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His gentle fingertips brush it
But instead of tranquility
It was tartness
Through the vines that bolted from her tomb
He let it droop,
a necklace.
Its gold was the glistening morning light
Its voice cold as the gold he wore

Her wrinkled hands trickle cold
Pressing on the shimmery gold
She passes over what once was hers

The gold became the blazing sun
Deep inside, broken memories reside

It comes from an aching owner
Wrapped around his neck,
Roaring

             Voices

Reverberate.

Yet, yearning for comfort, it is there.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 30

Wedding bells in Thebes
Jewelled treasure about slim throats
Strife passed down bloodlines


900 poems! Oh my lord, I actually hit 900! Whoa! I've got something really special planned for later, haha! A nice concrete poem is in the works!
Before I hit the hay, I wanted to share another haiku dedicated to the goddess, Harmonia!
I too feel like she doesn't get enough.
And I can't help but feel bad for her.
Granted, she is the daughter of Aphrodite and Ares, but she is an innocent.
I know she relatively has a happy ending (in the variant myth I'm aware of), but she and her line didn't deserve such misfortune...
Here's the link for the growing collection:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/132853/the-women-of-myth/
Much love,
Lyn 💜
Kennedy Jun 21
you cannot remove pain from your skin,
as if it were a tattoo removal.
though, i wish it were that easy.
i'm aware his fingerprints are not burned
around my neck,
as if his hands were some
unconsensual necklace.
i know the bruises around my neck
have faded.
yet,
i still feel them
in my refusal to wear a scarf,
or a turtleneck.
i still feel them
in my dreams
where everything is as it was.
i feel them in my rush to be different,
to dye my hair,
to ignore my past.
A poem for my WIP book.
Warming Her Pearls
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

Warming her pearls, her *******
gleam like constellations.
Her belly is a bit rotund ...
she might have stepped out of a Rubens.

Published by Erosha, The Eclectic Muse, Muse Apprentice Guild, Nisqually Delta Review, Erbacce, Poetry Life & Times and Brief Poems. Keywords/Tags: warming, pearls, necklace, *******, belly, rotund, Rubens, Rubenesque, ****, painting, art, bath, bathing, seductive, sensuous, baroque, full-figured
Hanging off my little necklace
Come back to ashes
Cause i'm so sick of this place
Troubles get ready to chase
But i'm not pretty sure to face
annh Jan 2019
Time threads her necklace patiently,
Choosing carefully the colour and shape of our experiences,
Here, a tumbled quartz - luminous and rosy,
There, shards of darkest onyx - tragic and uncompromising,
Every now and again, a perfect sphere of sacred turquoise to mark a special occasion.

Finally, satisfied with her handiwork Time ties off the strand,
And weaves the precious metal of our dreams - unrealised - into an intricate clasp,
As she places the memento around her bejewelled neck she sighs to herself and whispers:
‘Such promise, such pain, such beauty, such loss; I will treasure you always.’
Then reaching for her spool of silver thread, she begins again to thread her golden needle.
Kara Ashley Jan 2019
I want to write poetry,
I want to paint your sky with a million colors,
Or tell you how beautiful you really are.
But the words in my head are a thin gold necklace,
Knotted in 80 different ways
Impossible to unravel, except by those with steady hands
And patience.
Patience to sit alone and focus
To pay attention
As they pull at each part of the knot,
Slowly breaking away parts of the chain
Sometimes grabbing the wrong section, that isn’t quite ready to be yanked out yet.
It might take months, or even a year if you lose focus.

Once you finally see each loop of the delicate chain,
You can wear it upon your neck.
See how beautiful it really is,
And how easily it can break,
Or be knotted all over again

But jewelry can’t untangle itself,
And who has time to untangle a necklace when you can pick up some earrings instead.

Tell me, is it worth it?
Paint a tree and a
telephone.
Paint a rabbit
changing its burrow.
Paint rabbit's sweet little
family.
Paint their poo strung together like a necklace.
Make it stink.
Now,
Paint your mother
trying to hide
in the same burrow.
**** the rabbit!
paint a box
&
bury the dead rabbit inside...



- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
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