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Tired, I awoke upon a lonely island beach
And gazed on a Goddess above the shore,
With sea foam hair, coral skin, what dream,
My salt eyes, blinded, open, wanting more,

Conspiring with rays of summer she shone
So bright, this daughter of the sun, we stood
I and my castaway crew, to that siren prone
As she led us to her mansion in the woods.

Her potions tamed the forest wolf and lion,
Spellbinding warrior poets to liven feasts.
Why then must she turn ***** men to swine,
By what she most desired contented least?

Desert falcon, my moly held Pharaohs' breeze
And what nil escape above the wine dark seas.
The name 'Circe' means 'falcon.'  She was a beautiful woman, whose braided red hair resembled flames.
In Greek mythology, Circe was a goddess of magic (or sometimes a nymph, witch, enchantress or sorceress). By most accounts, Circe was the daughter of Helios, the god of the sun.
Circe was renowned for her vast knowledge of potions and herbs. Through the use of magical potions and a wand or a staff, she transformed her enemies, or those who offended her, into animals.

As told in the Odyssey, Hermes told Odysseus to use the holy herb moly to protect himself from Circe's potion and thus resisted it.


Waves are pushing the shore
Continents are drifting from the top of the core
On the other hand existence is grounding more
Who made this life and torn?
How did the beauty born?
And who left this earth alone?
  Who lost the time in a cyclone blown?
I am standing far from the any
And the waves are making the sounds of penny!
I see the wee time folds within the ripples of many -

###
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Everything is going to be crunched and making new existence in course of time and we are always try to make our existence but never thought about who are fate less and deprived ......
Love, where did it make?
And how my love far away from your heart
How it moves through my life?

It installed early when river initiated from a waterfall
It roosts into soul and flows through the vein and vale
And it is seeking the sea where it melts with me

The high Himalayas are out of my range
I could not climb it, she thought
And it makes a dark shadow

The difference between you and me
The shadow as the twilight of the horizon
And after then the dark,
The very dark wall

The poet has a pair of dreaming wings like an angel
And his mind is a gay in such a jocund company

He could, she can break the shadow in mind and soul
How long the shadow!
How thick the wall!
That never stronger than the passion of a poet -

@ Musfiq us shaleheen  & Vanessa Gatley
Love: the unlimited inspiration of a poet/poetess.......
I can hear it
The whistle and rustle as air surrounds and fills the sacks of my lungs
I can feel it
The heavy tightness of my chest with every exhale
I reach in my pocket
"Shake" "shake"
"Puff" "puff"
A sudden relief of my lungs smooth muscles loosening
Dopamine fills my body
Sigh
I exhale and walk away happily daunting the next oncoming of an attack by its hazardous side effects

A fish out of water
It matters not if your poetry be Sonnet or Haiku. Nor yet if it be free style. The only thing which matters is the essence of the poem which should reflect the true heart of its writer.
© Hilda  August  11, 2014
cold Dr Pepper
in old fashioned glass bottle
evokes sweet mem'ries
© Hilda August 12, 2014
If dreams were tangible, dear princess, I'd give you mine
this dream where unfading echoes never die
Back a long, grassy lane, a house once white, now greying with time
set against the ***** of verdant hill, and crowded amongst a hundred soughing pines
Nearby a sundappled wood with tranquil creek and mossy stones
Ferns tall as your waist and creamy mushrooms
Beyond stretch clover scented pasture haunted by purplish dusk and
ghosts of gurnsey calves with solemn eyes

To bring a smile to your lovely face and a song to your heart.
Above a garret where silvery moonbeams dance
scented by old mothballs and books from bygone days
their yellowed pages mildewed and musty with age
Perhaps some tear stained journal from yesteryears
penned by long dead poetess, kindred spirit facing hardships like our own
listening to this same ancient wind sweeping the trees, gaunt branches scratching windowpanes as souls forlorn
yes, I would give you all this, sweet princess, if wishes had wings
just to bring a smile to your lovely face

this dream where unfading echoes never die
© Hilda August 13, 2014   Written for my dear daughter Marian who has felt rather sad and tired tonight
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