Altar

A place of offerings

If you wish to leave your offering to Apollo or His son, be it in the form of poems, prayers, texts, images, music, please do so by using the contact in the side navigation bar.

2007 Delphinia Winner - Sannion

To Apollo, by Sannion

Quietly listen, dear friends, to the song I sing, for it honors the great Lord of Delphi, kindly master of men. Let my harp-strings carry you to high Olympos, where the lovely God lies upon a fragrant couch, unbraiding his long, long hair. He combs it out, golden tresses that fall like rays of the radiant sun, and the Muses lay at his feet, gazing with adoration upon him. Apollo pauses, smiles softly, then says in a voice as sweet as the lyre, "Hymn me a song, O beautiful maidens, for Olympos should ring with the sound of joyful song and light feet in sporting dances."

Klio lifts her head and begins to sing, hers the story of Leto's wanderings. She tells how Hera was wroth with the daughter of Koios, and how she laid a curse upon her, so that no place that had felt the sun would shelter her as she brought forth her mighty children. In great pain the Goddess wandered, rejected at every turn, harried by the great dragon of Delphi, the Python. But when all seemed lost, and Leto feared Hera's curse would be her end, the humble island of Delos rose from the sea, and offered to receive the Goddess and her blessed children, since it had never felt the warm rays of the sun. Even before lovely-haired Leto had begun to be gripped with the pangs of child birth, Artemis came forth, an effortless birth. Apollo, however, proved a great deal harder, and Leto labored for nine nights and nine days, her daughter serving as midwife for her. Then, the joyous child sprang forth, Zeus' son, bathed in a golden light. The island laughed with joy, for it was the first to look upon the beautiful face of beautiful Apollo. And to this day, one can hear the echo of that laughter in the fragrant palm and cypress trees that adorn the once-craggy shores of Delos, rich in flowers.

Thalia takes up the song from her sister, weaving a humorous story, though not a light one. She sings of the baby Apollo, hunting the terrible dragon Python four days after his birth. Creeping along the mountain crevice, little Apollo clutched his bow to him, his chubby fingers barely grasping it. The smell of the cave where the dragon lived was foul, and the God turned up his nose, but did not turn away, for his beloved mother had been wronged by the beast. When Leto wandered the world in great pain, Python drove her off, and tried to still the life in her belly. For such an afrront, Apollo had to have vengeance, whatever the cost. He spied the dragon slithering from its cave, and drew back his bow. His arms were steady as he slid an arrow into place, and steady as he took aim. Then, Apollo let fly - and the arrow took the serpent in the eye. Arrow after arrow flew until the enormous beast collapsed, and then Apollo rushed down, chanting his voctory song, "Ie, ie, paion!" Such was the God's greatest moment, for he took possession of the Delphic oracle, the ancient seat of prophecy. From there Apollo spoke the will of Zeus, his father, gaining much fame.

Erato's turn comes next, and her song is one of love. Kyrene was a nymph who hunted in the woods of mount Pelion, protecting her father's herds with spear and sword. Apollo watched her from afar, delighting in her supple body and her quick movements. She seemed lovely to him as she raced with her hunting dogs or wrestled with wiry lions, and the God felt his heart leap in his breast at the thought of her. He appeared before her in all his shining glory, and Kyrene couldn't resist his full lips or shadowed eyes. She climbed into his swan-drawn cart and flew with him to Africa, where the God named a city after her. On Libya's golden couch, they whiled away the hours, lost in love. From their union came Aristios, hunter and herdsman. This was Apollo's greatest love, and unlike Hyakinthos or Daphne, it was completely untouched by sorrow.

And with that, the song ends, and Apollo, greatly pleased, rises from his seat, and joins the Muses in their dance.

And so too, does my song come to an end. Glorious Apollo do I honor, who kindly healed my mother, as she lay sick. Ie ie Paion!

Thiasos Asklepios 2007 Asclepia Winners

Asklepios speaks
I see you suffer and feel your pain, for I too have been a mortal. Aching you cry to the Gods and raise your hands towards Them and from the highs my father watches with His golden crown. Forget not, thou, of the shadows brought by light, of the dread arrows and golden sword, always remember the plagues and devastation, of night and death, for the Lord of Light is also the Lord of Dark who waits at Hades’ gate with a temple of doom.

But even then I am there for you; I give you my hand while my daughter comforts you in the warmth of Her arms. I am the one who was first worshiped with fire by the elder and wise, of herbs I taught and elements would bend to the healing strength of my priests. Then the temples became my home and I would advice you in the tenderness of sleep. And now my temples are filled with the scent of ether and medicines and my priests dress in white and help you with the flask of knowledge once offered to me by my master Cheiron and the mighty Athena.

You can call for me, I will ear you and my daughter will answer. But forget not of the natural order, for I am a mighty God of golden origin, but Thanatos is as much my father as Paian and to them I must obey – that which is dead shall not be risen, that which shall dye shall not be saved.

But hail to Asklepios, for even that which is dead shall be respected and that which shall dye can still be comforted and his pain mitigated. Despair not, for I am watchful.

~Miguel

Prayer to Asklepios
Theos Asklepios - Giver of health
Great God of medicine
Caretaker of the soma,
Please shed your healing light on me,

your mortal admirer and devotee.
Grant me a chance to glimpse your staff,
the healing rod, the tree of life.
May your sacred snakes use their powers
to heal all my aliments and keep me well.
Many thanks and great praise to you,

dear Theos Asklepios.

~Amy Cole

Your eyes narrow, and the light of day shifts.
The hunted has halted its motion.
You stop and silence your beating heart, and your bow remains tense.


The wind changes, the scent is there, you smell it all around you.
Suddenly it moves, fast and furious through the brush.
Your heart beats, your feet move like lightning, barely touching the
ground.


Every lash of the wild grasses on your legs.
Every whip of your golden hair.
Every heart pounding moment brings you closer.

There he is, a wild buck, powerful and full of life.
His stamina is tremendous, yours divine.

His every movement like music, his exertion like song.

The wood gives way, the buck continues to run.
You stop under the glaring sun, and draw your arrow taught against
the string.
The world stops, the beast moves, your every motion like poetry.


Let loose, you do, and like the wind the arrow flies.
You expect it, that moment that seems to come an eternity later.
The arrow hits home, the buck falls, your aim true.

Jubilant yet sad you approach him.

The beast is dying.
You draw forth a knife for the sake of mercy.

You say a prayer, you sing a paean, a sacrifice to the sky.
You do it swiftly, you end his suffering, your hands awash in its blood.
Sing then the song, and feast on the flesh, surrendered at last to

the lord of the bow.

~Hector Lugo

Wisdom begins in wonder - Socrates