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Divine Santiago Jan 2021
You reached out to me
When I thought I was falling

You held me
When I felt broken

You loved me
When I didn't love myself

I thought you'd love me through it all
But you saw the cracks and screamed

Left me shackled
Like Andromeda
And now all I want is to feel the power
That Circe felt when she turned men into what they truly were...
Animals
james h Jan 2021
Oh Aegaeon, oh Aegaeon
God of thundering seas, my true bliss
I long to be drowned by your currents at dawn

A lover of the tide almost gone
Since Emathia, your unknown mistress
Oh Aegaeon, oh Aegaeon

Zeus strikes upon me, a royal thief
lighting my sails, where art thou? Must resist
I long to be drowned by your currents at dawn

My bones creak, aching for relief
My grave shall be your floor, my home further than this
Oh Aegaeon, oh Aegaeon

The salt of your sea I’m drawn
The oceanic abyss
I long to be drowned by your currents at dawn

I lack brawn
Spoken by men in hiss
Oh Aegaeon, oh Aegaeon
I long to be drowned by your currents at dawn
BrookandherBook Jan 2021
Free-flowing wavy hair
seemingly kissed by the sea air
Sweet smells of the perfume she wears
seem to follow her everywhere.
Wide eyes show she's the curious
olive skin shows she loves the sun
ink-stained fingers say she loves to write
above her there is none.
She wears a crown atop her head
a one which no one else can see
everyone can tell she wears it
I wish the crown was worn by me.
Brown hair with strands of gold
hazel eyes like emerald pearls
rosy cheeks and ringlet curls
she is envied by all the girls.
She wears jewelry
necklaces of gold
one says her name
or so, I'm told.
Todd Paropacic Jan 2021
If you score it like baseball,
It’s nothing,
A perfect game
For both parties,
A marathon
With no ribbon at the end.
I’ll push that rock up the mountain,
But it always rolls away.
Playing tennis with a wall
Often ends in self defeat,
But I get lost in the heat
Of competition.
I have a premonition
That I’ll break it down,
Chip by chip,
Brick by brick,
But rubber’s got nothing
On masonry.
A poem about the grind of trying out life, testing yourself against yourself, and the futility of measuring up to anyone else.
Beyond the veils of normalcy
there's a hint of the extraordinaire
the fruit of magnificence
within the Spinning hole of the vortex
lies the base for restoration.
You Close your eyes to see
the true nature of life's realities
I felt the presence of the ones before me
The divine beings
basking in the glory
emanating from all
My heart drew them near
Their words I hold dear
This Safe space I cherish
till eternity.
Flowing under winter
Is the warmth of a fading love
That once was on the surface
But now struggles to be shone

Cold hearts once bled red
Broken, they needed repair
Grey was too stiff for the aching heart
So blue was the color of the broken part

But Jotunheim and its giants can be melt
By the prowess of Asgard and its heroes
As the icy, depressive cover has formed
After the heart had been healed

So, many times passion becomes a fuel
To extinguish the fear of the person who never knows
And this gas perpetually ignites
And the water that once thawed the rime
Won’t remain covered, buried under ice

That is why love always resurfaces
With the heat of hope and will
Querying if the person the heart beats for
Doesn’t has her beating in sync, still

But like a snowflake, love falls in pieces
To find a place to regrow, as fear overpowers the fuel
Where memory and reluctance troubles the loving soul
While life seems dull to his aching state, as time never ceases

My appreciation for her burns wild
Maybe its youth that feeds the flames
Or the personality bonded to her beautiful name
But, which is enough to love her, the air that I inhale
Will soon be few as I drown in the water, doubting if “we” will ever be true
As the last poem of the third chapter, it establishes the war between love and hopelessness the speaker is caught between after his misadventures with Rose, Violet, and Obsidian Eye. Will his heart freeze solid? Or rather, can his heart become icy cold?
In a field of red roses by the lake,
A white rose calls up to the sun
With her beautiful petal scarf
And her cheerful smile
Over another field, a tulip stands sad
He is one in the crowd, no one special
“Smart,” some say, “too shy” others may
But he struggles, moving his cheek

The tulip looks at the ethereal rose every day
Wondering how such a flower grew from the floor
An angel’s tears of joy, he might think
A kiss from Gaia, he would have hoped

Tulip doesn’t know much of the rose
And fears never being able to embrace her
He feels that both have too much in common
But his inner parasites would hurt her
For a majestic rose that dances with the moon in the water
Such normal tulip will never have a chance
Her perfect stem is made of silk
His is damaged and made of paper

Still, the tulip dreams
Wishing one day to fly, as his roots would rip
Detaching from the floor, from his forlorn life
Flying towards the star reflected in the lake, where his solitude would end

The white rose doesn’t realize, still
How much he admires her strength, cleverness, and beauty
Until the tulip sends his seeds of love
In the form of this poem and painting

For a more radiant future he fights
Forever aligned with the Astraea of his heart
Because she glows in the night
Inspiring him to be better
And even if the rose doesn’t recognize the tulip
She should know that he is right there
In an everyday battle to talk to her
He is smart and shy, but eager to give all his petals to see her smiling for him
The motif of flowers is key to the second chapter. We know Rose already, so Tulip is the next character the anthology introduces.
Chris Chaffin Jan 2021
I cast the muse into the sea
to wake her from a peaceful sleep.
This poet’s quill is void of ink;
it needs her words to strike the page.

She’ll fight the waves Poseidon sends
til Sirens drive her back to shore
to sip an oleander brew
and hoist the cup of Socrates.

Bring wolfsbane and a death morel!
Bring nightshade and curare too!
We’ll fatten her with woe and pain!
We’ll ready her for war and hate!

She’ll writhe and quiver, seethe and foam
until she spews her putrid verse
upon the blackened sands of time
from which men’s darkest dreams are built.

And when the gods are satisfied,
when Ares’ sword has slashed and burned,
this poisoned pen will rest at last.
Calliope shall sleep once more.
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