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fray narte Sep 10
sometimes, she resembles artemis
taking midnight walks
in a sea of moon glint;
her laughter, pale and silvery
as if they are made
of the moonlight itself.
they say that ohio is for lovers
so tonight, she will leave languid kisses
on sadness' flesh and bones;
they are made of all the seas
and all the beds
she has ever drowned in.
but tonight,
she will walk with the moonglades
dancing on the waters of cincinnati,
hand in hand and coming undone,
as the moon rises
from the ghost towns in her mind.

she goes on — treading waters,
and somewhere in the background is her silhouette,
a flickering shadow of the candle fire,
slowly melting,
the darker half of the moon,
setting in the west,
drowning in the tides.
and somewhere in the background is her silhouette,
slowly crumbling
to a heap of mess.
and somewhere in the background is her silhouette,
pallid and gray —

and sinking
beneath the waves.
JT Sep 8
Oh Artemis
Girl of the wild
Girl of the moon
Goddes girl

Oh Artemis
Daughter of lighting
Daughter of rain
Daughter of storms

Oh Artemis
You swore an oath
Did you not?

Oh Artemis
What would your father say
If he found out
You broke it?

Oh Artemis
Break it
I beg you
Break your promise
And bring me the moon

a bit of mythology
Angela Liyanto Oct 2018
As my dream world does not need any eyes to see
Fainted-sight nearly never lose its vision,
To find truth as of a wonder spectacle,
Near as the interlaced connections in my mind
Will spark a fantastic find or wish or click
In sound of a new sight for all to see:

A pungent child, and distinguished clown, his loud bellows
Of laughter and inspite of joyous encasement,
a frowning juggler, a coy boy in boots
And a fluorescent jumping castle
Muddled in a festival of such this May,
Merry people below thousand scattered balloons

All of manic heights from feisty whirlpool rides.
That these festivities might twirl into a dream land
That pokes at little men in need to mischief-hay
Embers of cooking sausages, discussion from the winner-goat race
The purplish-nagging bubble-gum that
Lands on the mother's heeled shoes…

What somethings did we wish for? Standing mext to
the exquisite gushing of lemonade frenzy stall
Seven bright women dance on stage,
Their Columbian accents beating and developed,
Teenage archery competes to Artemis cue
Within a wrinkle they missed the grains of cash

And seven hundred travellers roam the grass
Perform their coy group marches, crowds gaping
And it pleases the children.
Dionysus breathes warmth & chuckles to the place,
The gracious torch fell on the harlequins backstage
With their panpipes and rainbow flags.

The son of the policeman was dressed as the Genie
For some reason, he liked to flock the youth
Together in a circle.
And there was always a grazed stuntman in the centre.
there was mad-shouting and the children
Took no notice of the drizzling rain.

What grace-frenzy dreamland this might show
That it will be sad outcome for it to be in only one mind
To express the mist of experience
In a word or two, seems perplex-hard to do
I arrange such wonderland and fairy love
In a seamstress of rose-tinted speech.
kippi Oct 2018
a car on a warm summer night
is possibly the safest place on earth
i spill my heart to you
as lavender paint strokes
decorate the sky like
a masterpiece in the louvre

the sun that sets slowly
on our waking hours
takes away more and more
of his golden light
while i wish it would last longer
the moon knows all my secrets

your shining light creeps
onto my skin through
the window frame,
rolled down to let
the cool breeze flow through
this sanctuary

i speak
“i’ve missed you, my moon
why must you go
and stay for such a short time?”

“i’m sorry, my child”
she whispers to me
through her beams of security
“but i am here now
what is troubling your heart?
i feel its pain”

my love here on earth
they must leave me too
and someday they won’t
come back
and that day hasn’t come yet
but i know it will.”

“how can you be so sure?
to consider someone your love
is a force too powerful
to be ignored
it simply must be
or it hurts both hearts.”

“i cannot feel their heart
whenever i try to,
they build a wall of thorns
so i cannot reach it
and the thorns on their heart
***** my own
and it cries through my eyes
which tears you shine on.”

“don’t cry, my child
with every wound
time heals
love of any kind
can prevent another
or scrape
or stab
and their thorns will soon
wilt and die
giving you the chance
to heal them too.”

“your brother peaks over the horizon,”
i say
it’s time that you must go.”

“please remember, my child
that your heart is your own
and no amount of thorns
will ever constrict
its ability to
the moon is my mother
and her stars are my brothers.
nish Oct 2018
i'm not talking about
inter dimensional travel
between the planes of reality
with a final destination of the 8th world
no, just going back to the basics
we've all heard of these
"7 wonders of the world"

theres the pyramids and the gardens
a light house i believe

i'm sure zeus was mentioned
along with arthritis?
no, no artemis, that ol' chap

haliarnassus and colossus
thats about it
seven right, no detail
just brushing up on the facts

well after about 10 years of research
much endured suffering
many fallen tears
and lives given to the cause

I petition the 8th wonder

organic chemistry.
-dedicated to those we lost in the battle
Kimberly Sep 2018
She stood there unmoving, her back straight
Still as a statue, after a long, torturous wait
With hair fluttering like a smashing sail
Vivid like sunset that seeps through every crevice in the air

Amber eyes burning like the fiery depths of hell
Passion muffled by the angelic smile on her face
With rattling grace she marveled at its perfection
The litheness of its descent enough to set her heart into delirium

It landed with a thud, breaking branches on its wake
Cawing once, the milieu faded on the background
Emblazoned with nameless hues and shades
Now everything else dulls and fades

She reached for an arrow, wondering
Why a thing with feathers on one end
Soft and innocuous as it may seem
Can have a part so inevitably noxious, it’s inane

Stretching the bow as far as it may go
The sound making her flinch all the way through
Her hands, so steady, now quivered ever so slightly
She aimed, the voice in her head screaming finality

For one moment her resolve faltered
Wavering as her stormy gaze softened like snow
The roaring in her ears dulled to a white noise
As the creature turned and snatched her voice

A gust of air escaped from her mouth
Breathing was suddenly impossible
But before the beauty could take off and leave her
A sudden prismatic burst of feathers filled the air
In high school, we were required to read a Filipino epic poem called “Ibong Adarna.” In a nutshell, it is about a magical bird that could heal anything by singing its seven songs. However, these songs could put anyone to sleep almost immediately and once you’re under, it will turn you into stone by dropping its **** on you. I wrote “Artemis” when I was in college, inspired by this magnificent bird and the goddess of hunt herself, hoping I could paint with my words, as was the goal of our literary folio that year called “Canvas.” If you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading this.
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
Out of the dark forest I stumbled
onto the pebbles of a moonlit lake
my languid eyes bumbled
swallowing down philter mistakes

a pale goddess in the flesh
how my stupefied eyes stared
at the beauty of her nakedness
something in me flared

flared and turned and burned
my flesh no longer mine
stag in form standing taciturn
she calls out for my canines

I run and try to yell
nothing escapes my lungs
pattering of legs hungry to quell
come to rip flesh with teeth and tongues

stumbling and tripping over
stones, limbs, roots and mud
left to a new life a stag rover
I hear the ******* and the studs

faster and faster I try to move
from this typhoon wave of carnivorous hounds
but curse these feeble hooves
the claws and teeth came crashing around

flesh stabbed with a thousand teeth
a pack of mouths tear and pull
a stag corpse I bequeath  
to the hunger of my own wolves
Jade Jun 2018
The eye of the universe

bats its lashes at a

a single sliver of splintered light

blinking boastfully in the opaqueness–

a crescent m☽☽n is birthed,

carved by the Huntswoman’s

      ➳silver tipped arrows➳

on the night I–

a demi-goddess-

am born.

And this Hunstwomen,

my heavenly mother,

my celestial nurturer,


plants antlers atop my

hairless skull in the hopes that I,

her daughter,

will grow wild

as the deer Her Greatness

has vowed to protect;

as the cypress whose limbs

swell with greenery;

as the moon who must wax

as surely as it must wane;

as Artemis herself,

whom they call

“Lady of Wild Things.”

And I too

am a Wild Thing,

for I am a women

of extremity.

How can I not be,

when I come from a long line

of deities,

whose veins palpitate

with the very atoms of chaos?

How else am to explain the fire

the seethes inside of my soul?

A fire kindled by Zeus,

the Lord of the Sky,

the God of all Gods.

Lightning bolts play hopscotch

across my collarbone,

crack against my ribcage

like Poprocks crack against tongue.

Some days,

these flames enable

the crusade of my passions,

accelerating me onwards,

like the wheels of

pegasus drawn chariot.

But there is such as thing

as being too passionate,

for with great passion comes

great emotion,

and with great emotion comes

the capacity for great heartbreak.

I love with the catastrophic magnitude

of a category five hurricane;

it ’s no wonder any other mortal man

is capable of reciprocating my musings,

for there is no emulating this storm,

there is no matching the desires

of Aphrodite’s offspring.

And you should see my heart

when it’s broken–

the way it snaps so eloquently

like the neck of a swan,

how it metamorphosizes,

scorching itself

to a point of  αγνώριστος



In the pit of my

cracked palms,

I hold the charred










of my heart–

kaleidoscopic shards

jagged enough to draw blood.

When the palpitating ache

in my chest proves to be unbearable,

I sprint to the riverside,

well aware that it is the closest

I will be able to get to the ocean

on such short notice.

I take off my socks and

my worn down Doc Martens

and wade into the water.

Entranced by its

refreshingly cruel coldness,

I baptize myself in its

precarious currents and beg

Poisedon to extinguish the fire in me.

He douses me in his spirit

in an attempt to console the embers

that lick at my heels.

But this attempt proves

to be unsuccessful;

for there is no way of curing

the daughter of Olympus.

Fire and water merge,

imposing on to my being

a molten existence.

I    l~i~q~u~e~f~y.

Tendrils of lava crawl

up my oesophagus,

sear the impression

of a laurel atop my head,

burn so violently,

they turn purple.

“Dear Gods,”

I plead

“Take away this body,

this mind,

this soul–”


a lyrical voice

echoes back to me.

“You must not forsake yourself

like this, ”

she declares.

“The mark of the Parthenon,

of I,

your third mother,


dwells among your fingertips–

There is







in your bones,

an emblem of my wisdom,

of Apollo’s bestowal of enlightenment.

And so you,

my demi-goddess,

must carry on the legacy

of your ancestors through

your wildness

your extremity

your chaos–

your poetry.

For you were made

in the image of the Gods.”
Michael Briefs Apr 2018
Artemis of the wood,
sweet skill of deadly
her accurate aim and steady
finds the subtle seam,
all things.
Her swift sentry,
elegant and true,
flies with focused
The soft,
wet earth
surrounds and
her realm of the hunt.
The scent
of the fallen leaves,
cool and colorful,
my soul.
The forest hush is all that
Poem inspired by picture at
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