What is the cause the bookish philologue
Holds that the Greeks were by their bent abusive?
And wherefore the hoary pedagogue
Strains to persuade us that they were intrusive?
Does search for truth inspire these academics?
Does love of learning lead them the Greeks betray?
For some it's pure bigotry systemic,
While others in plain sight argue pro se.
The straights of dominance accuse the Greeks
While the gays flail desperately for a foil.
Antiquity, they preen, of abuse reeks,
Unlike us modern wags, so don't recoil.
Thus wed in marriage of convenience,
The lettered prigs of the academy
And the fey profs they scorn for deviance
Drag down the good Greek name in infamy.
Oh, could those Greeks awake, and raise ajar
The heavy lid of time, and with a smile
Across the gulf of years, from afar,
Give lie to all these accusations vile.
* * *
Men who rough plough and sword first cast aside
And to the Alps of knowledge strove to stride,
Stripped off their robes and showed themselves undressed
And naked exercised and learned and taught,
Not by some primitive impulse possessed,
But so that by their eyes truth naked might be caught.
Thus out of vision grasped by men farsighted
The flames of art and science first ignited.
From their hands mute stone first stirred to life;
From their stages theater laughed and cried;
Their minds, searching to end brute toil and strife,
To tame men's savage ways, a subtle path descried.
That path was love, yet not love reproductive,
But a new love, of supermen productive,
And friendships firm, that made strong tyrants quake.
Thence modern man was born, from this found truth:
Man callow lives and dies, lest through man's love awake.
Thus Greeks their glory won, through man's love for a youth.
In wise men's hands this love was no rank scourge
For it was wrought in the same genius forge
Whence came all truth that Hellas yet does teach.
Heart's primal path it blazed, two bloods to bind,
Yet well limned honor's boundaries not to breach,
Guarding body pristine, while ennobling the mind.
Though now the mouths of Greeks are stopped with dust
There stands their envoy, whose speech wise men trust.
Their written word, that centuries perdures
Reveals before our disbelieving eye
How well they told love sacred from impure
And that to claim Greeks boys defiled is but a lie.
Aesop man's greed and foolishness did skewer,
Here fabled Zeus helped him to ford a sewer:
"Fair goddess Shame defied the Olympic king
And warned that she would fly from men, unchained,
Should Eros from behind try entering."
Shameless such men by Aesop were ordained.
Hear now Plato, whom Ganymede inflamed
And verses penned his boyfriends, not some dame.
His peals of laughter roll from the tomb's night
Mocking those men who restraint lack in bed
And his sharp words chide them in black and white:
"Why lurch you on all fours to mate like quadrupeds?"
"You men fancy yourselves of noble stock?
You're nought but piglets scratching 'gainst a rock."
Thus Socrates, whom boyish charms entranced.
Thus, since our world was new, the blame in fact
Was not sweet love that man for youth advanced
But the blind urge to barge up his digestive tract.
Plato, when forging man's ideal laws
Hymned love of lads unmarked by vulgar flaws.
The Spartan foes and myth-weaving Cretans
He put in pillory to make example:
"They sow their seed on barren rocks, like cretins,"
Though well he knew those tribes debauch did not sample.
In vain plied Rome its poison pen to scold
Boy-loving Spartans for lust overbold.
For Cicero's attack did doubly miss,
First showing Spartans did not brook abuse.
His teasing epigram pining for his slave's kiss,
Then proved that his own heart did lean to Spartan use.
Speak, O captain of philosophy's seas,
Futtering males you dubbed mental disease.
Yet, Aristotle, your loves' names fill a book!
Yet, jibed you, only blind men crave not beauty!
How then, in youth, for lover Hermias you took,
And your acolytes embraced as sacred duty?
"Only such men are ill who their beloveds hurt.
A male to top? That's tantamount to chewing dirt.
But moderate men have leave to taste love's pleasure.
My son, Nicomachus, exampled my views:
After my death, his life my own did measure,
When my friend Theophrastus for lover he did choose."
The amphitheater of the Athenians
Thrums still with their laughter and opinions.
Upon its stage of comical reflection,
That oafish lout who his loved boy belittled,
Aristophanes netted for his collection,
Pinning that insect under the tag, "dung beetle."
Speak, old Aeschines, you fiery orator,
Athenian lads you courted and adored.
But you knew chaste from vicious love of boys.
Before all Athens, one you named a whore:
Timarchus, his honor squandered as men's toy,
You brought to ground for flinging open his back door.
And say you more, in this Areopagus?
The ancient lore of love would you teach us?
Then pray, make known to all, what kind of man
A woman makes of his beloved male?
"Two stains mark out for us that noisome clan,
Brutal are they, uncultured too, beyond the pale."
And Plato drains his cup of wine to add:
"Lovers divine can be, as well as bad.
When looking for a tender friend, chase not
Some stripling, seek one who's old enough to think."
And Xenophon the crucial point has wrought:
"You must have leave from the boy's sire, in ink."
Thus an unbroken chain of virtuous men
Joined love with honor again and again.
And even as those heroes' twilight pales
Thebans still taught love's law you must not break.
Said mild Plutarch, an erudite in love of males:
"Of such outrage no part does Aphrodite take."
And he brought proof, not through his own frank speech,
But freed the boys their rapists to impeach.
Such riders rode a most resentful horse
As ill used youths for no man bore more hate
Than for the scoundrel who, plying sly trick or force,
Bent them to satisfy his urgent urge to mate.
Greek lads often avenged ill use with death
Though that revenge might cost their last breath.
Thus fared the despot who while feasting asked
The boy he buggered, "Are you yet with child?"
His boyfriend boiled over, so crassly thus unmasked,
And cut that man in two, by hot shame driven wild.
How then held Greeks honest passion blameless?
In their courageous dream, men not nameless
From mythic grandsires ploughed and sowed and fought
And each other's sons shielded from dangers,
For those hard-to-win lads they sought and loved and taught
Were sprung of friends and neighbors, not faceless strangers.
Modern male love kneels down to pleasure's god
In Greece, Eros the path of duty trod.
True architects of mind the ancients were,
Aware character must many-pillared be.
A father's word might falter, or be felled in war
Then lovers talented would that son's worth trustee.
The Greeks' own words prove they were not uncouth,
To evil call their love is an untruth.
Against the shadow that man's lust still casts,
And always will, on many-figured love
Their gentlemanly ways shone a bright ray that lasts.
Where today's hordes through mire drag, they rose above.
But be no man or woman so naive
As frigid their skilful play believe.
What man with eyes and heart, brain in his head,
Would joy refuse when tender beauty beckons?
No. The very peak of pleasure they assayed
But strode the path of him that honor reckons.
For in that world spun with unpitied pace
In which men's lives had but a moment's grace
To win a lasting prize, then through death's door,
Honor was that one boon all Greeks aspired,
In honor's quest they steadied shields in war,
Honor the touchstone that tested their love's fire.
"What honor," jeers the crowd, "have you gone mad?"
"We're free at last, pile on, join the gay fad."
The tribe of man has never been less free,
Hobbled by this mindless orgy's trammel.
Can you not see, by liberating buggery
You've splattered everyone, like a pissing camel?
There is no freedom nor shall there ever be
Till boy with boy hand in hand can be free.
The few flaunt license, the rest in shame hide.
To say "It gets better" is a sad lie,
See youth after hurt youth leap into suicide,
Their parents want to know, how many more must die?
Thus pressed, the ranks of these eclectic
Protest, "The feeling is electric,"
And pledge to Socrates allegiance.
In vain they claim to hang with that Greek cat,
They're just Romans flying a flag of convenience,
Loath to hoist their own "Asinus asinum fricat."
Like the feeble who lonely solace find
Beguiled by poppies that entrap the mind
These wights cling fast to thrills they deem a treasure.
The learned trade the pleasant for the good,
And just as reason deems opium a fool's pleasure
The Greeks to shun this folly understood.
Wrath told leads me past anger into sadness
To muse upon the random ways of madness.
How blind belief in this dead end of lust
Has robbed all men of love that might have been.
Instead up rise hard walls of fear and disgust
And young and old esteem the tender touch unclean.
John Quincy naked swam in the Potomac
And friend his head could rest on his friend's stomach.
I yearn for days like these, freedom innate,
And innocent pristine simplicity.
From boyhood I have sought to find that natural state
And glimpsed in youth a world without duplicity.
The promise of those times was soon betrayed,
Fearing insight, we chose spectacle's charade.
Nailed shut now stand the doors of perception
While manly love minces in women's garb.
Grown men costume as wives, in blatant deception,
And tender friendship disfigure with a lurid fard.
Sage Aldous must be turning in his grave,
For he was right, this new world is not brave.
To mimic boys gay men now depilate.
You should be proud your hearts yearn for the young,
But lest you rightfully be thought a renegade
Turn wisdom's river to flush out Augean dung.
A better man would keep anger within,
But I... I would not know where to begin.
Long I've laboured 'neath this burden not mine
And paid with loves lost for gay lib's shrill chant.
It's too late now to tell where lies the boundary line
Between that which I am, and a prisoner's rant.
But no one wants to hear this dialectic
Why, my gay pals wax downright apoplectic.
Dear friends, you'll have no more need of gay pride,
-Look, nor history nor sense offer refuge-
All that you need do is cast your gay shame aside:
Cease drowning mankind under buggery's deluge.
The lid of time swings shut, the Greeks are gone,
Upon our orb we're once again alone.
From modern heights we disdain Greeks as rakes
Against whose sins our mores pretend defense.
Yet, in our haste to rise above their mistakes,
We've killed what made them great, and saved what gave offense.
And therein the irony does lie
Keep the bathwater, let the baby die.
But for this murder we'll all pay the price.
Male love repressed morphs into brutish need
From glut of couplings we then multiply like mice
Till pillaged Nature break beneath the human breed.
Nor ask why leering dawns this new dark age,
This maelstrom of materialistic rage,
When in our hearts this unvoiced void does gape,
When mangled Eros hobbles on one leg,
When man's reduced to matrimonial ape,
And his sole destiny? Filthy lucre to beg.