"atropos" poems
Atropos, dread
One of the Three,
Holding the thread
Woven for me;
Grimly thy shears,
Steely and bright,
Menace the years
Left for delight.
Grant it may chance,
Just as they close,
June may entrance
Earth with the rose;
Reigning as though,
Bliss to the breath,
Endless and no
Whisper of death.
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She was my own Atropos.
Eyes dark like belladonna's berry.
Her breath gave me life,
Her shears were slowly closing.
I waited every night for Atropa Belladonna,
But flowers only bloom by day.
I knew that she could never be
Mine only...my Deadly Nightshade.
So I let her go. By day, she is another's.
But only 'til the midnight hour...
When I am hers and she is mine.
And the night is forever ours.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
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I never told the buried gold
Upon the hill—that lies—
I saw the sun—his plunder done
Crouch low to guard his prize.
He stood as near
As stood you here—
A pace had been between—
Did but a snake bisect the brake
My life had forfeit been.
That was a wondrous *****
I hope ’twas honest gained.
Those were the fairest ingots
That ever kissed the *****
Whether to keep the secret—
Whether to reveal—
Whether as I ponder
Kidd will sudden sail—
Could a shrewd advise me
We might e’en divide—
Should a shrewd betray me—
Atropos decide!
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Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos
the trio we know as “the Fates”
Were discussing the fate of some poet
while calmly ******* on dates.
“At best Sisters, he’s merely adequate.
Sure, he knows his rhythm and rimes.
But when they compile an anthology
will his poems merit more than three lines?”
“Some of his verses are Humorous”
“You’ll grant me that, Clotho, at least.”
“Other times he takes himself too serious,
and behaves like some priggish high priest”
“Atropos, where is my measuring rod?
All too soon he’ll meet us face to face.”
“Here is the fate I have chosen.
Take your shears and mark well the place.”
The fruit made Atropos’ grasp slippery
A lock of hair fell in her face.
The poet got more than allotted
It was sheer dumb luck in his case
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 7:07 PM UTC
Inside these cold sterile walls
Somewhere between life and death
I sit in somber solitude
As the white coat solemnly approaches
I gauge the countenance
Tremulous mess ....
.. upon bated breath
Suddenly... I was moving
Past the speed of light
Straight through all the darkness
Of this obscenity
Platitudes passed along
On paper plates of awkwardness
This reproachful atropos night
Suddenly slamming the brakes
Screeching all the way up to the guardrail
At the very edge of eternity
There at the rail I cursed the Gods
In a voice as loud as anything I've never ever heard
A voice so shaky
As to create an echo
In its own formation
While this silent gravity of infinity
Absorbs every single word
Even inside my head I could not hear
Anything of what I might imagine ...
... that I had screamed
Still I felt an internal satisfaction...
..... At the very action
Then I turned and WE walked back down my path
For weeks and weeks it seems
Past visions of serene beauty... of OUR.shared history
That no mere mortal ...might hope to see even in dreams
As if I were suddenly ****** awake
By someone speaking my name
White coat speaking
And there I sat
Inside these cold sterile walls
Somewhere between life and death
I began catching up to my suspended breath
I watched as he mouthed all of the words...
... that I never heard
I had already seen everything
Written on his face... When he first appeared
Long before this final approach
Everything had already been said
That ever needed to be said
For on that long slow walk back along the path
I had been- in lockstep- hand in hand- sharing the exquisite beauty - with my love - my heart - my friend - who had reached their end
Nothing needed to be said
I already knew
So I took a step - stepping around death
Took a deep breath... exhaled
It's never ever easy... But life does go on
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC
We are like a pair
of scissors: alone - useless
blades of solitude,
but together - Atropos'
shears cutting the thread of fate.
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
10 feet below the water’s surface and losing breath. A hundred pink gladiolus flowers float in the water above me. I see the sun’s rays burst through the edges of the petals to me. Grasping the sun’s rays to pull myself to the surface, I use the light as a ladder. I reach the surface and grap the pink gladiolus flowers. They turn into atropa belladonna in my cut up hands, the sun hurts me and Atropos threatens to cut my string. I retreat and go 11 feet under the water’s surface. I stay there and I lose breath, my lungs feel as if they’re going to collapse and just as I was going to close my eyes for good a single pink gladiolus gently sinks through the water past me. I watch it sink, it goes down past me and keeps sinking. I keep my eyes on it until it finally disappears into the darkness. I look up and I see hundreds of pink gladiolus flowers sinking in the water. The beautiful sight gives me hope. I grab flowers and pull myself up to the surface. I fly up out of the water and Atropos looks me in my eyes. I have one chance to change the goddess’s mind. I wrap my arms around her and she gently puts away her scissors. She knows that I’m worthy of a new fate so she sends me to a forest filled with gladiolus flowers and weeping willows. I know that I will someday see her again so I will make the most of the time that she gave me for now until we finally reunite.
END
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
And what's worse
cursed
with something of a conscience
that despite being disrespected
and
***** will not let me leave.
Vulnerability
pressed
to the face of death with a smile
stretched ear to ear bowed
down
under the weight of fear.
Courageousness breaks
heavy pain. I use it against you.
Prostrate to the matrons
I begged for your courage for me.
Surprise
Surprise
Even when you hurt your loved ones
You focus on yourself
Surprise
Surprise
Even when you hurt someone you love
You protect yourself
You double down
in the name of pride.
Newsflash:
Your children are smart enough
to purposefully see
that they never procreate
if only for the world
to both act Atropos
on this overgrown
carcinogen
to humanity
and slash the path
of another hillbilly bloodline
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 3:34 PM UTC
is it any wonder
social constructions
**** the soul?
i am born.
entire constellations
ingested by men
who stole the
braver buck.
is it any wonder
the higher numbers
**** the low?
artists hide their holy
proper alkahest
swirl into the torrent
eyes fixed on the hole
going full Atropos
by slashing tethers
and teaching us to fly
is it any wonder
construction kills abstraction
encrusts the brilliant stone
in destructive gray?
is it any wonder
emotional capacities
have been bled from me?
they must bless the fallen
they must make Halal
the bounteous
human feast
an exoteric world rises
while one esoteric burrows
in bright dark underneath.
two parts of a whole broken
banished to disconnection
when dichotomies could meet.
. . . SCAN COMPLETE
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 1:08 AM UTC
On a thread how I hang
from the finger's sinew
my name nothing but slang
hidden in your menu
Oh master, oh master
how I sing your keen name
your tongue leaves court plaster
as your eyes rip and maim
I shout into the wind
and watch the words float by
perverse ears that rescind
a love that's gone awry
from your aloof finger
how my bruising neck sways
how my yearning lingers
legs will not turn away
Your want my desire
my desire your bliss
your bliss to set fire
I, those flaming red lips
I wish I could conjure
philters for you to drink
my concoction is but
poison turned to black ink
Soon the master will sell
their useless pawn, a slave
I will answer your belle
until the ocean waives
Rolling salt filling lungs
in the abyss I lay
left for the fishes tongues
Atropos’s shear’s prey
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
Mon fils, disait un jour Jupiter à Minos,
Toi qui juges la race humaine,
Explique-moi pourquoi l'enfer suffit à peine
Aux nombreux criminels que t'envoie Atropos.
Quel est de la vertu le fatal adversaire
Qui corrompt à ce point la faible humanité ?
C'est, je crois, l'intérêt. - L'intérêt ? Non, mon père.
- Et qu'est-ce donc ? - l'oisiveté.
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If hempen cloth to paupers garb is made,
Grey daubed as hearth'd ash, rough as firewood kindling,
And for each king, gold silken raiments laid,
Bright as the jesters smock for courtly mingling,
What garment fit for thee Clotho would make?
Unto her spindle all threads are first woven,
And of thy lot? Why, Lachesis would take!
And gift to Atropos to see thee cloven!
Who then should fret to say my garb is drab?
Tis not thine outer skin three fates have wrought,
So of thine self, judge not thy bone, thy flab,
For in thee, fates have spun all thou has sought!
Thy measured lot was cast afore thy waking,
And strength in thee to set the heavens shaking!
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
O, Clotho, what thought have you to weave such jests?
No mortal thought toward you against!
Thy nimble hands, they weave too quick,
a braided thread, nay long nor thick.
Upon Lachesis, yon thread is passed,
who keeps it in her lissome grasp.
A long, long life, ordeals a'plenty,
in thy mind's eye, distill wrath or envy.
Atropos, friend of Hades dear,
Hag of ages, mortal's seer!
A duty trusted unto thy blade
Evanescent and fleeting we must remain.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 4:31 PM UTC
i am no longer a girl;
my body has played host
to the fourth of the Fates,
and this is the twilight, unfolding.
the midday has seen clotho, spinning the thread
has seen lachesis measuring it, atropos cutting it.
and here i sit, a figure in the sunset —
a silhouette of a weaver in tattered dress
my heartbeat, a substandard thread,
a mess in my pockets
getting shorter and shorter
with each wound sewn shut
and yet,
a seagull's flap,
a poke of a stick,
and all these stitches come undone.
a cautious breath,
a loosened thread,
and the sunsets learn a new shade of red.
Jan 14, 2020
Jan 14, 2020 at 4:38 AM UTC
Tick tock, Slow clock
Piercing sound of Silence.
Disturbance of tranquillity
or is it the silence of the storm?
Eye of the storm
Hands of the clock
Wings of time
Ma'at or Isfet?
Coming of Christ or Kalki
Impending doom or
Time of tranquillity
What tidings do the stars bring?
Frozen, bloodied dove in Berlin.
Blaring sirens of the apocalypse
or news of the red man Gorbachev
which sound will come first?
Carrefour, welcome Hecate.
Blanche´s final invitation or
Lisa´s ticket out of Dissocia
which ride is it going to be?
Sylvia, Blanche, Lisa, Sarah.
Mahavira, Buddha, Moksh.
Time, Destiny, Moirai, Jury
What is the verdict?
So much sound, yet no voice from the trachea.
So much company, yet paint can only last so long.
So many words, yet not a single syllable spoken.
So much, yet none of it.
Storm of Isfet, Impending Kalki
Blaring apocalypse, Final Invitation.
Snip my scarlet line, Atropos.
Slow clock, Tick tock.
Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 4:47 PM UTC
It was inevitable as anything else.
Marked was the end of that summer
by the touch of Atropos’ hand.
Of course no one was willingly blind enough
to believe it unforeseeable
but the feeling you lost in your two hind legs
we gained in our blood and our hearts.
It was always in your eyes.
The urge, the need,
a plea that no one knew how to answer.
Woe for the world that wore you down.
Were you angry it took so long to put you down?
It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.
But everything now feels wrong.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC