The Odyssey

                                   I.

A hero, a story, his name is unimportant

for the arch of his journey follows the same curve

that the Gods and nature dictates

still we listen, for the hero's story is everyone's tale.

I pray my Muse will kindly guide me

my capricious mistress, forever shoe shopping.

Shoe shopping?  Like what is with that?

No greater mystery in all the universe

than a woman's fascination with footwear.

But whoa, I digress and my words meander

from the tales of brave Ulysses

the man who sacked the holy citadel of Troy

and who's exploits across the wine dark seas

on that long journey away and back home again

is the story I come to share with you.

                                    II.

The sea rises, swells and sways

the ship's prow points up

-and falls away

On the restless waters, crest capped with foam

the crew keeps singing

we're going home, we're going home.

And Ulysses suffers from the worst earworm ever

he would gladly dash his head against the rocks

just to be free of their monotonous tune

but with a sigh of resignation, Ulysses knows their inspiration.

Yes, they are going home, back home from the war.

Combat can bring some to sainthood

in between haunted dreams they find the warrior's calm

and know they need not prove anything to anyone -ever again

though anger management is impractical at best

as chaos whirls all around on the bloody battlefield

where the chance of random death runs high

and hero's names are lost to time if his other comrades fall.

No longer at war Ulysses swore to all the Gods

he would do his best, never to harm a living soul.

Except maybe to bitch slap that Agamemnon once

righteously smack down the king responsible

for so many wasted years and lives

for choosing war first, instead of last

then , maybe then, Ulysses felt he could find

the real peace that comes after the armistice.

Yes peace, illusive peace,

though he would settle for peace and quite

desperate for anything to stop the crew from singing.

In dark humor Ulysses calculated if sacrificing one

would be worth avoiding a migraine later.

                                    III.

Eight days and many leagues later

the sea and wind seem unfamiliar, odd and strange.

Ulysses had commanded under pain of death

no one asks again -"are we there yet?"

An island appeared where there should have been none

Brygos the helmsman cried out-"let's stop

land ashore and ask for directions".

Ulysses was thunder struck and then thundered out

"Directions? Directions? Do you not trust me?

As your leader and captain of this ship?"

The crew's silence spoke volumes

Ulysses relented, "suit yourselves" grumbled.

                                    IV.

The beach sand was soft and fine, the sun warm

and it made Ulysses drowsy with nostalgia

besides he wanted no part of the argument brewing

that was developing like a summer storm

between the head strong factions of the crew.

Ulysses only crave a nap and he was so willing

to slumber as other tried to decisively choose

which way they would go  -up or down the beach

possibly split up or stay as a group, Ulysses didn't care .

If the crew did not trust in his command

then they could muddle  though their own decisions.

Sleep can be so kind.

Awake in the dark of night and unsure of how long he slept

waves of apprehension synchronized themselves

to the continuous pulse of surf on the beach.

The crew should have been back by now

and Ulysses began to regret his vacation from command.

"Like children" he mumbled as he strapped a sword to his side.

In moon light he tracked the footprints until to his horror

he found where the struggle had occurred

and the victor was a giant that dragged in the sand

not a net full of fish but the entire crew of his ship.

Like a shepherd to his flock or even a father to his children

rescue wasn't a question of "if" only a problem of how.

The footprints, three cubits in length, where easy to follow

but soon logic began to sap his courage

a footprint of three cubits meant a height of over twenty

as giants go, this would be a big one.  

                                    V.

As Helios's shield rose just a sliver

as the first rays of dawn cleave sky and land

from high ground Ulysses could spy down

on the shabby hovel, the dismal cave entrance

with littered filth scatter in every direction

this was where the footprints ended,  the home of his enemy.

It stank of smoke and of rotting death

but most of all of sheep -both fleece and offal.

At two hundred paces back from the cave

Ulysses gagged from the stench of the manure .

In the darkness of the cavern came a clamor

that built to a rumble of a terrible noise

to broadcast the emergence into full light

the giant, the giant with only one natural eye

perfectly centered there in his face

one vicious, malicious and hideous eye.

So fearful a face, Ulysses forgot

he was facing a foe six times his height.

The giant, the Cyclopes, not fully awake

comically stumbled like a tottering child.

Now seemed the best moment to launch an attack

Ulysses drew in a deep breath of resolve

and drew from the sheath a sharpen blade

there was no further delay, fate turns on moment.

Ulysses screamed his savage war cry

racing down from the high ground

sword over head, screaming, screaming

loud enough to shake the walls of Troy

fearsome enough to make men wet themselves

the Cyclopes was caught totally by surprise

but fate is whimsical and fate is cruel.

Ulysses step in some muck

as slippery as grease and as thick as gruel

and the warrior lost his footing, tumbled and fell

only to roll to the feet of the Cyclopes

The irony and humiliation so obvious

you didn't need two eyes to see it

the Cyclopes roared with laughter

and in one swift motion scooped up Ulysses

as if he was stray kitten caught by the scuff of the neck.

Brave Ulysses, mighty and respected commander of men

right there and then, helpless and held high in the air

at the mercy of a monster with a cold nasty stare. 

The Cyclopes laughed again  and said in superior tone

"I've been expecting you, let me show you my home"

and into gloom of the cave, the Cyclopes carried our hero.

                                    VI.

The Cyclopes' grotto was groaty dank place

what it lacked in light it made up in putrid orders

this would have been a fair final punishment 
for souls too wicked for Hades to keep.
By the dim flicker of lamps burning sheep fat

Ulysses could see something in the play of shadows

but it was more a feeling, like a blind man touching

and by touch and feel he might surmise and suspect

the reality of the world around him.

Into a huge holding pen Ulysses was thrown

and what was scary, he knew he wasn't alone

The eyes take a little time to make the best of faint light

but there in the pen, mixed in with some sheep

was the rest of his crew, shocked and grief stricken.

Quick as he could Ulysses took count

there was Periscus. Brygos and Damon the fair

next, Dionysios the apply named drunkard

Gallus, Hermon and in the darkness he heard Homer

then Medus, Acamus, Tiro and ..... before he could say

the names of the missing, Gallus spoke up

"they are now gone, taken for dinner".

Those words were a hammer blow

that nailed the truth of the circumstances deep.

At a leisurely pace the Cyclopes ambled over

drinking a large amphora of wine, that was small in his hands.

The sun by then probably had just cleared the horizon

and honest men barely started their day of labor

but the Cyclopes already had the drowsy intoxicated look

of the pugnacious drunk filled with bluster and violence.

His gaze was straightforward, right at Ulysses

and after long loud belch he began.

"The Gods can do anything -can't they?

and you drunk on virtue

here to save your friends

-they said you would come,

pull them out of this fine mess

in one epic act of heart and mettle.

But you didn't think you'd end up with them.

Maybe now you're hoping the Goods will save you

Maybe the Gods can't do everything".

Then he vomited up some sour old wine

and bits of his last meal of sheep and of men

recognizable parts of men that Ulysses once knew. 

The Cyclopse amused with his own musings

concluded his speech with closing loud belch

and tried to drain the amphora of its last lonely dregs.

The empty clay jar yielded nothing

and the Cyclopes took that as provocation

as he smashed it against the wall

with such force shards rained everywhere.

If the Cyclopes was the height of six men

and the volume of a score or more

the lout could drink more wine than a fleet

of sailors returned to port, after months out on the waves.

Drunkenness is a two act play

a stumbling comedy that progresses into tragedy

and the pending tragedy was about to take stage.

The Cyclopes opened the pen door part way

reach in with a clumsy grab, Ulysses's crew knew the drill.

They clung to corners and push the sheep forward

but the Cyclopes had marginally sufficient wits

to tell which was which and who was who.

"You'll not fool me again this morning".

And that's when the giant's hand found Dionysios

once one was trapped in the grip

the tactics switched, defense turned to offense

-to attack the arm pulling away their fellow crewman.

It was a desperate effort, filled with feral fury

and totally futile as the Cyclopes flicked them off like fleas.

When the door slammed shut, Dionysios was beyond help

the bars of the pen that held the others in

might as well be a divide as wide as the River Styx.

Dionysios loved his wine and song

and with a drink or two was a friend to all

he did not screech in terror but faced fate audaciously

spitting in his tormentor's eye and cursing brazenly

loud, bold and vulgar, helpless but not afraid.

In a single swift move the Cyclopes snapped in two

a man, a man that was better than most

and ate him in a few ferrous bites.

If hearts are broken over calamity and murder

they are also inflamed to rage over cutting remarks.

As the Cyclopes licked his fingers dripping with blood

he curtly said "delicious, very much like kidneys but

instead of the tang of urine" then paused for dramatic effect 

"It was the tang wine vinegar" he then smacked his lips.

Even among harden veterans of war

those who already intimate with senseless slaughter

never before did their blood boil hotter.

Before a single word was spoken

before the Cyclopes staggered to bed, to sleep off breakfast

before another moment passed

Ulysses swore the next act of this play

would be revenge, penned by his very own hand.

                                                VII.

It was not a time for recriminations

it was not a time to say I told you so

The men Ulysses had, had to be braded together

had to joined in lockstep and rank

formed in the line of a Phalanx

they already had a reason to fight

they were all in , to kill the Cyclopes.

The walls of the pen were a mesh of large logs

separated by very small spaces, too small

for even a boy to crawl through.

Inside the pen where only the sheep and the men

and the filth they both create together.

Not much else, truly not much else at all

On the  floor, just outside of their stockade wall

there laid, several sharp shards of hard fired clay

This morning's amphoras where of a fine vintage wine

and the ceramic vessels made sturdy and strong.

Damon the fair, lanky and thin reached through the bars

and dragged back in a few pieces sharp and long.

They then had weapons, though not to be ungrateful

they were not very good ones, a sharp edge here or there

does not make a sword or spear.

"Not sword or spear but maybe a tool" Gallus said

"A tool, a tool, to build a mightier device of death"

Gallus, the ship's carpenter began to explain.

Out the minds of many come the best ideas

Ulysses took these treads, he the master at the loom

brought them together into a woven pattern

and discovered they had maybe one chance

where before they really had none.

From their prison walls they found one loose log

long and straight and not that thick around

it was their first stroke of good fortune

the first time the dice had rolled in their favor.

As loose as the log was, it remained only potential

the task at hand took the total effort of all

to the point of exhaustion until the log came free.

Then the work, with the shards of broken pottery

the cold blooded and calculating craftsmanship

of turning ordinary objects into weapons.

The men worked in the quiet determination

fueled by fear and furious rage.

The missing log didn't create much of a gap

it was fitted in between two massive posts

the vacant space, two to three hands wide

far too small for a grown man to pass through

but Damon was a youth not fully filled out

his body was like the spindly spear shaft .

From Damon's mind his thought took voice

"I think I can, I'm sure I can, slip through that breach"

This add an extra dimension to the battle plan

if Damon could get out and open the pen

they could kill the Cyclopes as he sleeps.

The weapon they fashioned was a sharpen stick

that they planned to jam right into his eye.

Any man of war knows the advantage goes 

to the side that attacks in an ambush.

There was no way to tell time except by a guess

and they guessed it was almost mid day

for this plan the tide was leaving, they had to hurry

as though they were in a race with Mercury.

                                    VIII.

With the slick and the slime of the disgusting ooze

that lined walls and the floors of their prison

Damon's thin body was slathered thick

until he was as slippery as a frog in pond.

Once in place Damon squeezed part way through

then the others pushed firmly, gently

so not to crack or break the poor boy's ribs.

Halfway in, he was tightly trapped

unable to move or breath, in a gasp he said

"there's no turning back, push without mercy"

 and they did, without any regard to Damon's ribs.

There was the smallest movement, the tiniest shift

and in an instant Damon popped out the other side

tumbled to the floor and wheezed for a lungful of air.

Damon smiled in self satisfaction then shared his private joke

"Look close a miracle, you see a man born again".

He was in pain but could stand and walk

Ulysses and his crew thanked the Gods

once again the dice rolled in their favor

but any gambler is aware that luck is limited

and good fortune only visits briefly.

As Damon was prepared to unlock the latch

the Cyclopes awoke hungover and wrathful.

Survival gives men wings when they need them

Damon ran to the nearest sheltered corner

taking the defensive tactics of a kitchen mouse

using his relatively small size to his advantage.

There was cursing and clatter, and almost comedy

as Damon evaded capture and death.

The men cheered Damon on as he darted about

from refuge to refuge though out the cave.

Finally the Cyclopes on hands and knees, was reaching

stretching his arm  behind the firewood for Damon

the young man was just barely out of touch.

The Cyclops's back was turned away from the pen

his prostrated position was only an arm's length away.

In a stealthy command of hand gestures

Ulysses signal his men to each take their place

to lift up their weapon like a battering ram

to aim the point out through the best open space

and on a quiet count of three, they ram the spike home

In one forceful thrust together

they ripped the Cyclopes a new one.

Skewered from the stern, impaled through and through

the point emerged from the base of the neck

in a froth of choking, gurgling blood.

The dying monster looked back, his single sad eye

 with an expression of pathos and pain

but the captive men had little sympathy to spare.

"Now you know firsthand" said Ulysses said

"Murder like war, so much more difficult

when the tide turns and the other side wins".

Those who have never been in combat

falsely believe that mortal wounds often kill quickly.

When end is so certain, Death seems to takes its time

and strolls over at a leisurely pace to collect next soul.

With justified caution Damon emerged

opened the pen and set everyone free.

And before the light left the eye of the Cyclopes

before darkness and oblivion came to him

Ulysses marched men past the fallen enemy

so the giant's last memory,  here on this Earth

where of the faces of the men who defeated him.

                                    IX.

Back to the ship, back to the journey home

The island faded into the horizon and was gone.

Tiro spoke in boastful moment of hindsight

"We should have waited to stick him in the eye".

In a practical and pragmatic insight Pericus replied

"You take your opportunities whenever you can". 

But it was Homer that was troubled

"What will the world say Greek men?

That we can only by win by sticking the enemy from behind".

Ulysses laughed " It's more important to survive the day

and worry latter what history might say".

"But what will history say ?" Homer frowned.

"Whatever we want it to, because the Cyclopes isn't talking"

And Ulysses gave Homer that look

that said all that's worth saying has already been said.

But Homer could not leave well enough alone and mused on

"Isn't this a story worth telling?

And if we do tell it, shouldn't be true?

Can any story be valid, if the truth isn't whole?"

Ulysses scratched his beard and the rest of the men leaned in to hear

"The truth is nothing more than a bolt of cloth

people tailor it all the time -to fit their needs

As wool is wool, truth is truth

no matter how you cut it".

"I'm not so sure" said Homer

"But would you mind if I wrote down our exploits?"

"Not at all Homer, suit yourself"

and Ulysses and the crew laughed

as the ship sallied on but no one knew where.