Image result for orpheus in painting

I sang for one love—just one love—alone,

Though many loved me—as was their right to do.

But they crushed my head beneath a stone

And drank my blood, because I loved only you.

They loved my music, but when it was known,

That you, Eurydice, were the one to whom I sang,

Though you sleep eternally beneath the world’s moan,

The death of my limbs in the night woods rang.

It was after I lost you, in that backward glance,

And all unkempt, singing nightly my musical moan,

That the jealous killed me.  I had no chance.

Jealousy is love, Eurydice. But Eurydice, I love you alone.


  1. Desdi said,

    December 1, 2016 at 9:51 pm

    Your poem adorns the myth –
    and recalls the opening of perhaps my all-time favorite film:

    • thomasbrady said,

      December 1, 2016 at 10:20 pm

      I love the soundtrack of that film. The LP belongs to my childhood…

      • Desdi said,

        December 2, 2016 at 2:52 am

        same here. One of the most beautiful films I know.

  2. noochinator said,

    December 3, 2016 at 4:40 pm

    From ’30 Kisses’, a work in progress


    for William Kulik

    As I move my face closer to hers, I see her nostrils flare a bit, drawing in air. Her gaze is serious, her eyes half-closed, showing only a glimpse of bright blue. She’s got an identical twin sister, they say you can’t tell them apart, but K. says I’d be able to because I know her. Of course I could, I’ve seen the her she hasn’t even seen: I’ve held her soul in my hand and stroked it like a tiny kitten. Her eyes close fully. I wonder if her sister kisses the same? I feel her breath on my face. She’s from Kansas, as exotic to me as if she were from Azerbaijan or Vilnius—maybe more so. My little Kansan. Her arms tighten about me. She’s a strong one this girl, much tougher-souled than me: those Kansas winters teach you quick that nobody gives a rat’s ass about you in this world except those closest to you. Our lips press together and we’re in a root cellar taking shelter from the tornado above. She senses my apprehension, says not to worry: she tells me her family hid in the basement when she was three and she peed herself in fear as the winds tore at the house above them. She is yielding fully, to me and the storm above. She trusts me not to fuck her over, and I tell myself never to betray that trust

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