woman waltzes into the metro station
shiny grey hair pursed lips &
book pressed under her armpit
i pause and think—
looks greek no turkish no greek
no the book
how do you know
ugly bust of stesichorus on the outer flap
ancient lyric poet one of the first i think
would someone read stesichorus in this day and age
what kind of woman
the kind of woman who downs
martini martini then
ichor blood of the gods
in one big gulp
all three sifting down her throat
crushed ice at the bottom of each glass
the kind of woman
with hands like a harpy
with eyes like a siren
twenty greek scholars
parceled into her cranium
under shiny grey hair
yes that kind of woman
Avert your eyes
from looking directly
at the monster.
Look only through
that reflective shield,
that glowing rectangle
that parades a
distorted vision of
the objective self,
that which in
dark moments may
suddenly shut off,
revealing one’s face:
inverted, expressionless, petrified—
like when the
mirror of Perseus
at last revealed
Medusa’s horrifying visage.
as will you
for cyclic faith and loathing
hades reaches out
you have sympathy for the devil
come forth, like a fawn
he snaps your neck
there is no place for
the foolish and docile
take pomegranate seeds of pride
swallow and taste bruises
run back into the road
trust the headlights
they will hit you
they will always hit you.
A branch of the tree,
split of the yoke.
A Bee of the mouth,
to heart thus bespoke.
New Year crisis of Man,
fire works, fire worked.
I have heard the Calling,
the anguish of The Woman.
In ancient language the, 'Bee,' represents god's word or the divine message of the Lord. 'Branch,' is the descent of man from the garden or tree of life. There are two modern branches in this world; Christianity and ISLAM.
I gave into a subtle beating,
Wrought once by Eros’ tasked -entreating,
The winds confound I lost my heart and…
…she of black-haired, eyes, dark beauty;
warm-rosined cheeks of nature gladdened,
For Pallas’ claim, -said we both were saddened,
And me a farmer, she a princess,
I of yoked-labor, while her suitors, -the best.
Doth Father-King did mantic challenge, that challenge being sought in no jest.
Accosted me the low-ly suitor,
He gave of me the challenge -the worst. He sent me to the serpent’s folly,
With dagger and heart, whirlwind passion, sought I did the guiles’ jolly,
Up the cragged wind-swept mountain, past laurel berries, trees of holly,
Into white polished marble temple, to the folly of a lair-born beast,
Gave my most but just a farmer, heart of swelling, beat untempered,
As he set out, devour meal thus conquered, came she the dark-haired raven beauty,
With shrieks and wails doth shocked the serpent, he surprised I plunged my dagger,
Serpent dead she held her finger, to my lips and then did whisper;
“We of Pallas judgment true did, find our love rise from ash-field –lister.
Tell of this you will to no one, you the boy who captures fair-heart,
To father you shall be a hero, deception we of female -impart,
Cleverness you must now fashion, must fashion your will to a high art,
Something of a nature now you must know,
Like the serpent-challenge dealt your passion a blow,
Apples will not save you once and,
Once as King and you my hus-band,
We the two of Pallas’ favor, love forever shall we savor,
I the half of you shall sing, you the half shall make me King,
We together, rule forever, we of two sides brawn and clever,
No serpent ever come between us, now that we a love -Athena’s!
Go now and this be our se-cret, marry me and never re-gret, all is yours and I your egret!”
Of this I did sit and ponder, on that hill of temple, off at yonder,
Me of fields, dirt-laden squire, she at court make of me a liar,
Is her beauty, hand a console -to the surety and loss of my soul?
Run I did to the city my way, storm gates to the court and did say;
“These, the teeth of folly’s serpent and she will be my wife on this day!”
Aged now and sit here, grumble,
Kingdom of deceit into which I crumble; Woe to me how didst I tumble?
In rush to love perhaps did stumble? In later years now here I humble;
...love was not worth all the trouble…
her leafy words
like vines that twine
her thoughts together
and sound divine
words that flutter
never empty or bare
into her eyes,
one can never stare
for while her words
entice all men
the call of the Siren
brings their untimely end
so listen not
to what you hear
ignore her words
clog your ear
for nothing good
comes from those words
that weave together
like nests of birds
when you go on past
her rock of murder
for dreams will shatter like glass
there is this someone
who faced the world
as if she was the daughter of ares.
she is as strong as her name.
and stands back up again.
through this endless cycle,
i see glimpses
of hopelessness and loss.
and i wish
that as she grows into a better warrior,
she realizes that she is not alone in this war,
for there are thousands of people
waiting and praying
for her to reach her victory.
but i believe in you,
and i will continue to believe in you,
for my trust is as strong as your name.
happy birthday, brin.
may the world watch in awe of your victories.
A lonely child,
child of neglect
I see you.
Night it befalls,
lonely child met..
You meet me.
Peeled round waist from belly to back,
four pieces do a belt of babe make;
stitched and branded.
Lonely child of neglect,
I bathe in your warm fat.
Clouds they roll, stream cotton frayed sky.
Mother's light peeks to say goodbye,
to you, the lonely child whom had to die?
eah, hah-hah, hah-hah, hah-hah...
Awaken on Friday morning with green hair,
Looking every bit as mythical, out of the ordinary as your personality.
Do you remember telling me in my clouded memory that I was loved?
I don't blame you if you don't,
You were shapeshifting, you were busy.
You had more to worry about than my ramblings and poetry.
Into the past where I find myself slipping,
Forgive me if you find that I'm trespassing.
I see hurt and heartbreak...
Want to bring you back through the vortex
Despite the physical barriers.
How many thousands of men could not break your enigma,
And how many sincere girls have shattered your heart beyond repair?
Oh, who could have blamed you for reading Nabokov in bed?
The marijuana haze was too prevalent,
You having gone years without joy but not a handful of minutes without self-deprecation,
I saw in the full frame of this seriousness,
I cut my hand on the picture frame,
And looked to the floor out of shame.
This is your story after all,
Is it fair if I exclude myself?
Born under a black sun,
And drowning in the omnipresent light,
The Pantheon took note of the atmosphere,
Heightened with sadness.
But you're locked up, Melpomene,
I hardly know your name,
Your tragic songs...
What quiet, old voice has led me to write this?
The same morning my anxiety had reached its peak
And I had little reason to think you'd reached clarity,
I sat in the hallway of struggled composition,
Arrived at the reckoning that nothing should cause worry,
That questions either warrant answers, spite or silence.
All in between is dictated by sadness,
Dictated by you, then.
Please, step back from the ledge.