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Elicia Hurst Sep 2019
Sacrosanct sacrifices  
collide in a mirrored image.
There’s a dual grace in the anguish
as the High Priestess tears
a beating heart out —

It lures a half-crazed
Apollonian hymn from you,
harmonized to the devil’s interval,
for my repertoire of Dionysian dance,
attuned to ballet’s feral ceremonies.  
On the lunar stage of ecstasy,
we sedate and ******.

But how far do you dare to rival the muses?
“As far as it takes, and then some more.”
You say to me, in consummate hunger.
Or are we just fools drunk on nectar
in a tug of never-ending war?
April 2018
L Jun 2019
God knows no love like the kind you give me
When you are ravenous in your giving--
When you are hunger within hunger;
needing me to receive you as you give yourself to me.

We are Dionysus feeding himself.

And as you slide a grape into my mouth,
I feel your teeth pried open
as I slide one into yours.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
I don't work for a tangible currency
I slave for digital binary
01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000
While I scribble poetry
Emptying my personal winery
Lau Bowcock Feb 2018
Here is how we turn our youth / into a bachicc bath / of everything except our own blood /

taking all the things we should love / to make us good and right / if we could be like the sunrise that forgot the midday heat / but we turn them / jokes that don’t sound quite like sadness / no bitter overripe emotion / because it’s all about the fun / running through the asphodels /

next make promises to no one but yourself / the only promise made is / never written down / kept as guilty experiments / the promise of consistency / but none of us are made of substance / and breaking is our vice / because you have to slither in and out of the unbearable child / your mother doesn’t even know she has /

that’s the third thing / you turn everyone else around you / into sidebar players / who cannot see the stage / this way you won’t be quite so guilty about the sacrifice / that isn’t even what your gods ever wanted / all foul blooded and human taint /

there is no *** in the forest anymore / early adolescent memories created wild so barbaric / it’s thrown up three times and the taste / on teeth is so disgusting / it can’t help smiling like a victor still in the ring / so far past survival it could be a metaphor / for the humanity you’ve got to get rid of / this is how we forget our old selves / in the time between someone new / it’s gory / laughing to no tempo
Miro' Siegel Oct 2017
The depictions of
the gods are headless.
The pillars have crumbled.
The spirit has atrophied
and the wonder has gone.

No longer for Dionysus,
a temple to Aion.

Profaned by order and rule,
rigidity takes the place of passion.
In the name of culture,
the wealthy get wealthier.

No longer for Dionysus,
a temple to Plutus.

Blind to what is before them,
passerby’s idolize themselves.
The ancient amphitheater;
a backdrop for plastic portraits.

No longer for Dionysus,
a temple to Narcissus.

Power shifts in the modern age.
Worship changes form.
KathleenAMaloney Jun 2016
Attack of the Gods
Maya... I asked For Sweet Companion
and You Showed Up with a Laugh
Apology
For Simply being Human
And I said Thank You
I so often Feel the Same..
You Laughed Again
Like a a Star Studded Poet
Who never Left Her Home
Knowing Where Love Was
So I asked.. Where?
And You Sat there
Peeling Potatoes
Sitting on a Kitchen Stool
Just Sat there
Peeling, Again, and Again
Peeling
Knives on Flesh
Oil Wells, Animal Skins, Plows
All in that Potato Peeler
Potatoes Flesh Its True
But It started to Bother Me
Why Cant You Use Your Words,
I asked...

Thats when I saw It
No Mouth To Kiss With
Like a Mr Potato Head
With a Part Missing
Not Nothin to Say
Just Couldn't Say It
That Told Me Everything
Turning,
I Snapped the Fingers of Love's Heart
And Claimed the Wind Harp
of Life's Soul
Her Words
The Instructions of a General
Her Sound
Clear Intention Played
A ire   FORCE FIELD
fOUR the Earth
Even
"The Star Be With You"
"And Also With You"
Navy Seals would  Understand
Harmonizing Plurality
Diamond Faceted  
Impenetrable Barrier
Of Life

Earth Song

Symphony of Light
Koggeki Dec 2015
Distilled dreams drift dazedly.
Drumming dares defiantly!
Defeating deafened demons
phalaenopsis Nov 2015
dionysus,
i beg,
plague me with your drunken spirit,
free me of my heavy heart,
let me revel in your happiness,
i beg,
let me,
let me.


dionysus,
king of the party,
spirit of the drugs,
protector of the drinks,

make me high
higher
than ever before

take me to ecstasy
let me taste your amphetamines
let me feel and feel
until i can feel no more.

feelings are boring now,
and they only feel like a deep, brooding ghost
waiting to pounce on me
and weigh me down.

DIONYSUS,
how long will i scream your name?
how long will i be tormented by your silence?
come to me with your fun spirit of party,
plague me with the spirit of relaxation,
i want what you can give me.
release,
sweet release.

i want it all,
i want to dream of trees turning into lollipops
and hydrangeas looking like candyfloss.

i want to be far away,
so far away,
that i can never come back down.

but,
but,
only for a bit,
only until i feel better,
only until i am happy again.

can you do that for me dionysus?
can you?

because, you see,
i can't do without help,
i need help to do everything.

i need help to be happy,
and you have what i want.

it feels like i am chanting the same thing over and over
you are just like everyone,
you all never listen.

YOU NEVER LISTEN!
you just sit and watch.
watching me drown.
i am plummeting,
and the most all of you can do
is to record my downfall.

and dionysus you have my cure,
but you won't give it to me.
falling.
52 Weeks: Whitman

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds,
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

52 Weeks: Mullein**

The Red-Tailed hawk swoops by and catches just a glimpse, he tilts his head Dionysian style mouth slightly agape.

I too am a wild thing, I too am untethered,
And I sound animalistic in the dining halls of the tamed.

The final missile thud holds me in a sweet caress,
My likeness rockets earthward … tried and true and tired and truer,
I am coaxed into existence once again.

I maintain my aetheric ties as I know this is the roadmap back to you,
It’s nice to be enmeshed in the living once again even though they drain,
To drain is to live, one gives eternity to be mortal - it’s the only thing that ever made sense.

I won’t depart, I dig in my heels,
And I turn my back on the organized.

I am of the earth because I understand my antecedents … my mother’s mother’s mother …
And because of this knowledge of ante’s I can set prece’s, hopefully precisely.

I hardly know who I am or what I mean (on a good day),
But I am good for you none the less,
As our tastes and sounds and smells and touches intermingle.

And always I wait patiently,
for me for you,
for us.
An adaptation of Whitman's final stanza in Song of Myself

— The End —