MIMINERMUS 01

a bitter old age

What is life
     & what’s delight,
lacking Aprodite, 
     golden
          gilt 
          love goddess?

Let me die when she
no longer cares for me . . .
     the favored bed,
     (flower all-desirous!)
     grasped
     by youths & maidens.

When that dolor comes,
old age,
bearing both shame & evil
to men . . .
When always about this heart
     sorrows chafe hard,
     sunlight no longer gladdens . . .

Then, hated
     despised by his sons,
          by women dishonored . . .

Such a bitter old age
the Gods heap
          on man.

~jwl
https://www.jonwarrenlentz.com

©®™

1979 & 2016-0806 – 0820 & 2019-0227

SAPPHICS

love

SAPPHIC I

This full moon night
Under immense sky
Your darling soul
Diaphanous, quite.

~jwl
https://www.jonwarrenlentz.com

©®™

2009-1127 & 2019-0303

SAPPHIC II

Half moon above,
neither black
nor white –

My distant love
estranged in the night,
neither right nor wrong.

Not wrong, not right –
All night long,
beyond dawn …

Still, I feel
her,

shimmering
light.

~jwl
https://www.jonwarrenlentz.com

©®™

2009-1125 & 2019-0303

SAPPHO

971 Fr. Adesp. (P.M.G.)

Now sets the moon, the Pleiades, 
the middle night comes round,
hours
& alone I lie down

~jwl
https://www.jonwarrenlentz.com

©®™

2011-062 & 2019-0303

POSTEA LESBIA

 from Catullus #31 & Sappho #51

Hers is a beauty more than beauty
and she is far more than lucky—

A goddess she is in my eyes—
The woman allowed to abscond with you—
You, leaving
                           these waters to well
within me, me who lonely moments ago
considered once again myself lucky
sitting beside you:              
                                   Where do you go?

Somewhere she listens intimately
to the sweet murmur
of your voice, laughter
that entices my own heart
beyond its accoustomed beating—  Listen,
If I meet you again,
expectant, but unexpectedly;

I shan’t speak—
My tongue is broken:         Suddenly

when I see you
a thin flame under
my skin runs;    I am cast blindess,
and doubly hear my ears drumming only.
Cold sweat and trembling
shakes my body, crying—

and I turn paler
than summer’s grass.                 

         Such times,
death 
feels not distant.

~jwl
https://www.jonwarrenlentz.com

©®™

1979 & 2019