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Eslam Dabank Apr 16
A rustle on the skin aches the betrayed beauty priestess.
     She resides in the fires germinating the pain greeting us - 
The greeting feminine wounding the was-loyal spark, 
     In the bones renegade of the deity imaging a chast stark.

Fires ablaze rumble the calm calamity long embedded; 
     It is awaken, the memory of the temple-goer beheaded.
The mother of unfairness unchained, by the just wise, 
     Was the birth-giver of horror which from love did rise. 

Devotion is blameless, for it shelters humanity blind, 
     It humanises the divine, and divinises humans kind, 
Fostering within a verdure pale of frayed graves, 
     For the lessons and disappointments, love engraves.  

My Minerva were you, a Gorgon sister was I, poor me!
     The Infatuation agonising of mine, soothed me: the debris,
But, as blind humans are, so are deities of the universe, 
      Deities forgetful of purpose, but not the next verse.

“War is glorified, Earth is a paper, power is its weight; 
     Bloods beautify the victorious' plate, and opens a gate, 
A gate, a shortcut towards the heavens of peaceful gods, 
     Says the saints and repeats the puppets as everyone nods.

Love is dirt, in the name of gods, it all must be purged -  
     It, or what seems similar, noone cares, “the Gods scourged!” 
Who are you, Earth's dust to say no, Lucifer's descendants?
     Servants! accessories you are! Barely, and merely pendants.”

For you: ***** and part, stop and restart, body and heart,
     But your thoughts everything did discard, leaving us apart.
No goddess were you, that, I shall bear in my left days -
     Curtains burnt, scripts are stained, and cancelled the plays.
Tichozpytec May 2021
Sssstranded and ssssuffering
I wassss ssssentenced for your ssssin
Sssseen assss a sssslut by the goddesssss I wassss sssserving
It'ssss ssssad how different my life could have been

Asssssaulted priesssstessss
It wassss not my choicccce
You defiled the ssssanctum of my misssstresssss
You have taken me by forcccce

Posssseidon, be ******
You desssstroyed my life
To world of monssssterssss I wassss ssssent
For not being sssstronger than you in our fight
Tichozpytec Apr 2021
Anxiety, like Medusa, stares at you with her cold eyes
Suddenly strikes and petrifies you with a barrage of self-told lies
But when you use reflection and cut her head off
You release Pegasus, a beautiful winged horse, into the world
medusa stands proud.
happy and proud and peace filled.
sisters in arms held for worship,
sisters in arms disappeared from grasp.

medusa stands small.
hurt and small and shame filled.
maidenhood stolen and high priestess to athena no more,
maidenhood stolen and cursed with protection.

medusa stands weary.
cold and weary and anger filled.
isolation has become her paradise of silence and stone,
isolation has become her graveyard of silence.

medusa stands tired.
worn and tired and sorrow filled.
awaiting the blow to her neck by perseus' sword,
awaiting the blow to end her suffering.
05. mars 2021
10:15 am
Shane Leigh Mar 2021
The blindness in stones.
The cold, crumbling stones.
Rugged edges,
Almost jagged,
Scratching my palms,
Meeting abruptly
With smooth,
Round -
Like river stones –
Soft, silky,
Subtle, as if they were not there at all.
They are quiet.
Unmoving –
Although, I imagine their delicacies:
The way they stood,
Their fragile motions,
The nimble-ness
in the motion of their wrists,
their ankles,
their knees,
their fingers,
the roll of their necks
and twists of their hips
as they bent, and turned, and contorted
The warmth they must have had.
I feel them.
Their faces distorted
Forever frozen
Screaming
Cursing.

Do you not mind?
Mind?
The cold stones,
Their somber and angry faces …
Their harshness?
I do not.
They were harsh,
And cruel,
Vicious to you.

You are precious,
Wonderous.

Your hands are soft and light,
Cold.

They are calming.
And your stones …
They will be forever cursed
To be truly blind,
Unmoving,
Unfeeling,
Selfish,
Crazed by their own ambitions.

You ask me if I mind …
I do not.

I do not see them.
That is my curse.
I do not see them.
As I do not see you
The pain that they bring,
The one I love.

I am unseeing
But not blind.
I wanted to envision a softer side to the harsh myth that is Medusa. Something warm and precious - like a blind lover. I hope you enjoy (:
© Shane Leigh
Dylan Waits Jan 2021
I think maybe you're Medusa
Though I'm far from stone
Much closer to ******
Far out of my mind

Still

I am frozen, reduced a
Man to a moment in time
When I was sober
And you were kind
Matt Oct 2020
Stand like a pillar
Of salt, now lick your wounds and
Try to quench your thirst
I did not choose for it to happen
I did not have a choice
But the gods
They do not care.

And so my hair is naught but snakes.

I came to this cave-
I had to eventually-
My only choice was when.

Still,  I chose the time of my own volition-
the people do not care.
They  blame me.
They say it was my choice to be struck
And drowned
And violated
In the temple I lived in.
They say i deserved the poison,
And they call me a monster.
The snakes may bite me,
But I choose who else they attack.

It is not my fault it happened.
The curse is not my fault.
The people, constantly attacking me and being killed for it-
It is their fault.
And it is the gods’ fault too.


The gods-
They do not care.
They send a boy to attack me,instead of doing it themselves.
Perhaps they feel guilty.

They do not care.

I cannot choose to die-
But I can choose when.
And so i open my eyes-

Foolish.
Used as an object, even in death.
inspired by https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/150926/medusa-with-the-head-of-perseus
Michael R Burch Sep 2020
The Octopi Jars
by Michael R. Burch

Long-vacant eyes
now lodged in clear glass,
a-swim with pale arms
as delicate as angels'...

you are beyond all hope
of salvage now...
and yet I would pause,
no fear!,
to once touch
your arcane beaks...

I, more alien than you
to this imprismed world,
notice, most of all,
the scratches on the inside surfaces
of your hermetic cells...

and I remember documentaries
of albino Houdinis
slipping like wraiths
over the walls of shipboard aquariums,
slipping down decks'
brine-lubricated planks,
spilling jubilantly into the dark sea,
parachuting through clouds of pallid ammonia...

and I know now in life you were unlike me:
your imprisonment was never voluntary.

Originally published by Triplopia and The Poetic Musings of Sam Hudson. Keywords/Tags: Octopus, Octopi, Medusa, Sea Angel, Angel, Angels, Nature, Sea, Ocean, Aquarium, Aliens, Imprisonment, Prison, Ship, Ships, Shipwreck
phlwest Aug 2020
I only realize I’m late once I notice that the woman with
Medusa’s curls isn’t at the platform.
People as units of measure.
The clock of the world.
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