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Lyn-Purcell Aug 10

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 💜
Kaitlyn Apr 5
did you see it
did you see the shadow of the girl
the ghost of her former self

did you hear the ghost of the girl
whose screams echo into the night
as she hunts down the lover that scorned her

did you see her in a tattered white dress
that hangs off her petite body
she scours the earth with
a noose in her right hand
ready to hang the *******

revenge is her compass
the force that drives her forward
into the night
closer to him

the day she finds him
will be the day he hears her voice
the day he sees her face
and her all consuming rage
“One of these days you’ll miss me,
One of these days you’ll cry
One of these days you’ll find out
I was never meant to leave your side”
Juno Balder Jan 20
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?
Poetic T Sep 2018
Her legs weren't stairways
to heaven, for these ladders
       were anything but safe.

Pulled fibres collected
                          unsuspecting  
Victims to be caught upon
                    her wondering lusts.

For the best poison was that
   which took time to ****.
   And her bite was anything
   but fast acting upon her prey.

She never charged as much as
      those who were below her class.
              For she was scorned before.

And those who chose her beauty over
         instinct, only had themselves
                                                to blame.

For her man, was a walker of corners,
                      catching eyes of cheap thrills.
       His gift to her was a ring and a death sentence
                                                                        of A.I.D.S..

And now she passes the gift given without consent,
        to those who would choose a vine vintage soured
by gangrene grapes.  They'll all taste her sweetness,
     only to poisoned by its taste after swallowing  it.
Elle Kris Jun 2018
I bloomed like a flower for you.
An annual.
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