#eo poem

[l3l-diving-service]

To My Dearest Sister | Poetry | Endless Ocean 2 | G | Player Character | AO3

[eos-dazzle]

TW// Gender dysphoria

just a poem I wrote the other day while bored at my grandma's house

Aurora

Everyday he walks in the shade

Broad shoulders, deep voice

Loved, praised, brown eyes

Whole existence is a falsehood

An impossible to defy falsehood

He wants not the blue shell

But he is happy wearing it

But he thinks he is happy wearing it

The Star of Dawn

Eos, my shining light

Everyday she walks alongside him

Her light darkened by his shell

His loved, accepted shell

Let his shell break

Let her be free

For they are one and the same

For when the shade of him fades

Aurora remains

[happenstanced]

Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;

Their beauty shakes me who was once serene;

Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen.

[corvianbard]

#6152

Eos, the first light of every morning, Herald of the sun that is always glimmering, Illuminate our way to a new beginning.

[ettieektos]

An excerpt from a draft; Eos and Astraeus

[the-critic-god-of-books]

You think yourself a lion amongst sheep

You think yourself king

You think yourself greater than they

But the lion

dies like the sheep

One day your claws shall dull

One day your flesh shall break from your bones

One day your mind will be

but a shadow of what it once was

Yet i will remain

For i am like the mountain

upon which the lion hunts

For i am like the field

upon which the sheep grazes

For i am immortal

For you wither

But I Change

-Eo

[unrequitedyearning]

i usually write poems and stanza on endless piles when i was enamored or infatuated with someone previous but the likes of you take all my verse from me

i have never felt this way wholly and truly you have me wanting for nothing and yet everything

your laugh your smile your hair your hands your rambling your tears your pain your absence

i'm making myself sick with love growing madder every day every hour every minute second i'm not with you or hear your loving air that is music to my ears

i will forever regret the four periods of time spent without you and i will spend my existence yearning for a restful night together just once more

all i can hope is that you forget me not

forget me not like the soft bluish purple with sunbeams shining through center of the dawn in which i reminisce us

forget me not when the bluish purple bruise creeps yellow with healing as my chest bursts with anguish over the agony caused by failure of two parties... partners

forget me not like the bluish purple hue i wish to keep behind my eyelids as the sun dews them apart while i try to burn the vision of our dream to memory

forget me not

forget me not

forget me not

forget me not

i cannot forget you

it's agony to try

i will be icarus no longer

i will never be able to forget you

[jonathanmoya1955]

Eo: Transfiguring the Suffering of Every Living Thing

Courtesy of Janus Films Plot via IMDB: The world is a mysterious place when seen through the eyes of an animal. EO, a grey donkey with melancholic eyes, meets good and bad people on his life’s path, experiences joy and pain, endures the wheel of fortune randomly turn his luck into disaster and his despair into unexpected bliss. But not even for a moment does he lose his innocence. Eo, a film…

[lionofchaeronea]

A scene from the Trojan War: Achilles and the Ethiopian king Memnon, son of Eos (Dawn), clash in single combat, flanked by chariots. This combat was recounted in the Aethiopis, a now-lost poem belonging to the Epic Cycle that continued the story of the Trojan War after the Iliad and Hector's death. As often, the relationship between literature and visual art is unclear: did the vase painter deliberately set out to illustrate the Aethiopis, or did poet and painter simply draw upon the same stock of traditional oral narrative?

Attic black-figure pyxis, in the manner of the C Painter; ca. 570 BCE. Now in the Staatliche Antikensammlungen, Munich, Germany.

[artifacts-archive]

Hand Mirror

Etruscan, 470-450 BCE

Found in women’s graves, bronze mirrors were luxurious personal possessions used in life and then buried with the dead for use in the afterlife. One side was highly polished; the other side was usually engraved with a mythic scene, such as this one, which shows the goddess Eos carrying the body of her son, Memnon, who was killed by the hero Achilles. The episode was taken from Homer’s The Iliad, the epic poem that narrates the Greek siege and eventual defeat of the city of Troy.

[psychedelic-charm]

These poems are great. I wish Kevin Perjurer would create a book of poems about the defunct attractions he's talked about on Defunctland. Wouldn't that be great?

Writing an achingly tender and tragic, incredibly sincere, heartstring-pulling album about my dead lost love that I never met but I know I've loved in a thousand lifetimes, not revealing that it's actually about the Skippy animatronic that they destroyed

[zal-cryptid]

My name is Aurora, and I'm proud to be me.  🏳️‍⚧️

This was a poem I wrote when I came out back in 2021. I named myself Aurora because it was my new beginning, like the mornings ushered in by rosy-fingered Eos. Because I'm from the Great White North, where the Northern Lights dance. Because I am a princess awoken from her slumber, like Briar Rose.

Names are important to me. They hold so much power and association and meaning. They are the oldest magic.

[cinematic-literature]

Shadow of the Vampire (2000) by E. Elias Merhige

Max Schreck reads out the opening verses from Thitonus (1833) by Alfred Tennyson, a poem which retells the Greek myth of a prince of Troy who fell in love with Eos, the goddess of dawn.

He got immortality from her, but not immortal youth; that's why at the end of the poem death becomes his only wish.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Father’s Day

A little something for today - I maintain the Tracys would follow the US/Europe date for it rather than AUS/NZ. That’s my excuse anyway…

💛💙❤️

It had gone well. The atmosphere had been joyful. Hugs had been plentiful and the little tears of happiness badly concealed. Every scrap of the mighty takeout feast Scott had fetched from their favourite Auckland steak house had been demolished. Balloons littered the villa. MAX, in collaboration with EOS, had created a playlist that reflected every family member’s favourites spanning a good seven decades.

There had been singing, both tuneful and otherwise.

Six cards graced the mantelpiece, each varied in decoration as befitted the personality of the giver, but all containing a version of the same message - we are so glad you are home. We missed you. We love you. All but one had some reference to pink flamingos. The sixth had a remarkably detailed diagram of Thunderbird Three’s circuit of the sun.

The Man of the Moment had finally been chivvied off to bed by his mother when his head started nodding where he sat on the couch amongst his family. In her words, nobody needed to hear his boar-like snorting, but the flicker of concern in her eyes betrayed the real need to ensure he didn’t overdo it.

The eldest son of the Man of the Moment leant on the balustrade, watching the stars come out and absently swirling the whisky in his glass. The air was still warm and he had to slowly adjust the movement of his wrist to maintain the rhythm of the rapidly shrinking ‘rocks’. He’d come to prefer it un-iced anyway, but when your long-lost father offers you a sample of his secret, secret stash… well. Scott would have taken it with gravel and he would have enjoyed it.

It was good, if a little chilly. And the day had been wonderful, if a little strange. Like stretching a muscle that had gone untested for eight years. Maybe longer.

They’d never really made a big deal of the day before that in any case - even when he was alive their father had often been absent.

But there were always cards (some somewhat delayed in receipt). And he hadn’t realised until today, until he helped Dad drag a large flat box out from underneath his bed, that every card had been kept - from the first one picked out by Mom and signed on behalf of a 2-month old Scott - right up to the year Jeff disappeared. There wasn’t even a gap whilst Scott himself had been missing, thanks to the ingrained military practice of buying and writing cards in advance of deployments. Toddler scribbles, homemade masterpieces, that 4ft monstrosity Gordon had dragged home aged 10… even the obviously-last-minute convenience store purchases hurriedly signed 3 minutes before the still-damp envelope seal was broken. All were bundled together by year, little elastic bands and post-it notes delineating the passage of time.

There had been a lot of laughter, a fair amount of cringing and a few sniffles as those were explored. Happy times.

What Scott didn’t mention, what he’d never mention, was that when Jeff went missing, the cards didn’t stop. Not completely.

Every year except the first, where everything was still so raw and chaotic the day passed with nobody even knowing what date it was, there had been three Fathers’ Day cards written by the Tracy family.

Two were quietly slipped together under Scott’s door - a rare moment of collaboration between the Tinies. They were never the traditional kind, didn’t ACTUALLY mention Fathers Day on the front, but a would be a ‘blank for your own message’ card with a funny or interesting picture. Often an aircraft or some kind of bird. The contents would often be daft nonsense - silly puns, banter about the grey hairs and denial of liability for them, once a comedy poem about an albatross and the Kraken which had kept him smiling for days. But next to the signature, there’d be a little “you’re not so bad after all” or “thanks for everything, big bro” or even once a “Just wanted you to know it doesn’t go unnoticed xxx”

Nothing was ever said, but he’d find them later in the day and squeeze their shoulders or drop a kiss on the top of each head. Maybe there would be less squabbling and teenage stroppiness that day… often there wouldn’t. But things would feel lighter between the three of them for a while.

The third card was more of a letter, more of an incoherent flood of news, worries… regrets… requests for forgiveness. But it was always folded like a card for… reasons. And then folded again. And again until it was halved 7 times and couldn’t physically be squished up any smaller. Then, late at night when everyone else was asleep it would be set aflame right here on the balcony. Scott would watch the sparks fly into the sky and nurture a moment’s foolish hope that the message would be received.

No need for that this year. Dad was right here. Scott could tell him anything he wished at any moment, seek his advice, share his concerns, ask for… approval? All of that. He was right here.

And yet…

He shook himself. And downed the remainder of the whisky, flinching a little at the cold on his teeth and eyed the glass, wondering whether he could risk another one… a less rocky one. There was time for all the talking later. When he was well. When it was safe to burden him with such things. Not yet.

His pondering was interrupted by scuffling and heated whispering from just inside the balcony door behind him. He braced himself to mediate the latest nonsense from the Tinies but all went quiet and there was just a quite clack-swish of something falling through the doorway and sliding a little across the ground. Then running feet as they departed.

He looked down to see a single blue envelope at his feet. Unaddressed but for a tiny cartoon of a child’s scooter…

He rolled his eyes. Suspecting a prank was pending but, too tired to resist the inevitable, he crouched to retrieve it and slid his finger under the flap of the envelope to peer inside. Then closed it again, hurriedly. A chunky font screamed “BESTEST DAD EVER!” from the midst of a multicoloured explosion. They’d got the envelopes mixed up, clearly. He went to call after the two idiots but they were long gone.

With a sigh, he stood back up and decided he’d better chase them down but was arrested by curiosity. Both had given Dad cards earlier… what was this for? He hoped it wasn’t a prank… he didn’t think Dad was ready for that yet… they were trying to keep surprises to a minimum until his heart started behaving more reliably.

They wouldn’t, would they?

Hmm.

He’d better check.

Leaning back on to the railings with a good portion of free space in front to fling anything unpleasant into… he pulled the card from the envelope and opened it… very carefully.

Nothing exploded. Or popped out at him. There was no glitter in his eyeballs nor squeaky earworm tunes blasted from tinny micro speakers.

And yet he gasped harshly as his heart raced and his eyes blurred with sudden tears.

The card was empty but for his name at the top, Alan and Gordon’s at the bottom and two words in the middle, underlined and emphasised with a heavy full stop:

Still True.

Part 2

Part 3

[corvianbard]

#5937

Eos, oh daybreak, Rise again to betake The sun to awake.

[fairyboy1111]

A poem for Eos, Helios and Selene

I sing of early-born Eos, whose cloak is of sweet dew

Who runs her rosy-fingered hand trough the sky as the day begins anew

Casting away darkness and dispelling murky gloom

As the choirs of birds sing her praises and flowers get ready to bloom

Soft-winged goddess, mother of the morning star

Shining from among the clouds, smiling at the world from afar

I sing of Helios, crowned in rays, who rides trough the sky pulled by fiery steeds

From his glorious chariot he watches over mankind’s deeds

Those who do evil he punishes with red-hot rage, he burns to smoke and ash their wicked smiles

Those who do good he rewards with a gladdened heart, helping them trough their journeys as he watches over their lives

For he is the golden mirror of justice who makes all reap what they sow

Wether it be for better or for worse

His warm smile charms countless nymph’s hearts and makes trees bear fruit

As the flower-faced Horae hold hands and dance to his lyre’s tune

I sing of bull-horned Selene, nightly queen, decked in stars

She who weaves together days and makes time come to pass

Lover of peace and of tranquil sleep, a friend to dark-haired Nyx and Hypnos of the soothing voice

Morpheus and his train of countless dreams make her silver heart rejoice

Keeper of the late hours and their secrets, a companion to those who feel lost

For even in the darkest of moments she kindly stretches forth her luminous torch

I sing of you three, children of Hyperion and Theia, gods most high

Trough day and night, trough dusk and dawn, I pray that you shed light unto my path

Lucid ministers of Chronos, show me that which flees my sight

Reveal to me the worlds which exist around me and guide me trough the ones within my heart