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life nomadic Jan 2013
Gaea
Ethereal and Base a harmony so diametric a solid.
Wisdom's forgiveness lands to the unyielding new,
white spray on black lava, merging
elemental minerals in salt water.
Life the mediator, yearns for compromise
algea harvests sunlight at the hard shore, grows into plants
fish munch coral creating sand washing up, a tree's foothold creating soil...  
can rock become Earth any other way?

Mother's beauty, an unknowable generous smile
and confident grace from the sun.
Ages
sitting wrinkled and depleted to her waist,
beauty transforms
into unknowable generous laughter alighting graciously from wise eyes,
like a flock of Heaven's doves so close to home
stirred by her running children: daughter and son.
All the while all the yearning is unrequited.

For her children, Beauty is vertigo,
painful reality rooted to the shore.
Eyes long for the horizon, Vision Country
between sky holding its breath and water measuring out patience,
The heart spills out futile on the crystalline sea,
but Sadness, belonging to clear water,
lightly buoys lonely Ecstasy,
Completes the voyage.

The Vision pairs selfless love with unmet desire,
opposites' harmony the firmament,
but the sound breaks from tension and the echoes fade,
and the senses footing gives way;
vertigo with dove's wings tied shut.
Descending minuscule between dissipation
falling through molecules of bliss,
and diffusing atoms of despair,
to the last remaining positive and negative
and the tension's silver thin wire between.

It cuts tied wings free,
slingshots the dove's soul back up,
at the last second, the tension's iridescent thread tangles loosely on her foot.
She hurtles back up through the scales of size:
Microns, amoeba, minnows, birds, primates, people,
over trees, looking down at cities, mountains, yet higher
borderless nations, green and sand continents,
and again all the crystalline blue seas.
The silver filament draws taut, holds the dove's ascent,
wings slowing in awe as she views Mother Gaea
her intensely brilliant sphere accompanied by vivid tiny stars.
in a cold cold soundless night...
Grandmother teaching her children to fly;
Beauty's yearning realized complete.
.
.
Copyright © 2013 Anna Honda. All Rights Reserved.
Continue reading...
suicidal twitch Oct 2014
What I like
I like Homestuck,
Donald Duck,
Ancient Greek Gaea,
APH Hetalia,
Marzia and Pewdiepie,
Random bow ties,
Doctor Who,
That colour of greenish blue,
Sherlock Holmes,
Garden gnomes,
Boy/boy ****,
Sweet tea,
Left 4 dead,
Books I've read,
Minecraft,
When I laughed,
Yu-Gi-Oh,
Gateau,
Ender's Game,
Notre Dame,
World War One,
World War Two,
Mouse and shrew,
Bugsy Malone,
Jam scones,
Birthday cake,
Milk shake,
Drawing art,
Taking part,
MLP,
Shopping spree,
Sleeping in,
West Berlin,
Random songs,
When bells go ****,
Stars shine,
My blood line,
All my friends,
The latest trends,
Yuri much,
And such and such,
Fanfiction,
A prediction,
Doujinshis,
Marshall Lee,
RhymeZone,
My touchscreen phone,
I could go on,
But that's too long,
But my favourite is,
Hello poetry - so don't diss!!
Finally finished darlings!
Continue reading...
Michael Marchese Aug 2018
Zeus the Inimitable
So sell your daughters
**** your sons
Go break your spoken
Vows in tongues
For from these lungs
I storm the loudest
As my furies  
Muse the proudest
Wings endowed with shrouds of Nyx
Baptized within the River Styx

So wage petty crusades
And feel
Titanic wrath’s
Achilles heel
For in this heart  
My lust will claim
Entire Gaea’s
Set aflame
By bolts of my creative spark
Be sure, I’ve never missed my mark

So bend your knees
And cross your hearts
And mutilate
Your private parts
For by these hands
The story spun
The sickle swung
And shed my young
And led them to the glory sung
Henceforth until the Fates are done
Continue reading...
RyanMJenkins Mar 2013
The Consciousness Revolution
It's those deep-thought induced conversations that bring forth realizations
As to what we're about. and why we're here.  
There can be clarity for some, while many have yet to see it clear-ly.
What's charity for some, in others may produce fear.
If you can hear me, you may know that I've been embedded in a web of silk thread.  
We all are, just labeled differently, accustomed to the various personalities under which we're bred.  
Don't let it mess with your head, but we've been mislead, about what is the vital pulse of this existence.  
You can realize what's toxic, and what's pure in the matter of an instance.  

Before you spew out your sentence,
Make sure you thought it through, and drew out a map of where you intend it to lead.  
No one single person walks into a fight expecting to bleed. 
They've been deceived by a culture based on immediate reaction,
Forming a faction of those who never grow to fully develop their souls to gain full control,
Over their lives.  
Simple words, some that should be left unheard, can hurt worse than knives.  
Thoughtlessly responding to actions is just like ingesting an unknown, and jagged little pill.  
You know nothing of the repercussions, but as the grains of sand pile up, you soon will.  
Believe it or not you can get to your mental destination faster once you learn to sit still.  
So, respond by applying conscious thought to your will,
Ultimately creating a new canvas in which your creativity can spill.  

Perfection is an eyedea,
And forever happened yesterday.
We're the perceived seeds of Gaea,
Equal composers of this magnificent screenplay.

This plane gives us no manual, and no time to rehearse.  
I spent a long time in the lions den, only to find that I must tame me first.  
When I would sting everything, it poisoned my own insides.  
Held on too tight with my claws when I should've just paused, to gain some insight.  
Instinctively we have adopted the means of fight or flight.  
Just make sure actions taken will be those that lead away from spite.  

In your beating *****, the tempo will eventually cease.  
Listen to it's wisdom in order to unwind, release,
Be at peace and defeat the foolish person that sometimes controls your mind.  
It's in this moment that we take off the shades that have kept us blind.  
When your days grow into night, you alone can be the light that shines,
And reminds the world that there are things far more important.
Even measuring the probability of being alive leaves us more than fortunate.  

Warming yourself radiates across what can be known as a cold planet.  
Every single moment I believe, happens for a reason,
Even though it may not be as you planned it.  
A person's karma is what you're presented with, while yours is your response.  
Slowly we're intertwining and aligning; now let's raise a new-age renaissance!
It's up to us to detox ourselves of all of the mind's pollution.  
Close your eyes and ascend to the skies for the Consciousness Revolution.
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B S Apr 2012
Hymn to Gaea
“Oh young one,
How much adoration I bestow upon thee!
For the sweet whispers of thy song,
shall provide nectar for thy birds and bee’s.” – said he.

“But what are these tears from Heaven?”
she curiously curses to thy God’s above.
“Why should you allow Heaven to weep so,
in your Almighty presence?”

He places his hand gently upon her face and whispers,
“Divine darling, oh love, shall you see,
that without Heaven’s tears, cease to exist,
would thy birds and bee’s,
you love so graciously!”
Continue reading...
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2020
Gaea

Born in chaos dawn
Led by her defiant heart
Rise to conquer plains


New day, new haiku!
Still not feeling 100%, but I'm getting there.
This one is for Gaia, Mother Earth, wife and mother of Ouranos (Father Sky to her Mother Earth) and mother to the Titans (which includes Kronos and Rhea).

History certainly has a way of repeating itself. Before Zeus rose against his father Kronos for the position of King of the Gods, Kronos did the same with Ouranous. Though he birthed children with Gaea, he reputedly hated them and sealed his Giant-children back in her womb. In an act of defiance, she rose against him and Kronos joined, for he loathed his father. When the battle was won, Kronos became King of the Gods...before the prophecy came to him that he too would be deposed by one of his offsprings. When this happened, Gaea sided with Zeus and helped him rise to Kingship.

Well, that was until he sealed her children in Tartaros after the war was won. When she tried to rise against Zeus, all her attempts failed.
I made referrence to Tartarus and the battles she fought with the first line
And Tartarus was seen as a pit that lies deep within the Earth (that was his body apparently and she gave birth to the Giants by mating with him).
Gaea too is a bit of a badass in my eyes for rising (and winning) against two Gods at least.

Nature always wins (reference to Poison Ivy hehe)
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 tomorrow with another one!
Much love,
Lyn 💜
#dailyhaiku #greek #woman #primordial #battles #defiance #mother #earth #conquer
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Andrew Maitland Oct 2018
Tom's Town
I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known.

I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before.

I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known.

And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards.

A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah.

And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves.

Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the ***" prevents any Rabbits from multiplying.

But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me.

So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.
Continue reading...
jack of spades Sep 2017
the earth is a girl named gaea
Find sanctuaries under other people’s rib cages.
Count all their heartbeats, each exhale,
Wipe down dusty lungs and old notebook pages.
Bite down on bones and fingernails.
Whisper to yourself, “I will prevail.”
Peek out from behind the diaphragm and skin.
The world is foggy through this veil;
This is how familiarity begins.

Old highways only lead you to stages,
ravine edges and steep drops with no rail,
where wanderers have pilgrimed for ages.
You hesitate to fly; you fear you will fail,
unable to follow wanderlust’s trail.
You’re weighed down by all your past sins
and the mountains you turn to scale.
This is how familiarity begins.

In someone else’s heart, a hurricane rages,
sleet and thunder and head-sized hail.
Memory lane’s speed limit has no gauges.
The mountain drops angry avalanches of shale,
So close your eyes and determine to prevail.
There’s no way to count your wins;
The sun is rising and the sky turns pale.
This is how familiarity begins.

Curious, how feelings are so frail
under mountains and ribs, the outs and ins.
Veins and dirt roads trace the trail:
You’ll start to see how familiarity begins.
written for a summer class
#ballade #gaea #mythology #greek
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Tom H K Apr 2013
Voyager
Home.
Three.
Two.
One.
Ignition;
We ascend.
Faster now;
Ground control:
Are you there?
Systems functional.
Slip past gravity,
Escape velocity;
Break Gaea's bonds.
Fuel tanks go.
One.
Two.
Past Luna,
Towards Zeus.
Aphrodite's horizon.
Sol's pull,
Too close,
My wings burn.
Faster now;
Cronos looms;
Rings shimmering.
Faster still.
To Caelus,
Beyond the sky.
To Poseidon,
Past sea's shore.
With Hermes,
The gates of Hades.
Edge of home,
Losing touch.
No longer domestic.
Three.
Two.
One.
Gone.
Continue reading...
Taylor St Onge Apr 2014
Floristics
The yucca plant from my mother’s garden sits
unattended and on the verge of death next to her
eldest rose bush, now wildly overgrown and lightly
blushing in the cosset of the midmourning sun.  Its
withered rosettes droop down to its bed of maroon-stained stones
in crisp, harum-scarum patterns as if the plant is spending its life
like currency trying to touch its toes.  I oftentimes
find myself wondering if the reason behind this
slow rotting of mother dearest’s garden is hidden within her
five-year absence.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say
her nursery missed the d
                                              i
               ­                                  g
                                                     g
                                                        i
     ­                                                       n
        ­                                                        g
of her weathered hands.

She was the biosphere of my world; I suppose that
it only makes sense for the earth to match my thirst.  We
sit side by side, that yucca plant and I, as we struggle to
nod our heads towards daylight while we rise on
the side of the house that is more or less
cloaked in shadow; the side that she would sunbathe
on during scorching late afternoons.  Perhaps without her
body giving shelter, all her garden is doomed to
atrophy like muscle in the sunlight.

I find irony in the way that my mother’s favored plant
was the “ghost in the graveyard;” a perverted parallel
to the game that she never wanted us to play.  I think it to be
sort of sardonic that her pride swallowed the possibility of
a cure being found within that ****** plant’s roots. She,
a third generation American girl,
had blood as muddled as the mud
that buried that yucca’s heart.
The boundary line between Mother and
nature coalesces into one:
                                               Gaea
                                               six feet under
                                               melting into soil
                                               I hope she becomes seawater.
mommy drabbles
#nature #mother #garden #earth #grief
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avalon Aug 2017
who's laughing now, patriarchs? where are your blades?
your skyscrapers are just overgrown hairs
gaea has neglected to shave.
Continue reading...
Skald Skaldun May 2016
Morning Dew
Like morning dew set like a duvet over the frail grass

mist laying thick but yet frail and thin like glass


stars still glooming on Gaea's black arch far above

pines resting deep until dawn calm thereof


the silence only broken by a mourning dove

not breaking, being of the serenity one of


only at times as these I can feel at bay

my own doubts can not even make me sway


for once I feel whole...
#woods #calm #serenity #dew #gaea
Continue reading...
Matt Pentz Sep 2012
Buckets.
Oh, to sail upon the sea.
To brave that which so scares me,
To leave land and life behind,
To sever those ties that bind.

To experiance all those amazing places that I so want to SEE!
That will be something that will forever impact me.
But oh,
Can it happen?
I don't know!

I'm really sick in my body,
Even though I have never said,
It is true that at times I,
Who so loves life,
And beauty.
Have wished to be dead.

Sometimes it is hard to continue on,
But I CAN be strong.

Because I want to experiance those places,
To see,
The world,
The tropics,
Those places,
That make me hope and dream,
The sea and its steams,
There is so much to see!

Dear God,
My lord,
heal me,
Let me be healthy,
So that I can live my dreams,
And photograph,
And experiance,
All that is in my heart,
All that is me.

I want to feel hot white sand beneath my feat,
To stand underneath the Saharan sun,
to feel that great heat,
To Stand upon Rapau Nui,  
To FEEL that island beat,
I want to gaze upon the pyramids,
That are ages old,
To gaze upon greek statues of Zeus,
Marble and Gold.
To see forests,
Forever untouched by man,
To visit places,
Unique upon all the lands.

Seattle is my home,
From Father Mountains,
And Mother sea,
But I want to see those places that I always dream of.
Lord,
God,
Let me be free,
Let me healthy.

Or,
To hell with that,
Let me,
Be,
Tenacious enough,
To do what I dream of,
Anyway,
Good God,
Just let my spirit soar,
Let me see,
Let me Photograph,
Just,
LET ME BE FREE,
Just let me open my eyes to beauty,
and let me see.
(with camera in hand)
Long I stand,
Healthy or not,
Let it be known,
Life's,
God's,
Gaea's,
Great beauty,
I have sought.

Gone on too long,
This poem has rambled.
Dear lord,
Let me,
See.  

At the end of my days,
Be it months or years,
Let me see those mountains,
Seas,
Shores and streams,
Let me see those places,
that constantly show up,
That shine through my dreams.

Let me see,
With camera in hand.
Sick or healthy.
Every part of me,
Will do my damndest,
to fight,
To take pictures,
and to stand,

Upon those shores,
sands and streams,
that beckon me,
through my dreams.
Continue reading...
Michael Marchese Sep 2017
Gaea
My core is of metal
My heart is of fleece
My brain is at war
But my mind is at peace
I have come here to teach
But I still feel a student
For only in forgotten tongues
Am I fluent
And all I remember
Has not come to pass
And all I have learned
Was unlearned after class
Because knowledge is power
But none of it real
Except the textile's
Unfortunate wheel
And in this exile
I dwell on her still
Still enslaved to the loom
And the field, and the whip
Still bound to the chains
Of my Amistad ship
And if conscience is clear
Then my guilt is the sea
Now for her I drown
In this humanity
So perhaps I may save us
A dance in Elysium
A single mere taste
Of her garden of Eden
The one I have wandered
Alone in the skies
As her waterfalls poured
From my mystified eyes
Her celestial voice
Whispered into my ear
Ven conmigo mi amor
You have nothing to fear
Then she made me a man
With the soul of a beast
And together we dined
On love's bountiful feast
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Solitaire Archer Jun 2015
SHE
She paint's the rainbow with tones of the flowers in the fields
She gives the water all the colours of her eyes
Blue in the bright yellow sunshine
Grey in a storm tossed temper
And deep, soft Green as she gazes on Her children
She holds us all gently and with great care,
As we dance and sing Her name
She smiles
As we bring Her our sorrows and tumble them in her lap Mother help me , please
She smiles

And She weeps
When we use what we know to bar another's Path
She weeps
When She sees impatience and intolerance and fear in us
She weeps and forgives

And when the days are rushed and I find no quiet time
She calls me quietly
With the scent of flowers in my dreams or a half forgotten chant
... And I remember

I came to Her in eager ignorance knowing only that which I did not know
And She sent me Sisters and Mentors Brothers and Teachers and questions so very many questions
And so ...
I am student still and even though my knowledge has grown

Gaea Gaea Mother Lady She no matter the name I honour Her and belong to Her and I am still Her child learning each day

Until My Lady does call me home
Continue reading...
Michael Marchese Aug 2017
Invocation of the Muses
I call upon their harmony
They honor me with artistry
The pupils of Apollo's
Lyre resonant inside of me
Calliope adventurous,
Intrepid in her recklessness
Emboldening my will to lead
The unenlightened on this quest
Through Clio's scrolls of history
My oracle clairvoyant
She has graced me with the vision
Of the future sky chatoyant
And a buoyant sea of Euterpe
All floating through the lyricist
That synchronizes all of this
Into a metamorphosis
Evolving as Erato's love
A heart as soft as silk
A dove, tabula rasa thirsting for
The Mother Gaea's milk
To rise from Melpomene
Masks of tragic flaws of Icarus
For I divine the comedies
Thalia simply can't resist
Polyhymnia, Terpsichore
My rarest of expressions
Still reveal themselves in forms
Of spirit guide possessions
When Urania in cosmic bliss
Transports me to the stars
Reborn again to join them
As Mnemosyne's memoirs
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Cory Childs Mar 2011
Juvenilia: Joanna
His Holy Empire


At the heart of sacred grounds, a shaft of ivory rises
and reigns atop a throne of clouds, where veil of white disguises
a wilting rose, a potted plant; did Gaea plan her fate?
Behind the stained-glass window's view, Joanna meekly waits.


Act 1: Poor Joanna

Twirling her hair idly, Joanna looked up out the window and sighed.
"I've wistfully waited so long for you to come home and save me… Save me from wondering and wandering too far alone." She slumped into her seat. Life was so unfair.

Despite her attempts to resist, Joanna soon quietly submitted to gravity's pull on her drooping eyelids. Just as a smile began to waltz across her face, she was violently jolted upwards by a surge of adrenaline. She instinctively buried her disfigured hand into her abdomen as her eyes darted about the unkempt room and over her unfulfilled duties. She suddenly found herself in front of her dresser's mirror and watched as her shaking hands dug through piles of cheap jewelry and stuffed animals, indiscriminately tossing the toys onto the floor. Finally, her hands found what she had been searching for. Her reflection smiled back as she ritually lifted her brush and began to make herself up.

She hated how her face looked without makeup; she had grown to believe it seemed strange if it wasn't shiny and exotically colored. Each layer concealed her blemishes and bruises so well that she sometimes forgot they were there at all. But now, no matter how desperately she painted, the comfort wouldn't come! She loathed what she saw! Joanna winced away from her tear-streaked reflection.

"Why am I so…"


Act 2: Echoes of Solomon

But she couldn't will the words; she didn't even know what it was that she needed to ask. Joanna felt conflicted and unsure as she was barraged by the jostling images that filled her head. She felt so queer when she had offered to shake his hand instead of immediately taking his arm, as was customary when a bride-to-be first meets the man she's been arranged to marry… so ugly when she noticed that every woman at the wedding was wearing makeup except for her… so damnably rude when, after he had ordered the musicians to play a minuet, she had interrupted them a second time to request a waltz… so ashamed when she had danced with such wild, voluptuous abandon… so horrifically guilty when he stumbled, when she made him grab her hand so forcefully that bones snapped as he dragged her out and scolded her for embarrassing him… so naïve to believe that she could think for herself… so overwhelmingly worthless for failing to meet his expectations?

She hated her desire to dance. She hated her desire to eat. She hated that she was miserable, even though she had done everything that they had promised would make her happy. What was she doing wrong?! She cried, "Why? Why am I…" and collapsed. Joanna's walls crumbled as she let herself be swept away by the rivers of repressed sorrow that welled from her heart. Feeling drained and strangely lighter, she found the will to face her reflection.

"I've been so strong since Saint George has been gone. He'd be proud, I'm filled with prayer instead of fruit!" Joanna was caught off guard by her reflection's sudden scowl. "But the days have grown into weeks unknown… I'm feeling frail, what's a damsel to do?" Joanna turned and looked out around the cell as though for the first time. Her probing fingers disturbed the dust-coated bookshelf as she helped herself up and stretched toward the window's ancient, forbidden latch. She threw open the gates of her perception and leaned out to observe the wilderness through wisps of clouds. Her hair flowed freely in the wind and her eyes beamed like the sun.


Act 3: When Adam Delved and Eve Span

Joanna looked up in a familiar way and said, "Tell me: Who governs the trees beyond the courtyard? Ease me; why are the leaves conceived to fall?" Joanna's trembling knees finally buckled as she cried, "Bear me! I can't stand when all I have are unanswered questions. You left me helpless! Won't you please lead me?"

Joanna tried to get back on her feet, but sickly fell to her knees in a fit of coughing. She looked down at a wooden cross that was framed by the purple of her most luxurious pillow and said, "He taught me what happens when little lambs go astray; with no rod to guide them, they'll find themselves prey. I'm too afraid to leave, though no lock bars my way. He bade me love the leash. In lord's courtyard, I'll obey."

Joanna reeled deliriously as she rose to her feet to be bathed in the growing light from the window. She reached out with a bony finger to touch one of the cherubim that were lacing the window with golden embroidery, but her hand passed through as though nothing was there. Joanna didn't seem to mind. She looked up and said, "I've wishfully waited so long for you to come down and save me… Save me from wondering and wandering too far alone."

As she smiled and dreamt of dancing on clouds, Joanna laid down and died.
To hear a rough midi draft of the accompanying music: http://corychilds.bandcamp.com/track/his-holy-empire
Continue reading...
faa Sep 2018
Earthly Venus
with the clock ticking restlessly
as my heart fondly wishes
to rest my palms against your dips
the valleys your waist had created
full of mountainous curves
the arch of your back carving hills
there's no denying that your rivers
so onyx, bringing Styx to shame
cascading down your mid-back
each strand flowing so elegantly
my hands desiring to feel its silky texture
and to finally let our fingers intertwine
the twigs growing on our trees
now blooming iridescent florae
the mundane in you never existed
for the emerald in your irises
flusters butterflies as they flutter
their wings carrying them curiously
to view your angelic ethereality
which was, not so ethereal;
but more grounded, rather earthly
it is unfair to profess you as my angel
as you represented mother nature
you are my Paradise Lost
for Gaea trembles at your divinity
my Earthly Venus, you have captured me
under your trace of beauty
i'm forever under her spell
#venus #greek #beauty #love #nature #angel #desire #she #paradise #earth
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Tyler Lynn Pulliam Sep 2013
Molting Freedom (Cosmic Egg)
Tethered no more by this umbilical chain
We break through the shell - Burst through the seed
Fingers laced and reaching up toward the big blue
Eyes gaining sight, sight meeting light
We bathe ourselves in the warming glow
Sol's sweet kiss to ease and simmer
Terra's touch to point the steps
We haven't much further to climb
-
Tree of Life - Home - Mother - Bed
Your roots we leave for Eden
Sky of Thought - Dream - Father- Blanket
Your wind will guide our wings
We gain friend in fire, rock, and storm
To tinker with the gifts of Titans
Together we rise and seek the stars
So we may spread the songs and preach the past
-
We go by Gaea, We go by God
Underneath our pagan star's shine
At night, symphonies will charm them
And we dance together until we fade
gain we lay into the palms of dream
The fingers of sleep, clench to a fist
Grinding us down to the finest of dusts
To glow and blow into the zephyrs
-
Continue reading...
Simone Zona Nov 2018
Eris
When lilies of pain bloomed from soil saturated in
blood
and lust
Mother Gaea gave birth to her most wretched daughter
A Stifled and stillborn and butchered daughter
A sacrificial lamb, of a daughter
An empty and anguished and defiled daughter

An ache
who was born from the corpses
left clinging together after the dust has settled.

An Ache
who’s cries were the imminent whistle of a descending bomb.

An Ache
who’s very breath was fulled with our most desperate whispers and prayers.

We set Gaea ablaze,
Left her singed and seared and amputated,
nothing but the sharp-edged fragments of what was,
burning away at memories of the battles that lingered still on her tongue.
A forest fire consuming and destroying itself, yet continually growing,
Growing enough to
burn
and burn
and burn
And burn
but not quite ****,
Only to leave her daughter alive.
A daughter left to roam  the blistered cadaver of her mother,
An Ache, still alive,
Alive and sickly and sweet
Full of beating blood and sticky wet breath.
#ache #mythology #goddess #war #strife #blood #fire #world #earth
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Cory Childs May 2011
Juvenilia: Prelude and Interludes from "His Holy Empire"
Prelude:
How could this have come to be, this life, so ever-changing?
these laws that pushed the smallest things to pull the greatest mountains?
and what could cause the chance to think and wonder why we can?
Sophia flowed through mystery where Logos formed a plan.

Act 1:  Epigenesis

First Interlude:
At the heart of sacred grounds, a man claims what is righteous
with ****** standard pointed proud and conduct that disguises
a savage pulse, an ancient thirst; is Cronus set in stone?
Impressing eager, weaker men, Saint George goes on and on.

Act 2:  Saint George

Second Interlude:
Where the wood once bloomed unbound, a shaft of ivory rises
and reigns above a throne of clouds, where veil of white disguises
a wilting rose, a potted plant; did Gaea plan her fate?
Behind the stained-glass window's view, Joanna meekly waits.

Act 3:  Joanna
These are excerpts from an operetta I'm composing.  I had hoped for these stanzas to be able to stand on their own as poetry.  In the work, the first stanza will be read aloud while a feminine Eros and a masculine, deified Logos meet in the middle of the stage and, after clasping hands, Eros is pushed down by Logos.  The interludes will be sung by a full female choir.
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Aerrick V Marcks Feb 2014
An Uncommon Outlook
Strip you of your resources,
Growing exponentially with time,
Only to be left as our scars to nature
Mother Tree why do we treat you so Poorly.

Is Humanity here to show the end
To the objects that give us life.
From Oxygen producing plants
To the water that sustains our life

Is it our job to destroy the Mother
Who has nurtured us since we suckled
As a virus on this beautiful planet
Depriving Gaea of her own necessities

No Human wisdom can lead my answer
So tell me please.
An answer to one true question worth asking..
"Are we only existing to destroy you,
Or shall we live WITH Earth rather than ON?"
This poem has been floating around notebooks around my room for years, It appears I found the time to finally line it out in a way I saw fit.
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Bassam Dec 2009
A Child, Singing To The Night
"With sunshine gone,
My solemn smile fades away,
And all are left are clouds of gray,
Remnants of the death of dawn.

The light of day,
As quickly it came it now has left,
Our cries of joy we are bereft,
Path of our lives we've gone astray.

The tears, of our dusk
Wash away, what is just
Trust in God, trust in Satan
What is given, what is taken

The losses, we fare
The crosses, we bear
The stars, shining bright
Of my Mother, the Night.

The chilling breeze,
The warmth of Gaea goes from me,
Now a lonely, soulless effigy,
Nothing to put my mind to ease

The halcyon obscure,
Frosted and yew-scented nightmare
Frightened and scared beyond compare,
That my ailment will never see a cure.

The cries, of our dark
Wash away, what is stark
Trust in Heaven, trust in Hell
What has risen, what has fell

The losses, we grieve
The souls, we receive
The moon, glow with glee
To my Mother, set me free."
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Tyler Lynn Pulliam Aug 2013
Rites
The crumbling husk of a little brown spider
chases after a swatted fly.
Not for a meal to replenish his brittle figure,
but because he envies such a glorious death.
This day is not for the covetous,
nor for the weaver. That eight fingered hand.
This is a day marked for interment by rain.
Both to be washed in Gaea's reshaping womb.

If God made dirt, and dirt don't hurt,
then why do we feed it the dead?
Whether mogul, scholar, radical, or drifter-
in soil we are stripped of semblance and class.
Man, beast, lain down as equals - offerings
to a hungry celestial wanderer.
The soaring nomad, mindlessly migrating.
Circling an eye of fire. Star sailing.

Ashes and dust. Blood and bone.
Thought and memory. Feeling and dream.
Our lives are poured into a basin of stone,
from a pitcher containing the constellations.
Every drop, a cosmic reflection
tethered by a silver cord to the present.
The perspective of heroes and house flies
is separated only by sensation.
"We are made of star stuff."
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Josh C DeWees Oct 2013
Time's Mother
The distant clop of war horses echo
The chainmails heavy like a burden
Wetting the lips like a starved gecko
The battle was like that  of Verduns
My figure now stained crimson red
My mind now haunted by dark idea
To concur we made many men dead
My truth of now existences as Gaea
Mother of all time and the titan king
Destroyer of all in ridged cold combat
The steady deep echoes of armor dings
Now its time to hang the old battle bat
Peace now constant for the new age
Time leaving a new fresh blank page
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Elliot Yu Nov 2017
colors
I fell in love with you one night in September
When crickets sang an ode to Autumn
When Gaea’s palettes matured to tones of herself
to the leaves, falling like tired angels

I remember the dying painter spitting his last few colors onto the sky,
Warm scarlets that professed themselves to be deep ceruleans and violets
When we watched, spaced, from the yellowed creaking picket fence
Wind chimes sighing in the subtle breeze.

You were the artist, a divine manifestation,
Wisps of hair breaking through your perfected face
An ocean of complexion in your eyes, hiding secrets
Reap the grains of my affection, throw it in the pitch

But I was colorless, achromatic
A beige canvas
You played me with your hues and tones and tints and
splatters of pigment

Sometimes, I’m painted vibrant oranges and yellows and reds and
pondering in sunflower fields, gentle raindrops resting on our shoulders,
crackling bonfires, leaping flames.
Pleasant comfort.

colors fade.

Vibrancy grows faint under grey.
Winter frost slithered to your heart, turned jet-black
Boreas’ wind swept you away.
Tobacco-scented Icarus, you’re bound to fall.

Ah, snowy white procession of death, take me!
Bare skeletons of trees shiver in the morning chill
A heaviness carries the shattered ice of your eyes
Unforgiving, piercing, daggers to my soul.

You fell in love with him one night in December, and I wait.
Minutes liquify, oozing to hours, seeping through cracks of my sanity.
a small project
#colors #love #autumn #winter #seasons #painting #sad
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Tyler Lynn Pulliam Aug 2013
Lost in the West End (I am the Root that Anchors the World)
The safety of the black, winding, snake of a trail is like an arrow pointing me home.

I flee from this serpent of tar, for the promise of discovery awaits me at the bottom of the hill.

I’m surrounded on all sides by the Sylvan Queen, her antlered familiars, and her army of trees.

I need only to march east to return to the realm of men and metal, but the woods beckon still.

I blanket myself under the brittle fallen leaves that have felt autumn’s kiss and gravity’s hand.

With hesitance, I find myself starting to give in to Gaea’s soft spell of slumber.

I hear the hymns of the birds in their language true and old.

I see the dreams of the cicadas painted vibrantly in the overcast sky.
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JA Del Prado Mar 2011
A Yearning
If you ever see me,
hugging someone,
let me remind you first:

the days, nights, hours,
minutes, and seconds
of silking waves
          dashing on shores
          of rocks, sands,
          splashing to reach
          the cottoning skies,
of our locking ears
          capturing candy melodies
          of Eden voices,
          who sound as if
          they were listening
          to what I touch,
          to what I see,
          to what I absorb,
of my soft carrying
          of such beautiful globe,
          I, your Atlas,
          You, my Gaea.

But then you choose
to desert me still,
to stay on his shores,
of overrated sands—
stones, rocks, pebbles,—
as if addicting as
their addicting brothers.

I tried, my dear,
to ride this boat,
to leave that shore,
full of echoing sands,
diamonds to your eyes,
cigarette ash to my hands.

Remember, my love,
if you ever catch me
locking my arms
with another wings
only as welcoming as a home,
for my heart overflows
with unused salt water,
and here is someone
who chooses to catch
every single droplet
of such salty sugars.
She understands,
I do hope so,
that it was not
a tie of everlasting string,
for my soft diamond rope
is still connected
to the harbor of your shores,
waiting for you
to pull it back,
the moment you will utter,
Escape, Escape, Escape.

--for A.
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Drew Renquest Mar 2014
Abomination.
Sparkling fauna emerald green, organic lifeblood bleeds.

Molten blasting magma screams, brimstone preacher speaks.

Freezing water frigid creeps, Poseidon's clarion shrieks.

Blackness, ******, human greed; Gaea's suffering.



Corrupted souls, riddled with filth. Void of empathy and guilt.

Crossed with fate, blind with hate. Tear the fibers, desecrate.

Unholy thoughts to Hell dedicate, quickened pulse, frightened rate.

Can't run away, horrid dreams mutate. Steel fangs in neck with death's weight.



Child of stars and moon, watercolor streak crystalline.

Metal mind fragment, bristling tesla machine. Lightning-blue bloodstreams.

Twisted man's being, child of nothing. Made hellish and free.

Stitched visage shows war-torn beast, ghastly and crazed, shivering bleak freak.



Corpulent avarice, altered being, raised to moonlight, stricken, striking.

Drained by bloodletting, desiccated. Once live and free but now ill-fated.

Skin like armor, baneful valor. Built to survive and smother the cowards.

Towering servant to the unholy knave. Servant to the call of the endless grave.
Another beautiful piece by my brilliant-minded husband.
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Aaron Salzman Jul 2014
On a cloudy July 11th
A periwinkle snap of the fingers
A glazed-over, ungazed-at afterthought of a dimwitted maker
Allowing only specks of atmosphere to puncture through for gasps of air
An assassination without capacity for reflection or modesty.
Broadening my horizons, my eyes adjusting to the sun's sheddings,
I notice the satin ribbons of the west, trotting over the hills, blood-lusting,
Roaring in anticipation of the persecution of the dry, dusty chandelier to the north
Forcing the lumination,
Breaking open the porous night-covering threatening to its final breath
The self-mutilation to bring it and its 3 navigational acquaintances to the bone-encrusted, sadistic
Hell of the humans, modern-day Terra, the disease-laced, frayed blanket of Gaea.
And as I viciously avert my eyes as the first blow finds a weak exposed abdomen,
I pray to God that I might participate in this brawl,
And I curse high heaven that it is so fateful a dusk.
Inspiration from the remarkable Seamus Heaney
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Josh Hall Dec 2013
Condemning Nativity
PART I.

Caesar calls.
In line his empire falls.

Satan crawls.
His words in drawls.

Why will you not cry!
You foolish child-king.
Can't you see they lie?
But the enlightened bell of hope did ring.

They called him the messiah,
The only explanation for his love.
Spreading peace or land of Gaea,
But under false witness of the above.

Told throughout his life that he would make hatred cease.
He knew to follow moral ways and save damnation's piece.

He knew not what he'd do,
But he would devote his life unto,
Herding these wretched to the path they were due.
If only he truly knew.

PART II.

What this man had done,
Born under the Roman's sun,
Is relinquish emotion too strong.
To become one,
Work must be done,
For the human race is wrong.

Although he lied,
Although his wrath grew,
This man was truly good.
His teaching here are sacred, true,
But wars fought for him never stood.

The prince of peace to light the way,
Caused human freedom's final decay.

Now trapped forever,
A misused endeavor.

His birth is all but in vain.
We must pass peace to end his pain.
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matthew scott harris Sep 2017
A Trite Nihilistic Occasion
This doodling Yankee (boot noah dandy)
doth newt lack chutzpah,
tries to finagle Fitbit fitting figurative footwear,
that ideally Fitzhugh
like custom made glove snugly,
terrifically, unequivocally matching,
thence handily solving Finger hut issue,
when or if arctic blasts cold
doggedly enveloped Gaea,
whence  humans analogously held hostage
linkedin among fellow Earthlings freezing,
frost bitten, gangrenous hominids
scurrying haphazardly searching vainly
from shelter ring sky (with mother's little helper)
each primate scrambling

(as unrepentant, recalcitrant outlier)
once (what seems millenniums ago) livingsocial
jackknifed habitat fractured,
essentially damning Crispr bungled ambition
grist for raconteur spewing sought aide
telling tales amidst the mill by  Ponderosa Pine
drawing a crowd of curious onlookers,
who forewent idling away time structured existence,
thus, nary a clock watcher weathering whims
as mother nature doth channel
capriciously, felicitously,

and indubitably stripped away
bow ring pastime asper watching paint dry
now tis each man, woman and child to
(seeketh dale and hill) to duff fend themselves
whereat mortality will steal immoral majority linkedin
encapsulated, housed, kindled
within luxurious faux existence
capitalistic dreams engendered existence fleeced
devoid of featherbed,

indeed mollycoddled memories
yanked wherein current rank and file
endowing superlative creature comforts
reduce wretched survivors
scant band of bare naked ladies
beastie boys, foo fighters espying counting crows
ready to buzzfeed toe kin **** sapiens

bereft, expunged, faux invincibility kickstarting
learning basic survival skills
forced to rescind twenty first century trappings
shifting paradigm sans primacy
pitting dishabille helpless imps against pearl jam killers
who do not shrink from ethically principled,

but give full reign to selfish callous deleterious foibles,
gruesome harmful indiscretions
sprouting with mushroom rhizome rapidity
ousting the  omnipresently
(well nigh since time immemorial
virtues cultivated, futilely integrated, lending oomph
residentially, scientifically tendering ubiquitous DNA
foisting gabled, heralded, instilled,

justified kneaded love thy neighbor motto
lyft ting in one fell swoop delicately
embroidered, finely graven, heavenly ideals
no more patent leather shoes reflecting up
nor doodling Yankee staking claim to fame
via feathered cap made of macaroni
thus such jingoistic, holistic,
fabric ripped retroactively
ramping atavistic simian base,
thus leveling the playing field.
#dissolution #infecting #original #values
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Alucard Sepet Dalv Apr 2015
Death After Life
Life itself is a one sweet lie
When death becomes a bitter truth the moment you die;
The mystery behind the endless masquerade
Unveils with the incision of bodies lined up for a parade;
Of souls waltzing and wailing at the melody of gaea
Bidding goodbyes for a holy departure in a new world euthopia;
A new beginning to write and live a tragedy inked with sins
The world never was a wonderland for the broken,trapped in misery with suffering and pain in every scene
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Poetic T May 2016
Sister Of Heaven And Earth
They were the heavens daughters
they were of land air and the waters,
Artemis would nurture of all ascended,
Gaea would colour below with spender.

one would glance fingers on the breeze
where the trees would dance in ease.
painting the landscape in watercolours ink,
seasons did change and colours did shrink.

The heavens were moulded with her embrace,
a tapestry of what was her emotion gently graced.
emotions change and where clear skies shone
clouds ensued, her words were expelled and sown.

Each was a beauty of ones own eternal creation
every place was different to each ones application,
they changed all with each seasons exchange
each one that revolved a little thing did change.

This season was summer bliss as each painted,
nothing grey, all was of colours noting tainted.
butterflies flew and flowers did eagerly bud,
Larks did fly, tears did descend creations lifeblood.

Each did dance in the essence of  there creation
gracing there art in each pieces location,
You may feel them in the lingering breeze
smiling on deeds now done, on all one sees.
#earth #creation #sisters
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Michael Senaike Mar 2021
A MAN OUT THERE
A man! From whose Godly image, cometh he, from sand;
A mortal engine! Proud son of the earth and the starry heavens;
A wandering soul, cursed to rule the seas and land;
Lord of beasts that roam and roar, and a sky filled with Ravens;

A  sparkling light at tunnel's end, in seasons of strive;
Like sunrise, he cometh with hope from the eastern skies;
Like darkness, never to be found wanting where evil thrives;
A harbinger of doom, the soul behind Gaea's cry;

A Viking in chainmail saileth, Oh! I see a damsel in distress;
A Knight in shining armor rideth, Oh! I see  Princess feeble;
Lean on me, saith the Wolf, while i slay thine enemies with my prowess;
A white sheep teareth, into the flesh of our lady of brittle;

Me' lady! seeketh not, the man out there in thy dream;
For all the gods, all the heavens and, hell, is within him.
#deception #fantasy #reality
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— The End —