The underworld calls
I seek entrance to that invisible realm
The ferryman waves
I saved my coins, but he says my coins are no good in his world, so
He tells me to wait
I hear whispers
The ferryman laughs and the turning waters summon me
I pay the ferryman
The underworld calls
Her soft pale goddess skin
Had not been sun kissed
In six harsh months
While earth above
Also suffered much
Demeter’s sorrow was shared
By godly men
A starving child
Ate one pomegranate
Now her captor demanded
She must suffer in this hellish cave
It’s always the gods
That come up with
The strangest harshest ways
The flames soared high
Above the broken city-
Troy sodden by war
Necks cut, women raped, children
Enslaved. The sea mirroring
The city’s pain, screaming waves
Piling on the shore.
In the dust lay
The groaning towers of Iliam
Shards of a brilliant culture
Felled and fouled
Around the moping Cypress
While Achilles moans in Hades
Weeping unwashed tears
For his body's fading
And his shadows continuance
In eternal gloom.
What is love?
Sweet nectar on poisoned lips;
Or ripened fruit on curious tongues.
Is love sealed with a righteous kiss;
Or is love selfish and stealing,
Hidden away for all to miss.
Does love see no bounds or limitations?
In awe of you; of your beauty.
Is love a relentless invasion?
On a four horsed chariot poisoned with cruelty.
Will love die for you; with you,
Take your last embrace.
Or will love trick you; take you,
To end the long, lonely chase.
When all is said and all is done;
pomegranate and poison are both written in fame;
Sweet and bitter,
But love all the same.
Through the fields of stars and through the black forest,
And always West, trailing behind them a glowing disk,
With their frizzy coats and gnarling smiles; the heroes try to kill them with meteors.
Scattered shards of stone-fire bits, and the ashen paw prints evading it,
…and the horse shines upon Lykaon’s grave.
Howling are the wolves of Phanes, their number growling with the rains.
And matching windy howling screams, with hoots and hollers inbetween…
The great horns point at the wolven den, from which Fenrir’s gaze sees all man’s sin.
And the flames of Cerberus lick the hori-zon;
…as he descends into Hell’s cave,
And the Drakon hungry for lycanthropes, he hunts the plains of Hades;
But the cunning beasts avoid him while calling out to the moon, over their master’s grave.
Calling out over Lykaon’s grave,
Cyclopean-cotton collects, a smoking pillar covering guide. Obscuring the light and now they are vexed, as the Lykos struck down, they have died.
And their flesh is what the Drakon does crave, as they are devoured on the stones of Lykaon’s grave,
…at that place known as Lykaon’s grave,
Struck down with asters
over Lykaon’s grave.
Wyrd-wolven stars at night
…over Lykaon’s grave,
A werewolf at,
To the cave,
And that King,
…who stands before Lykaon’s grave.
Bleak is the mourning dawn of love,
the sky is red with tears.
Some day you will rise from the ashes,
Oh! Aphrodite of the Underworld,
sweet Persephone. The French call
it 'the little death.'
I call it the eternal one.
Never will I drink the sweet nectar
of death again, without tasting you there.
How rude of you. Hades! To keep me
Bound to the sunlight for six months,
when all I crave is darkness.
I want to crawl inside your skin
and eat you from the outside in.
Like a devout maggot on your corpse,
devoted to your decay.
i am faster than you
information flows threw me
like rocks through the air towards
windows needing broken
i am the dog of singular
multilaritied distributed kingqueenships
of fucks not given
and dances received
i just go
wherever they tell me next
to be imprisoned
i break bars i ogle stars
and we are just here
WE WERE HARE
I am eel
there is cooks
lined up to aet me
lust is the middle name of how hungry for food
thirsty for water
and alive we are!!!
September's ploughed earth
sows the rains
it is something like D.H Lawrence's
' The Rainbow',
that you love
the Polish cleaning lady so
my Soul's countryman,
dear poet of the North
for now, Persephone still
walks the earth
fair Kore, soon to descend
to the underworld
back to an aged God in love
were I thus loved by a man
as to become his queen
as to be kidnapped by him
instead, all I have is you,
a woman's love unrequited
for a boy & growing stale
as far off winter calls
like a theatre scene
too much rehearsed