Poems about Hermes


№ 1147090

The Homeric Hymns: 18- To Hermes

XVIII. TO HERMES (12 lines)

(ll. 1-9) I sing of Cyllenian Hermes, the Slayer of Argus, lord
Of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, luck-bringing messenger of
The deathless gods. He was born of Maia, the daughter of Atlas,
When she had made with Zeus, -- a shy goddess she. Ever she
Avoided the throng of the blessed gods and lived in a shadowy
Cave, and there the Son of Cronos used to lie with the rich-
Tressed nymph at dead of night, while white-armed Hera lay bound
In sweet sleep: and neither deathless god nor mortal man knew it.

(ll. 10-11) And so hail to you, Son of Zeus and Maia; with you I
Have begun: now I will turn to another song!

(l. 12) Hail, Hermes, giver of grace, guide, and giver of good
Things! (31)

hermes,  hymns.

Author: Homer
Date: 10/02/2020

№ 1051263

Hermes the Trickster.

Thick blonde curls fell to the nape of his neck, effortlessly he
Glides along his path in silver jeans and shining wings, his rhythm
In tact. He was gone in a flash. I got a glimpse of his golden shoes,
Like an apparition from a new world.

Strutting his stuff.

The sound of the skateboard came round again. His T- shirt
Tucked in his silvery jeans, with a caption on the back saying
"Open Your Eyes" in big gold print. He disappeared again,
This apparition from a new world.

Then he returned. The young and old stared in fascination. He was
Handsome and bold an adept in his skill, pure focus and will. On top of
The world he whirls and moves as light as a feather, demonstrating his tricks with a mischievous look, fearlessly living his magnificent dream.

An old man walked by, in broken shoes, averted eyes. A cane
Supporting his poor hunched spine. I saw no smile, just skin and bone,
A thin layer covering his soul. He lifted his bowed head to the sound
Of fighter jets flying across a cloudless sky. The sight of these jets made
My own soul cry. The old man scurried on in his impoverished world.

Perhaps yearning for lost years gone by. Not knowing the greatness - HE
I wondered what his dreams were, when he was young.

hermes,  trickster.

Author: RK
Date: 15/11/2019

№ 974969


Boredom grasps my windpipe
Until my breaths are low and my vision is blurred

You blame it on the wings that i was born with
On the heels of my feet
Constantly flitting, ready to take me off to my next destination

How do i explain to them that i must sit still
In a faux leather chair
And write e-mails, plan meetings, coordinate volunteers?

My heart it cries for want of something bigger,
Or perhaps something so small that i will be lost there alone
With nothing but the wings on my feet to keep me company

A tiny isle just for us, where we can flit above the tree tops
Down into deep river canyons
Floating inches above our mirrored reflections

But then i'll catch my eyes and see the sorrow that still lingers
And the sad excuse i have for a mouth will droop
Low and heavy, like i'm carrying pebbles behind my lips

So the conundrum begins all over again
Must i never stay in one place?
Must i always want for something more?

My wings are mum and my lips motionless


Author: Quinn
Date: 06/09/2019

№ 949755

Demeter and hermes pictured along with myself, little cassandra.

Touch me gently
Let my veins turn to ichor
I am the fool and i have journeyed so far
Just for justice to send me
Back to my mother

She took me behind her curtain
Stars in her hair
Pomegranates at her feet
As the thundering chariot rushed by

You were at the reins
Those sphinxes drove you to me
You let them derail themselves
In a flashy display of sparks and

Come to me no longer
Ichor burnt me
It clogged up my heart
And when i am cut
People gather
With bowls to collect from the vein

hermes,  pictured.

Author: Jennifer G
Date: 15/08/2019

№ 880648

Hermes' inJustice

I've been thinking more about you recently.
... No, not like that. Don't get the wrong idea,


You come back into my mind like the text notifications that would light up my phone.
Only this time I can't press the block button,


It's an odd feeling, a sort of confusion that gives me anger.
But I don't want to try and figure it out,


I was vulnerable, alone, suicidal, depressed, and you knew that.
You took advantage of me with your manipulative "I love you"'s


I fell for it, I was weak, and I loved you for awhile, I truly did.
Until you made me take off my clothes and give you a show,


It was intimate, for the first couple of months I thought.
But you began seeing me more as your sexual object,


But I wanted to believe you loved me.
So I opened my skin for you to make your home in me,


Did you deserve that? At the time, I thought it was only right.
But giving you my organ home was my mistake,


The cycle continued, manipulation of sex for my dignity.
My identity was at stake, I was scared to hear you say,

"Again. "

Silenced by threats that would expose me more than the skin I showed you.
So I, weak and stupid, fed into your fantasies


Emotional turmoils arose if I didn't give you what you wanted.
And I, depressed and scared of being alone, endured the hurtful words,


I had let your words define my worth.
I was nothing more but just someone who deserves this hurt,


There's a reason I stayed, but I feel like it was more rather for me than you.
I feel like some days I wanted this pain, or that I deserved it,


My trust was tattooed on your hand, my heart tattooed on your foot.
Never realizing the damages you left in me,


As you began to rattle my rib cage to wake me,
Asking me for more, and more, until I bled out my soul,


Forceful grabbing, soulless insults, groaning and yelling,
Then you'll leave, high and dry, for hours until you were ready to start,


My body shakes, my mind in disarray, buzzed like bees in a can.
I wept as I had to bandage myself,


You broke me as easily as a porcelain doll.
And I laid there, numb, as you kept moving your hips faster,


My body turned cold, as my heart packed its bags to leave.
I neglected myself, all for you, but you just wanted to keep going


You probably didn't care that I said I couldn't feel a thing.
You covered my mouth, ripped off my clothes, and forced yourself through,


Stating that I'll feel you inside, I'll feel our love in my chest.
But I cried and all I could feel was the yearning to slit my neck,


I had many breaking points, but none the worst as the last.
I was ready to give my tired body to the Reaper's arms,


And so I did, I left without a care of whatever you were going to do.
No matter how many threats and insults you shoved into my ear once


You wanted my hollow body that echoed your voice of "Take it off for me,
Again. "
And I stab myself through my stomach, slice myself in half, rip you from the grip you had around my heart, snip your gnarly fingers from my brain, and say

"No. "

hermes,  injustice.

Author: Fritzi Melendez
Date: 13/06/2019

№ 774590


I would have rather been Orpheus,
Travelling to various hells for you
And singing songs to save you
Even though you couldn't save yourself:
Stop looking back. The flames aren't worth it.
Let my eyes burn brighter than the abyss.
Just whatever you do don't turn your face
Away Eurydice. Hades will have his Persephone
And you are not her.

It's better this way I guess. I would have looked
Back at you and watched you crumble into
A shadowy pillar of salt as did the wife of Lot
When she looked back at Sodom. I am faithless,
Which is why I cannot sing like Orpheus. I am faithless,
Which is why I would have watched you melt into
A shadowy memory of the underworld even if I could.

Instead, I was a messenger of these strange myths.

Wings on my feet, I raced against the multitudinous
Skylines of the worlds I do not inhabit, skipped across
Volumes and volumes of rows and columns of planets and
Stars written by dead old men and women. They spoke presently
Of the voluminous presence their absence had created, and did so
Without having known of the secrets of this absence when
They wrote about their respective presents. Presents conferred
To winged-feet wishful thinkers who spiral uncontrollably with their mouths
To sudden and dangerous depths: Every serious reader remembers
The time they stopped whispering controversies and started shouting them
Without knowing that they were shouting them: Ideas are messy things
That don't need loudspeakers: Decibels violently shudder themselves out
Of being the moment you mention to your mother that God
Might not exist and Camus said so: Existence itself implodes outwards
Like how plants produce seeds that make themselves when novels
Start at their ends which are really their beginnings: Children
Kill their mothers through birth: Boys with wings on their feet
Take the library too seriously.

This is
I flew towards you without a chariot

And found you in your various hells, one book at a time,
And why I would have rather have been Orpheus
Because at least then I could have sang you songs
Before you ended up retreating back into your various
Selves. It could have been my fault then for looking back.

It could have been,
Could have been,
Could have been
You that was Orpheus. You who looked back.
You being the reason that I crumbled into a pillar of
Shadow and salt because, as did Lot's wife, I looked back.

We both did, and watched the whole world invert itself
On its axis, then turn and twist and shift itself
Into superimposed images and shapes and dreams
That changed you from muse to poet and
Dream to dreamer
And Eurydice to Orpheus
And to Lot then his wife
And to this: which you always were.

Those wings on your feet: When
The librarians changed the positions of the bookshelves-
And therefore our imaginations: our movements
And stanzas and scenes and days and nights-
Those wings on your feet: When
That happened they must have stopped fluttering
For a second. I tried flying again and fell.

I haven't been much of a messenger since.


Author: Tawanda Mulalu
Date: 09/03/2019

№ 518617

A hermes crioforo

Para que de las Nayades el companero amado
Haga el macho a la oveja agradable y propicio,
Y el rebano que pace, del campo entre el bullicio,
A orillas del Galeso, quede multiplicado,

Es fuerza que esto alegre, que del techo abrigado
Del pastor, en invierno, reciba el beneficio;
El familiar Demonio ve todo sacrificio,
Sobre mesa de miЎrmol o en tierra, con agrado.

Honremos, pues, a Hermes Inmortal. En su altura
Prefiere a templo o ara siempre la mano pura
Que una impoluta vГ­ctima a los dioses ofrezca.

Amigo, un hilo alcemos al final de tu prado.
Y que sangre de un macho cabrГ­o degollado
Ponga negra la arcilla y el cosped enrojezca.


Author: Ismael Enrique Arciniegas
Date: 19/07/2018

№ 251233


It is true, without falsehood, and most certain.
2. What is below is like that which is above; and what is above is like that which is below: to accomplish the miracle of one thing.
3. As all things were formed from one, by the thought of one, so all things are born from this one thing, by choice.
4. Its father is the sun, Its mother the moon, the wind carries it in its belly, Its nurse is the Earth.
5. It is the author of all perfection through-out the world.
6. The power is strong when changed into Earth.
7. Seperate the Earth from the fire, the subtle from the gross, gently and with care.
8. Ascend from the Earth to Heaven, and descend again to Earth, to unite the power of the higher and lower things; thus you will obtain the glory of the whole world, and the shadows will leave you.
9. This has more strength than strength itself, for it overcomes all subtle things and penetrates every solid.
10. Thus the world was framed.
11. Hence proceed wonders, which means are here.
12. Therefore I am Hermes Trismegistus, Having the three parts of world philosophy.
13. That which I had to say of the operation of the sun is perfected.

''Spiritual Alchemy''

emerald,  hermes,  tablet.

Author: Eleete j Muir
Date: 19/11/2017