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Calypso Magically Prepares A Feast For Her Lover Odysseus

 This is an excerpt from Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero, an original, novel length, narrative poem by Marc Ladewig, published by Infinity Publishing.com. The goddess Calypso magically prepares a feast for Odysseus, a Greek hero of the Trojan War who fought off every Trojan warrior out to claim the corpse of Achilles and who wandered for ten years after the sack of the city. Upon losing all the men he led from home to war, he washed up alone upon Calypso’s isle and languished as her captive lover for seven years.


 By will alone, the nymph imposed her thought

upon thin air and shaped a meal of spitted lamb

and golden apples, wine they call the blood

of bulls and bread like mother baked.

  Calypso took her place and female slaves

in open breasted Cretan garments

then set out ambrosia and cups of nectar

for her, for the gods enjoy the smell

of mortal human food but not the taste.

 They bowed their heads to one another

and reached for this rich feast with both their hands,

dark eye never taking leave of blue,

and enduring Odysseus addressed

his mega-hearted soul in wonderment.

 “Nothing but kindness in her eyes, and though

this board she’s set for me each night for years,

almost as many as I spent around

the walls of Troy, I wonder still just how

she makes it come to be. She laughs when I

accuse her of theft, of spiriting

some poor king’s meal away from frightened servants

forced to face their master’s hungry wrath,

clanging empty pots and pans. She laughs when I

suggest that something came from nothing.

She laughs, but softer, when I wonder if

she changes air itself to meat and wine

and bread and fruit. Is that the secret of the gods?

That anything can shift its shape to any

other thing with deathless knowledge? Learning all

would make a man a god? She only laughs,

as do musicians asked to bare their source

of natural talent in a word.

 “This meat is good, but lambs from Ithaca

are savory in ways that take a lot

of grass near home in spring to make. This wine

is good, but grapes of Ithaca yield juice

that takes more time to come of age than just

a heartbeat. This bread is good, but grain

from Ithaca has the taste of that

dear land that gave me birth.

 “Don’t the blessed gods yet tire of tinkering

with fate and stalling my homecoming then?

She reads my thoughts and so I never

ever need to sing in human voice for her.”

 This said, and versatile Odysseus

drank his wine and broke his bread in bites.

And once they pleased their souls with meat and drink,

Calypso led him by the hand unto

the nethermost recess of her resplendent cave,

where carved into the living rock were steps

that led up to a nook and spacious bed.

Marc Ladewig

Author of Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero

02 January 2009 @ 06:26 am

From Sand, Sun Spreads Our Eye Far Out To Sea


 From sand, sun spreads our eye far out to sea

where northwest wind whips waves to white caps.

Here now, these secrets clasp hands lovingly

in dancing cycles, lacking breaks or gaps.

 The primal four must only move to sing

melodic strands into each other

of family, none servant and none king,

harmonic offspring of one mother.

 The greatest lies are chaos and freedom,

imposed like temper tantrums by the blind.

Nature only shares her deepest knowledge from

the patient long embrace of kind with kind.

 Your kiss the taste of the all giving sea

steals breath, gives ground, fires blood eternally.

Marc Ladewig

Author of Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero
29 December 2008 @ 05:44 am

The Daily Round


 the daily round




 the hunter

the myth of the hero

the routine

in the super-civilization

of science and technology

 the sacred way

of looking at it

the profane way

of looking at it

praying to janus

at the crossroads

 in exploring big and small,

the true achievement

is a shared homecoming

Marc Ladewig

Author of Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero
27 December 2008 @ 05:35 am

Though The Mind Is Elusive


 Though the mind is elusive

I see the body down to the flower

in ceaseless streaming faces.

 That tree is a mouth sailing

through sun borne breezes

screening our broken winds.

 The sun is an eye seeing

in rainbow bands

its very own reflection.

That rainbow is a look revealing

fathomless mystery

under each mask.

 My game is radical identity,

lost and at home,

my glance for yours.

Marc Ladewig

Author of Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero
26 December 2008 @ 05:37 am

To Forget You


 I’ve tried to do all I could to forget you.

You turn up down each new path that I start.

Fever might scorch the plague from my body.

Your absence can’t burn the love from my heart.

Marc Ladewig

Author of Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero
23 December 2008 @ 12:51 pm
19 December 2008 @ 05:57 am

Laugh At Them


 Laugh at them

for sparing cows

to starve their children.

 Laugh at ourselves

for felling forests

to wipe our butts.

Men sprawl

upon the land

onto the seas

up in the winds

come paradise

or ice deserts.

 Is it in the stars

or in the garden

where our future

will win out

against our past?

Marc Ladewig

Author of Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero

17 December 2008 @ 03:43 am

I Set Stars on Vision


 I set stars on vision

and across space heroes

connect beyond mere chance.

 My myth- imagination;

my courage- the last throes

of chaos lost in dance.

 Though I harmonize stars

for all my yearning heart

in shapes of ancient schemes,

 I can’t soothe your pain of scars

nor remove the fatal dart

that made a nightmare of our dreams.

 In our story memory burns

love to loss by angry turns.

Marc Ladewig

Author of Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero
15 December 2008 @ 04:39 am

Big Rain, No Power


 Apples and candles,

a stillife to shape

some words around.

 The apples become cores,

the candles burn low.

 Not a voice nor a sound

but runoff rain

rivering hill to sea

past a burst dam

past a fallen tree

past each bend and turn

to break this shut-in sojourn.

Marc Ladewig

Author of Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero
Current Location: Arroyo Grande, California
14 December 2008 @ 05:41 am

And Out of Mystery


 And out of mystery so dense all rules

break down, unbalanced light specks spread

apart, collapsing into spinning spheres

that crunch, ignite, shine bright and then explode.

 Collisions reshape chaos and produce

by chance a fiery gathering of clouds

that cool to rock and water, steam and ice,

and mountains rise above the roiling floods.

 This asymetric harmony gestates

in primal agitation till a spark

engenders evolutionary fruits

that do not fear to sing against the dark.

 Did an unknown knower, this play applaud?

Or cosmos act first, scene two, enter God?

Marc Ladewig

Author of Odysseus-The Epic Myth of the Hero