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M R White Apr 14
What do you hear of me?
What rumors slip from others’ lips?
They speak of me, evil mistress, eyes that pull in, and a body that gets caught in your windpipe.
You are unable to swallow me. You chew on me and hastily spit me out. You choke on me.  
The wit I possess is too quick for your bruteness. You dismiss my thoughts.
I am just a woman, nothing less, and nothing more.
Bore to serve you and bear your seed.
What do you hear of me? What slips from others’ lips?
Am I a murderous harlot? A bitter witch with nothing better to do.
Do serpents sit atop my brow, shall I turn you to stone?
Am I Charybdis, shall I swallow you whole?
They are unable to chop me up into bit sized pieces. For some reason, they do not love me as a collective.
What do you hear regarding the treatment of me?
You only hear yourselves, deafening my point of view.
I hear I have scorned every one of you. Do you hear of who scorned me?
Have you ever questioned what may have made me this way?
What makes a mistress so vile?
The mistreatment of a loving deity can mangle many.
I was hanged on a hook, a piece of meat left to rot.
I was once pure and heavenly.
I will ask once more,
What have you heard of me?
What tales have slipped from others’ lips?
Have you stopped to think what created me to be so evil?
I am the evil mistress. I will chew you up and I will eagerly swallow you in all your whole.
I know my motive. What is yours?
ENGLISH PROJECT, STUDYING GILGAMESH
Zack Ripley Feb 3
Whether you're a victim
Of a firestorm, sandstorm, snowstorm,
Remember: hell hath no fury
Like mother nature scorned
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2020

Blood of babes were spilt
Wrath has claimed her scorching heart
Cogs of vengeance turns


New day, new haiku!
This one is for Queen Clytemnestra, mother of Iphigenia [link to her poem: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3921056/iphigenia/]
Now let me not lie, at first when I first read about her I didnt like her but after I did more research, I couldnt help but feel bad for her as she wasnt one dimensional. I found that in one variant before she was Agamemnon's wife, she was married to King Tantalus of Pisa and has a son whom Agamemnon slew before her eyes before taking her to bride.

Bear in mind Agamemnon was known to be a skilled warrior but arrogant and selfish as a ruler. He angered Artemis by boasting he was a superior hunter and killed one of her sacred stags. Artemis made the winds weak so he could not participate in the Trojan War. And so he lured his daughter Iphigenia and her mother under the pretense of marriage to Achilles...only for her mother to watch another child die before her eyes.

I cant imagine what Clytemnestra was subjected to being married to Agamemnon but to see two children die before her eyes...I can see her already having resentment towards her Warrior husband and with the death of her daughter, she snapped and wanted vengeance. I'm sure the cogs were turning in her head as she had an affair with his cousin,
Aegisthus. Depending on the myth variant, she was either seduced by him or chose to enter into it. Both were planning the death of Agamemnon. I believe Aegisthus's own father was betrayed by Agamemnon's. (Hence the cogs of vengeance turning).

And when her husband returned from Troy, he was slain, he and his lover, Cassandra. Some myths say she slew him, some myths said the angry loves did the deed together.
But it's hard not to feel some sympathy for her.
Vengeance is a never ending cycle that can cause great harm in the long run. That's one thing I've learned from her myth.
That, and hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned...

Anyway, thank you all for growing followers, I'm forever humbled and grateful for the support🙏🌹💜
Here's the link for the growing collection:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/132853/the-women-of-myth/
Be back with another one!
Much love,
Lyn 💜
Juno Balder Jan 2020
You act like I could choose
But it’s all about you
Isn’t it?
We orbit stars of discontent
Self-made and therefore infinite

I would no sooner let you flay me
Than release my sense of self
Where do you want me?
There? Oh honey…
Lick me with that acid tongue
I’ll open wide
Let nectar run

Am I protruding from your heart?
That sweet kaleidoscope of hurts
That greedily, I gorged into
I’ve not adored nor abhorred
The way I do you

You may think me sad and weak
And I may cry myself to sleep
But you scorn my tears
As if you weren’t the culprit
Kissed, cracked and clipped I weep
Em MacKenzie Apr 2019
She prays, she stays perched on her knees,
but she can’t admit she never receives replies.
All these days, it’s no phase but she never sees,
essentially she’s only talking to vacant skies.

She pleads with her beads, her trusted rosary
but every word falls on deaf ears.
Every night, routine tight, does she include me
or does she only prioritize her deepest fears?

I’ve only prayed once in my life
for something so meaningless most people would forget.
I should’ve saved my “one” for times of true strife,
but I’m a lucky gambler, I had never lost a bet.
Are you there God? It’s me, Emily,
not the one in the past or the future self,
I could ask for a million things but they wouldn’t hold much meaning
but I’ll neglect begging for my fleeting health.

Up, down, left and right,
I personally prefer the Contra Code.
It aids one better in a fight
regardless of the settings or the mode.
They say Sunday’s a time for worship and rest
but I’ve been working all night and my left brain won’t stop flowing.
I guess there’s a lot of things sitting on my chest,
and a certain type of comfort in uncertainty and not knowing.

I dig six feet deep to find the dedication,
and I put my hands together; connecting my fingers.
I can’t help it, I can’t find it, it seems my hesitation
has a will of it’s own, and it always lingers.
I mean no offence to any religious people on this site with this piece, we all believe what we believe, and sometimes things write themselves even when it’s tongue in cheek.
CL Fjell Feb 2019
Mouth-foamed tremors
Spineless sinners

Ashe soaked layers
Mindless prayers

Hate thy father
Love, why bother
Sad goes farther

Candle carver
Shapely mother
Child she'll smother
I see thou walking over there,
With a single rose in thine hand,
Hafst thou loved another,
Just as I hafst loved thee?

Why, Randal, must thou leave me so?
I hafst been nothing but good to thee.
I prepare thy food, watch thy children.
I hafst done everything thou hath asked of me.

My heart aches for thee.
Thou hafst pricked it with a thorn.
For thou hafst cast me aside.
I guess thou hafst never truly loved me.

Thou know me the best.
All my dreams and fears.
What I value the most.
How shall I live without thee?
PS Sep 2018
Coffee in hand, she sits on a train
She smells a little like cinnamon and sage.
She hears a voice, her heart in her mouth
It isn’t him, as she fears. Absolutely no doubt.
Amongst the loud hum, she can spy at herself
So sad, so defeated, she’s like no one else.
Tears spring to her eyes as she looks at her screen
She’d been too busy living a Hemingway dream.
She won’t call him again, as he doesn’t care
She won’t let him in when he’s not really there.
She won’t be his last and she wasn’t the first
She isn’t the only girl to get hurt.
So coffee in hand, she’s no longer forlorn
For hell hath no fury like a good woman scorned.
Does it need an explanation?
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