Where are you? I heard stories that you departed... What did you do? There's no way you got outsmarted Did you forget I am awaiting your arrival? Did you not think our house will be full of rivals? Did you forget you have a son? Why didn't you come when the war was done?
Other wives have their husbands home Yet you are leaving me on Ithaca alone Come back, my love, return to your throne Come back before my heart turns to stone
Ten years ago you were stolen by a war Ten years ago you stepped outside our door Yet I have been patiently waiting By fears and nightmares I was waking And I have cried my eyes out more than I can count This loneliness I feel is not something I can surmount
Come back to our bed, to our tree Come back to me! Please! I beg the gods above Don't delay my beacon Don't hinder love
The sun is dawning Another day without news Tomorrow's morning My watch continues
I'll be once again looking out my window Not knowing if I am a wife or a widow You never should have left! Your forced departure was worse than a theft Athena, guide home your favourite Or don't you love him no more for his shrewdness and bravery? Oh gods... We mortals are but pieces in your lust for glorious wars
It’s hard to conjure up a forest fire My flames are quiet and I tremble I flinch I buckle at the knees My fight or flight senses were birds in their past lives I am sorry I was not born Achilles, marching into every war with certainty, never knowing a sliver of doubt Prophecies of greatness do not cling to me like summer air I open my mouth and words betray me, for I am no Odysseus with his honey tongue But heed this promise: I will create something one day A great many somethings, born not from innate divinity but perseverance Like Daedalus with his artist’s mind, craftsman’s hand, quiet thinking, deliberate talking I am becoming Like golden witch Circe in Aeaea, feeling her way through strange new grounds Someday, someday, somewhere else You will see me bloom
O sea! O tide! What wonderful life! Awaits us in the ocean. Adore! Implore! What wonderful mores! Awaits us in the open. We roar! We soar! What wonderful lore! Awaits lost trepidation. Forsake those blinds which you thought chains, to see through the illusion. Forsake those lies which you thought truths, so you can have perception of that which does not hide from us, but we’ve betrayed it still. Though of both life and death, mortals shall ne’er bend to their wills, but of sole life, though not thou death, thou just might; before going into the ever unknown day-night.
How I’ve trekked with muddy boots Through superficial swamps to arrive here Where Apollo’s apprentices laze about Though slicked with sweat the air here is sweet Where muses pull on poets like reigns And all dreams and delusions are bared And all hope and hell shines without glares And all our secrets slither from our stoic stares And all are cradled in a community that cares Oh how I’ve trekked with muddy boots
Smoke filled dens of drifting ***** scent, Imagined worlds dancing behind the eyes of the laying men. Heads fall back and pupils roll to face brow, revealing a cloudy unseeing white.
What lies behind the eyes of laid men that makes them respond to the sweet song of lotus flower time and again? Are they taken to that Mediterranean isle visited by Odysseus in his journey, the idle isle where time lazily flows and sunrise and sunset have no meaning at all?
If I was bunk mate to Odysseus on his mission home and our boat met sand on this secluded cove, would I see it for what it was? After tasting my first sweet lotus petal, offered to me by beauty divine, could I resist a second kiss?
Would I have bravely boarded the ship away, eyes hard and mind set on my destination, or would I have planted feet firmly to sand and wave as the brave ones sailed away to face the ever abundant misery of reality?
When Penelope bid αντίο her dearest Odysseus Did she shed a tear for her heart left alone Or sit alone in the room where she would await his return And knit quietly The bemused bride of a nation grieving, Groaning from the pains of war?