"achelous" poems
Loving you is like wrestling with the horns of a bull
A modern Hercules and Achelous love story
Sneaking up behind me and grabbing my neck
Bruises scattered across my body by your rough hands
All apologies, no action
A chain reaction of mistreatment
Always coming back to me, begging for more
Then hostility
Without showing responsibility
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
She is accompanied, by either mild disdain or comfortable curiosity, but always with magnetic eyes that do not spot the glints of time traversing through the shadows to pass her. Eyes glued to the screen, as two reflective sequins, shining opposite of the captivating screen that has momentarily captured her attention. Often squinting with head tilted slightly to the side, unable to give in to the crowd which fashionably wears the smirk of approval. Or with eyes drowning in the hatred of the Legion of Gerasenes, yet still yearning to not be cast aside. Tangible threads begin weaving the cloth of empathy, as each falling grain of sand counts another responsive brain wave reacting to the current. Unsure if these words filtered through the mechanisms of defense forced upon an individual after so many disappointing tributaries, or if rushing claret and voltaic storms of lucidity invited the passing guests. Unsure if you can overcome the luring request of the daughters of Achelous to settle the sandy shores of contentment, or, for just once, endure the salty trials with enough zeal to alter course and navigate to the unfathomable.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 11:24 PM UTC
“What is the most intimate thing
you've ever done?” she asked, as she
produced a small kit and withdrew
a syringe, holding it between
her long fingernails. She turned
up the volume of the music
to intensify the moment.
“You think *** is intimacy?”
*** is a body function! I'm
talking about sharing myself
and becoming a part of you,
with the very essence of me
racing through your veins. Are you scared?”
Metallica screamed in background.
What is the most intimate thing
I've ever done, I asked myself.
If it isn't *** what is it?
Give flowers, candy, jewelry,
pen a song, write romantic verse?
Achelous's daughter enticed.
'Course I was thinking like a male.
A woman would think of sharing,
beautiful sunsets, long cruises,
romantic dinners, holding hands...
She prepared my entertainment,
like a sacral ritual, and
I imagined Japanese flutes.
Sharing isn't intimacy.
I could've shared by dropping my trou,
but it was doubtful, it would been
appreciated, but no less
than her sharing was to me then.
"It's making someone feel special."
Having said that I slammed the door.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
All Thanks!
To those near and to those far,
from the great waves with crests akin to that of a mare,
and the beaches who accept these wild forces,
with open arms of sand and debris of stories untold in unknown waters.
And as these sands of time foster hardy grasses,
These grasses shelter the seeds of tall palms,
Palms foretold to watch over the hermits in their caves,
and to guard young starlings,
whose wings float high above all.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Achelois is the moon.
"She who washes away pain," they say.
So tell the moon your secrets
tell the moon your woes
Achelous will listen.
And once you stop talking,
she shines her light in a wink.
Achelois is the moon.
Achelois is a friend.
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 2:08 PM UTC