"handmaiden" poems
Air is perfume-light
Elbows sank in my pillow
I wake from slumber
Chamber door opens
Handmaiden brings good tidings
from outer Kingdoms
Holds a silver tray
With scones, jam and honey for
some chamomile tea
Steaming hot china
which I blow and gently sip
I hum in delight
Come, some scrambled eggs
With toast and ice-cold fresh fruits
Lemon slice in tea
The handmaiden speaks
As she opens the curtains
The sun shines brightly
Many ships have docked
My kingdom grows in strength
and in its beauty
Another handmaid
Holding a tray of pure gold
I see its contents
White and gold letters
Written by your regal hands
Kingdoms near and wide
Handmaids open them
So many sweet messages
Blessings and congrats
While sipping my tea
I ask for my page and quill
Write with golden ink
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC
we stood in our scarlet, costco bought handmaiden costumes
wordlessly taking a stand
because words matter
it is a stoic thing
to make history
kamala harris
wisely having her moment
so far, the height of her career
then we re-enacted various episodes
of House of Cards
all in front of Judiciary Committee
afterwards, we were given some money.
before going home to watch netflix, we had to educate the world
on the language they are and are not allowed to use,
because we need to control the world's vocabulary
especially since so many people are tranny-phobes
and we still think the term "hateful bigot" holds power.
thank god for the 25th amendment,
there is no way in hell that we will lose another election,
but if we do, we can always fall back on 25A.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
Science…
a handmaiden of knowledge
The upstairs maid
in a mansion of discovery
Chauffeuring itself
along roads it has built
A quantitative valet
—in the closet of the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
sacred
silent season
wrapped in silk
in your tall towers
imposed
with the
ambling sense
of reason
and ripe blossoms
bathed in ***** milk
never again
left to wonder
the aimless
riches of yesterday
and the golden
hopes of tomorrow
such are the joys
of a Norseman
pillage and plunder
I will rummage
your sweet gardens
let your woven path
lead my feet
free of chains
to your doorway;
and the Viking
stirs and hardens
alpha breath
against moist
misty white skin
my cobalt aquas
revel in the seas
of your chastity
now ablaze with
nordic sweat and
archaic sin
Let the games begin
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
The way the world sways. Every leaf left
in place, its stance chiseled to each blade,
an iteration of time; each tassel of seeds,
thy bread, thy handmaiden;
as breath on the brink of disappearance,
becomes a wave become water; proportions so
large so as to stagger the seasons—
one winter questioning another.
We listen. We listen as if musical ***** are tracing a
giant sine wave across the dark mud flats.
We watch it as if a rotted rowboat, its oars like two hands
at prayer, is signaling a gesture
of permanence towards the sky. The grass
has turned from gray to blue to green.
The tide washes in. A bell is rung.
It’s as if the merry-go-round has turned it’s calliope on.
What Lao-tse has said is true.
The earth is a bellows. Use it.
The grasslands bellow and glow.
©Jim Kleinhenz
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
Eurydike at his feet
Turns her back on Orpheus and opens a can of dog food for Cerberus
Handmaiden to a god of a dark place
Tending the fires
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
refusal of life
of me
of everything
as i sink deeper in this world
of shadows and puppets
nothing is real
all is magic
of the other kind-
that terrifies
and drowns out the sounds
of the pitiful cries
all is Maaya-
that ethereal goddess
so beautiful, so golden
the eternal mirage-
His handmaiden-partner in crime
she deludes and confuses
holds me captive in her embrace
i forget myself and refuse
to see the truth
who wants that-
when the lies are so lovely!
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
Those who see her shall never again feel the warmth of Sun
Bloodless she sits upon her obsidian throne in the palace Éljúðnir.
Alone most always in her palace she sits
It's walls are built of writhing, poisonous, black serpents
They bite at those who must visit her causing no end of pain. No respite for the
Murderers, thieves, and Oath-breakers as they build the great ship That shall one day carry her father the thief of Sif's golden hair; the evil Loki.
She feeds her captives from a silver plate called Hunger
Using her fork named Famine.
Her daughter's name is Stupidity and her handmaiden is named Senility
The threshold of her palace called Trickery!
As a corpse she silently sits upon the throne
Her left eye glowing green and her right eye deep crimson
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 4:40 AM UTC
As the night drifts away into the night of its day
and the dues have been paid
to the Devil's handmaiden
when the birds start to sing to bring normality back
and I lacking foresight am trapped in the still night
an explosion occurs.
Boom
and the room that I'm in starts to spin
and my head comes apart at the sound of the din when my body wanders off and does not let me back in to control where it goes.
At the end of my nose which is as far as I can see.
I can see this is not good for me.
The night always wins
always spins me around
sometimes in explosions
sometimes with no sound
I never can tell what horrors born of hell will waylay me as I try to sleep like an innocent baby(fat chance of that)
Scratched by the quill because if it wants to it will
I have no choice but to bend, words are written and I send them to all that would read, then I send them once more
words are the clothing I wore yesterday
before night made its play and tomorrow,today I will write anyway to escape from the twilight where words become the only light and shadows dance across,
I might start to dance too
night gets through to me
invades and seduces me
whispering it reduces me to a quivering wreck.
I seek what is there but where that is I don't know
the night does not show nor give up secrets,
I know there is much I could find if I could find that my mind controls my body
resignedly I halt
slip the bolt on my lee enfield
and yield to that temptation
to reach my destination without calling at any stations on the way.
Night has its way with me
trips me up and then slays me
once again.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Hark! -
mine hopes had loftily soared
at your comely visage, young
handmaiden, carrying the promise
of much chivalry and banter upon
eagles' wings of fortuity!
What goodness the Lord hath
seen fit to imbue on thy
outer trappings most surely
were indeed false, wherefore
thee proved thyself a most
unworthy jouster of conversation.
Dost thee not ken that real world in
which we live, rendering thy speech
thus? But alas...thou dost not.
Lo! -
that only i could have understood
what the **** you were saying...
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
In sweet warm winds of mono Summers night
when the villagers are sleeping snug and tight
when you hear the Lilly ponds songs of freedom
you will know the greens chaps are marching
With sinuous limbs of mortal marshlands
they lift their prizes to their honoured Queen
with sweet roosted dragonflies and mayfly pie
they justly do homage to all her glories
First to mark the parade
are the one's in the French frog wars
all those legless, now with stumps
in wheel chairs still smelling of garlic
They salute their queen
those hero's of cuisine
their emerald attire
and strong hearts of fire
Then come her sweet tadpoles
so liken to your navy seals
when bite comes to munch
these brothers are the ******** spawn of the bunch
The Queen she waits for water
she calls out orders for water
but not from her solider sons
but her handmaiden daughters
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
i remember the slow down
the instant of undesirability
to creativity
didn't dare want him coming near me
i'd hide
praying for his rush to subside
though i never looked to become Sarah and deliver him to my handmaiden
rather that he'd remain
backed up
but in my bed all the same
now i seek him out
it's like my hormones have changed
and i call to him
requesting his blessing
hoping
even now that he would come minister to me
i woo him with my scent
dancing tantalizingly
awaiting the moment he'll grip me at my hips
be wind
gently overpowering
and blow in
to probe and to penetrate
to KNOW
to relate
with more than my core
my totality
and he'll never experience these waters running dry
no
only them running.
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 9:57 AM UTC
On this first night of the new year
the Moon rises, full
yet veiled by extravagantly modest
silky mists,
floating serenely through
deep violet skies,
encircled by handmaiden stars.
O moon, I have the honor
of embracing your fading splendor
when you have sailed across
the spangled sea,
when, at last,
tired and pale,
your foot touches
morning's shore.
I will ever welcome you,
faint and disappearing,
into arms that could never hope
to hold your light of fullness,
and I will bear you tenderly
as a dream sleeping against my shoulder,
through each long bright day,
my weightless secret,
until we reach again the portal of twilight, where
my softest kisses, brushing your evanescent eyelids,
will bid you to stir, glow, and rise,
and fill my empty night again
with mystic light.
Ever and again, O Moon, will I follow your arcing journey,
galloping through night's uncertain lands below,
racing to meet you again
on dawn's awakening shore.
Since I cannot yet fly with you above,
I will love you thus,
your invisible breath
against my cheek,
the vision of your dreams
wrapped around my heart,
your mysterious embrace
my cloak.
Each dusk I dream: my longing
lifts me with you,
a second dark moon,
slumbering, a shadow,
through night's deepest mysteries
never parted,
never apart.
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 5:53 AM UTC
Truth is the daughter of time.
Lies are at best her half brothers.
Truth longs for a lover to come;
her milky whiteness uncovered.
She does not wish to be ruled
by the Crown or by Papal decree.
She is not Agenda's handmaiden,
she simply longs to be free.
Had I but the skills of a Goya
I could make Truth's beauty well known.
Michaelangelo, too, could portray her
for truth's often captured in stone.
Some will tell you that
Truth is quite beautiful,
as the last of her veils hits the floor.
I agree that her figure's impeccable;
She always leaves me wanting more
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
In Secret in Darkness
Hushed tones and coded messages
Is the light denied me? Am I not allowed to dance among the lily's?
I so love my Mothers Lunar light but the kiss of Sol on my face is life
My Lady never hushed my voice nor told me to limit my Sisters and Brothers
The Lady has not kept me from the warmth of Sol
She has not hushed my voice She has not denied me the light
When did this life I love begin to need secrets and darkness?
I don't believe this Path is only visible in the darkness
I believe in the celebration of My Lady
I feel Her in the summer warmth and the in the glory of my garden
in the colour explosion that is fall and springs promise
and the clean cold fire of winter
I will shout it !! I will dance it !! I will sing it
To Her glory I will celebrate this Path
I glory in the soft gift of twilight and the safety of the night
I need no secrets for my Lady She hears m y softest voice and loudest call
No I will not hide nor whisper in the dark I will not hide my face
I am Witch and I am My Lady's Handmaiden and I will hide no more
Solitaire @ 2009
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 4:13 PM UTC
Handmaiden knitting alone
in a cottage of regrets
spinning her final garment of pain
sized to fit only one
Its design is intricate
spanning years of broken promises
lies, deceit, jealousies
pattern... cyclic
the story of her life
a constant journey to places
she had already been
But she'll hem that garment today
she'll ***** herself and bleed
one last time
and as she bids fairwell
she does with no regrets
not bereft
but finally happy
relieved...
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
Dinner is done but there are still the dishes. Piled high in the empty sink they mock the fact that the meal was delicious but they lay there waiting to be washed. Grace is defiant toward the quietness that surrounds her as she clears the kitchen and all her convictions are squashed.
Dissatisfaction is her only distraction. There is no equal ground and the hours outside of his pleasure are hers to squander. The simple notion of a handmaiden that waxes bare and parades in barely there attention is a question that is rarely asked and is next to never pondered and makes a person wonder.
The clock counts down the hours, creeping toward another day but still Grace is defiant toward the odds that she will recover an ounce of self loathing that she has bathed in and she waits, with bated breath until the time she can redeem herself in the eyes of the monster that has molded her actions and created her as a scourge of the Gods
*Grace?
Are you coming to bed?
I’ve had a shave.
I’m well feed
I wanting you
here
by my side.
Why do you continue to hide?*
She slips into the bathroom to examine her face, her body, her soul, in the mirror she can not hide from the mounting desire, the heady mixture of dominance that has beaten her down but picked her up from the ground to show her there is something higher than laying down
She showers and scrubs her skin with 3 different scents, each to disguise all the previous rules that she has bent and to mask her own unique allure where she stops being Grace and becomes something more pure. Last comes the outfit that makes her more than just Grace.
It’s Lace
His heart will race
She will become more than his disgrace
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC
My oh my dear handmaiden
The brevity of your eyes is a childish curse, but
Long is the chill of a single winter night
A basement full of taxidermed trophies
Death and dust fill flat stale air
Lying in a corner of silence
Bound in electrical tape
Gagged by a silk tie
There is no rhyme or reason
Or meaning to it all
It is the addition of numbers and variables
Multiplied by powers
Do you not understand the color of sunsets
The beauty of a passing day
Human passing is not a thing of beauty
It is a quiet tune playing on a record
The sound of cold water dripping from pipes
The feeling of sleep washing over me
With a thousand angels
Waiting to carry me on
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 1:10 PM UTC
The Non-Subliminal Criminal
High Priest of Hypocrisy
The Diplomat of Draft Dodgery
The Great Example of Paying Test-Takers
The Loudmouth of Wealthy Fakery
The Main Proof of Miseducation
The Nanocrat of Non-Payment
Potentate of ***********
Sultan of **** Patronage
The Grand Poobah of Poopoo
The Big Wheel of Blather
The Salesman of Bull-puckey
High Lama of Skullduggery
The Master Purveyor of Inaccuracies
The Pride of Misrepresentation
The Scion of Misdirection and Nepotism.
The Black Knight of Spite.
The Grand Lizard of Hate and Bigotry
The Fomenter of Torment.
The Master of Catastrophe
The Master of the Quick Disaster
The Worshipper of War by Proxy
The Lover of Lies and Liars
The Promiser of Pusillanimity
The Handmaiden of Bribery
The Worshipper of Massive Greed
The Purchaser of Fake News
The Dandy With Unseen Clothes.
The Undead Ghost of the Capitol
The Horrible Haunt of the Presidency
The Embodiment of Embarrassment.
The Shamelessness of Gross Shuckery.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
The thief, the usurper
She rides through the black
With her white robes
And dusty, pale hair.
She calls
Minstrels and men, vagrants and virgins;
Singing to them about light
That is not her own
With dulcet murmurs, lofty promises.
Her children hide behind her
Luminescent skin like moths
Hiding from the blue nighttime-
Mother! They cry, their tears streaking
Through the sky onto the Earth,
Leaving behind iron and fire.
This vagabond, she does not suckle them,
For she is lightless, left with only
A hard, round face
Full of silence and fear
Leaving men and me to reach for her,
And she, she spins away.
Umbridged is the king
Who reigns bright beams upon those
Living on the blue skin of his sister-
Ah, his sister, a lady of green
Dotted with poppy jems and violet jewels.
She is forgotten when the larcenist shows
Her hair. Lost and lonely, it is made fair
By the light of the king.
The pilferer is made to feel whole
And beautiful. The green lady,
She is wrathful, spitting fire, spitting ice.
Still the **** is unknown,
Unknown to all the land
And the lords and ladies that reap it,
And the king whose crown stays lit
And warm on his sister's rough face,
And the Lady Green who curses and weeps
For the capture of the thief that creeps
Throughout the cold, cloudless night.
A reward for any who can catch her,
A knighthood for any to tame her.
Unbeknownst to her admirers the damnable ****
Is nothing more than a mere handmaiden
For the Lady Green. A lonely *****
Hidden away during the light of morn
Til darkness descends and
The royals' house is torn.
May she continue to steal their precious
Gold and eyes and praise and skies
With her bright pale hair,
Long when the day ceases to be.
One day the king shall burn his sister, the blue *****
Freeing the lonely handmaiden forevermore.
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 8:44 PM UTC
When she wades into the water
spray flies through her,
The Devils daughter.
I should have gone to light the fire
to scare away the night within her
but
saddled with responsibility,
I couldn't see the way to go
I lost myself in thoughts of she,
handmaiden of my reverie.
The night became a friend to me
companion of my misery
she took it all away and then
with one stroke of a bladed pen,
emasculated with a smile,
she danced along the golden mile with
me in tow,
the friend of foe,
I would not want to see her go so
followed her into the black
and now I know that coming back
is an impossibility,
another friend of misery.
I get to know them all
I see the future rising up, before the morning
wakes me with a shot of coffee and my misery becomes
one more impossibility.
One day the cycle will outdistance all travails that I've been through and
chains will melt into one link, which will teeter on the edge,
the brink of madnesses possesss me,
another friend of all the misery,
but it's Christmastime,
so full of glee.
The grandchildren surrounding me
I think that I might wait and see
just
what tomorrow brings.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
o' my splendid sailor
have you come to bewitch me?
o'er the raging waters
daring the deviant winds
a rose i pin on your chest
laced in poison, you shall meet
a death soon shall bestow
along with facade of a weeping bride
my handmaiden, my petal
she does gardening as it seems
my only rose who could be
your misfortune o'er the streams
o' my splendid sailor, welcome
into a farmer's daughters' abode
a bargain between you and my father
futile decision behold
I'm a woman of silence
so shall you see
I'm a woman of my weapons
so shall you sink
a lonely girl parading innocence
my handmaiden will console me
your last breath o'er my lips
your crewmen will hear me
o' my splendid sailor
my handmaiden's work is not a piece of art
i asked her to prepare your rose
now you will always be in my heart.
Nov 18, 2020
Nov 18, 2020 at 11:19 AM UTC
Slowly
I will unveil you
Like the peelings
an onion,
bittersweet juices
flowing with each
layer
I will,
as if a handmaiden,
Be there
To remove
the armor
of your battles
Ceremony-like,
In gentleness,
without hurting you
and lead you to the bath.
I will coax you out
Like a delicate stamen
From the petals
That surround your
Aching heart.
If you retreat
I will give you some space
For I know that
You will come to me
Like a fragile night creature
Afraid of the sun
I will persuade you
To check the air
To realize that your secrets
Are safe with me
I will encourage
You to come forth
And take you
Into my arms
No matter what
secrets you hold
Whether dark,
twisted or lost
I can take it
For my heart is warm
And I am wise beyond my years
Come now, hush
Let me help you
Release your fears
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
Eternal salvation’s a gift
From a righteous young maid in a shift
Who had never been laid;
By God’s Spirit: hand-made
was her baby, our burdens to lift.
Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 8:06 PM UTC