klytemnestra's ax.
The prophecies she speaks are swift fulfilled,
but no one heeds such inconvenient facts.

By contrast, Zeus takes anyone he wants--
except fleet Thetis, whom his own wife guards.
The girls he meets on drunken Earth-side jaunts,

must know a pregnancy is in the cards.
Fair Aphrodite chafes at wedded life;

Hephaistos doesn't feature in her dreams.
If only Ares'd taken her as wife...

but they're full siblings, flesh, and blood, and genes.
Olympians feel sure they rule as kings,

but Eros plays the lot of them on strings.