When Morpheus Awakes

"reading Virgil, sleep compounded"

Some widows wept, their husbands

kept--the spoils of war. When fickle gods,

for pleasure more than anger conceived

their grief, a right to be endured,

their kitchen's turned to joyless

hearths unlit, and sorrow spooled days'

filled with memory, stolen grooms,

until hearts broke, the nation's looms

could weave just misery--one emotion,

the common truth of the heart's attrition.

Yet some, carved of sterner wood, refused

to don the veil, nor suffer the tear-stained

role allotted them; no shuttered brides,

they leapt to raise the battered shields

of lovers felled in battle, took cold aim

at feeble-minded princes, the lame

reckless King, so easily misled,

and swore no peace for those they blamed;

no comfort, mercy, for the ceaseless shame

wedded to their sisters, daughters, unending rain.

For this, they decreed, was justice

for their life's most precious gift, loss

of husbands, fathers, brothers swept

into the gloam of war--so unfairly kept.

In time, their sons, from epic seeds,

would rise to sing of long wept deeds,

fallen fathers, demanding more

than faceless monuments to shore

the cracking walls of the nation's

crumbling character. Their passions,

weaned on the unbuttered breast

of mother's chastening distaste

for charity, so quickly unbuttoned

from the gentle pastures of the maid

they'd laid their heart before. Love,

if noble, was no match for Juno's dove,

once glorious Vesuvius

lit her flame, harkened Morpheus

from his darkened slumber, to rise

and stir youth-full shepherds' pie-filled eyes,

all those pitiful ploughmen born

to the labors of winning a crown--

and mothers wept, once more reminded,

of the spoils of war, all the dead

branches of a heart's untimely cutting,

husbands, sons, and fathers wrung

from kitchens, beds, untended fields,

their new allotments of Juno's barren yields.

Ken e Bujold

© 2022

Author's Note

upon reading Heaney and Virgil I grifted an ancient ode of Juno

Reviews

[Carola]

wow, you weave an amazing story of yesteryear which I think is relevant to today's ukraine war with the loss of sons, fathers & brothers and a total change to their lives.
love all your metaphors.
cheerio carola

[Ken e Bujold]

thank you carola. what's old is fated to always become new again

[Dave Brown]

when I see such as this I am embarrassed to try and contribute anything at all

[Ken e Bujold]

No Dave, poetry is not a contest. Each and every poem I read, here or anywhere, is one I recognize as the poet's genuine attempt to express the world around them. Each is accepted on its own merits. If some speak to meatier themes or ideas, or in a from a bit more polished, it is only because that poet has been blessed to have the time and age to have honed his craft. Others, if so inclined and blessed with time, will arrive at the same shores in their own sweet time.
Please keep on scribbling and contributing. I assure you at least one poet here values your contributions

ken

[W. Barrett Munn]

I like how the weaving of this one, how you patched together a story out of used cloth. This is true skill and as Sharon say, a cut above the rest.

Winston

PS: our best teachers: the words that came before; our best students those who read incessantly; our best poets, teachable readers.

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks. especially enjoyed the PS

[Miss Sharon]

Your writing is a "cut above" my friend. Bravo. ~Sharon

[Ken e Bujold]

thank you for the kind compliment Sharon, glad you enjoyed