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rk Mar 29
as surely as winter
loosens it's icy grip
with one last kiss
upon my throat,
i know spring
will soon return
to gently hold me
in her warm embrace
as the earth
calls me back home.
- after the darkness you will find hope again.
Our love was crafted from heavenly bodies.
Tow trucks, skyscrapers, and chicken farms separated us.
But destiny, fate, and god came together
And gave these three damsels a gift.
Wrapped in blonde bows,
And dry throaty laughs.
We are one of the greatest platonic affairs.

All of us were given to Hades from our mothers;
Their tears fell on the maps they gave us.

As the gods weep, we laugh
At how we found each other in the mess that surrounds us.
All has aligned.
Nothing is perfect.
But nothing truly beautiful
Was born from perfection.
We are our sweaty foreheads,
Large appetites,
Thirst for a knowing,
And a hunger for a longing.
We are a connection
Conceived from something holy and numinous.
This poem was heavily influenced by the poem ‘Platonic Affair” by Orion Carloto, one of my favorite modern poets. Throughout these past few months I was very concerned with the idea of love and how other people showed their love to me. This poem was written to me, from me about the love that lives within my own home. This poem is about my absolute best friends, and how they show me consistent love and friendship regardless of the circumstances that pull us apart (pandemic, family matters, college ending, etc). I’ve looked so far and wide to find a fulfilling love, but one of the greatest love stories was right in front of me.
she’s in the dirt now
but you can’t compare her to a dead body
she’s a goddess
the goddess of spring.

i asked why she was dug up
and the woman nearest to me says,
“i kept watering her, hoping she’d come back to life.”

you can’t compare her to a flower
she belongs to the underworld
she’s a goddess of that, too.

but more than anything
she’s like salt.
the land is barren ever since she died.
there's been a ripple in the earth

last week everything within a six mile radius
all the trees and plants
the weeds and fungus
all the birds and the creatures nesting
have withered and yellowed
run or flown away
or rotted

this week it’s a seven mile radius
so the men get their shovels
and bury her again
and we continue to do everything we can
but it all feels a little too late

with crossed arms i look to the skies
and wonder who we should call on
now that persephone has died
The cracks form on the surface
as I stomp my weight in anger.

You push back screaming
for the silence to engulf you.

And I knew I did not deserve you
I always knew.

Your skin now lined
with obsidian fissures.

I try to seal you in gold
but even I know.

The best thing I can give you
all I can do is leave.

-Kore
:)
fray narte Dec 2020
I remember the days when
a broken glass was just a broken glass,
a poem was just a poem,
a wrist was just a wrist  —
and not a headstone for
sunlights, melting;
flowers, wilting;
mirrors, breaking.

Now, it shows half summer smiles,
half dead and sunken cheeks —
an oddity that is Persephone, unhinged
and descending into darkness
and maybe one day,
I'll feel the haunted murmurs beneath my feet
and not in my head —
not in the poems
I cannot write again,
Now, the mirror shows
my aching — it shows my waiting
for death to show up at the doorstep
as though it was an estranged husband
finally coming home.

Slip your grief into Demeter's hands —
lithe. Graceful, and drenched in sunlight.

I remember back when this was an abduction
and not a quiet, slow dance with death.

Slip your sighs, carefully now,
into Demeter's forsaken hands —

I remember how breaths
ended in mine.

// "Maybe Persephone chased her death."
I wasn't taken, Mama.
I went willingly, pomegranate
juice staining my lips ******.

I am not helpless, Mama.
I am darkness, power, a Queen.
You gave me flowers and he gave me
his everlasting worship.

I am his queen, Mama, his goddess.
He says that I am the one that
brought him to his knees, Mama,
and he is right. I am a terrible
beauty, and oh, I put him on
his hands and knees in worship.

Do not come looking for me, Mama,
because your innocent flower is
nowhere to be found. All that is
left is blood and bone and
pomegranate juice staining my
hands and mouth and setting me free.
Another one that I've had in my notebook that I never got around to posting.
rk Oct 2020
i want to unravel you
pick apart your bones
devour you so hungrily,
you'll stain my sheets
and leave me aching.
- h a d e s; my love.
Noa Adler Sep 2020
I adore the crispness of an apple,
Thin, breakable skin
Encasing **** flesh,
Hiding danger in small doses.
Its dewy, red skin,
Could ****** anyone -
From Eve to Snow-White.
A bite and you're done for.
It's a dangerous fruit
To get from a stranger.
A witch in disguise,
An old lady,
Or God.

But you?
You didn't offer me apples.
You offered a single pomegranate,
Hard to crack open,
But hides dozens of nectar-filled seeds.
A single one won't do the trick,
So why not have some?
Just a little.

You?
You opened it,
Wide and inviting,
And watched me get
Addicted to the unsuspected,
To the soft and juicy insides.

You?
You watched me count the seeds,
Almost obsessing over
The delicateness of each one.
Blessing you,
Praising you,
Before biting into one seed,
Or two,
Or a dozen,
Or ten thousand.

And I?
I followed the pomegranate's many, many seeds
Feeding and feasting
Right from your hands.
Finding pleasure in the poison,
Innocently falling captive,
Taking the bait,
As you march me straight to hell.

It was too late when I realized,
Apples are for witches,
Pomegranates are for worse.
Mark Parker Sep 2020
Woe be to the lady of seasons!
Persephone and Demeter argue.
As neither can forgive dear family,
we are lost! We are sunk! Polar icecaps
melt to the tension of their bickering.

Poseidon’s domain increases ever more!
His power does drive our beaches and shores
higher! Higher! Higher ever more!
I’ve lived my life in a fancy with the Greek gods. Just recently, they erupt when I write.
Merry Jul 2020
Eve ate the untouchable apple
And was made to leave Eden
With Adam, beside her, and his child

Persephone ate the pomegranate
And was made to stay in Styx
With Hades as her husband

To stay or to leave,
I want a man to eat fruit with,
As lovers, loyal and sublime
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