"vesta" poems
If the Sacred Fire of Vesta went out, it meant one of two things:
meant
1. Rome was in danger;
meant
2. A Vestal ****** a guardian of the flame, was having ***
Chastity and fire
are two attributes that are directly correlated. If one is lost,
the other will follow. Trust me. This is fact:
only ****** women
can be celebrated.
The ****** Mary,
the ****** goddesses,
the way **** was seen as a crime
against the father, not the daughter:
women
must
remain
pure.
Do not eat the pomegranate seeds,
do not touch the fruit of knowledge. A
statue of a young boy
holding an apple
does not hold
the same connotation
as a woman holding an apple. Offering it to a man who
could have refused. Getting blamed for the fall from Eden.
A woman
with a snake draped around her body is not Eve,
is Lilith, but it’s close enough. They are both to blame for
all the evils of the world, so what does it really matter anyway? Women
are more susceptible to wavering in their faith in God,
to worshipping the devil, to practicing witchcraft—
The flames are out. Rome is not safe. A ****** is buried
alive for her sin. Lilith is slaughtering women in childbirth.
Babies are dying. A man is celebrated for his multiple
lovers. **** shaming in 79 AD. The beds in Pompeii
brothels are made of stone. St. Cecilia is face down in the
dirt. Women on the same level as slaves, if not lower. The
goddess Vesta as a housewife.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
*"So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."*
Shall I compare thee...
...to the Iguazú Falls River, where legend serves that a serpent; Boi, demanded a sacrifice each year of a young female, and the day two lovers; Tarobá and his beautiful maid Naipí, took to escape, and in revenge of such an act, Boi exuded such anger that he parted the river, thus forming the Iguazú Falls, splitting the river and condemning to two lovers to the falls.
or
...to Cristo Redentor; Christ the Redeemer, the Art Deco statue, protecting and looking over the city of Rio de Janeiro, to whom in all its glory cannot escape the force of nature, struck by lightning, causing damage irreplaceable.
or
…to The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, hundreds of metres into the sky, a place that to this day is unknown, myth being that King Nebuchadnezzar recreated the homeland of his precious wife Amyitis, who was deeply depressed and homesick, allowing her to find comfort and happiness.
or
…the Taj Mahal, of Pradesh, constructed using marble by the emperor Shah Jahan, in loving memory of his third wife; Mumtaz Mahal, the jewel of Muslim art, a calligraphy written Great Gate reading; "O Soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you.
or
…the Temple of Artemis; Istambul, on sacred land in honour of the Greek goddess Artemis, the most apotheosized of Greek deities, the supposed daughter of Zeus and Leto, the temple also known as Diana, one of the goddesses who vouched never to marry; alongside Minerva and Vesta.
or
… the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, of the Persian Empire, whereby Mausolus ornamented four sculptures created in relief for his wife (and also his sister); Artemisia II of Caria, generating an above ground tomb that would become to be listed as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
But of all,
I compare thee to the Goddess of Love, Beauty and Sexuality; Aphrodite
arising from the sea, floating ashore on a shell;
Venus rising from the sea,
a lover of many,
later depicted as a painting of the Birth of Venus,
by the sufferer of unrequited love; Botticelli,
using his muse Simonetta Vespucci as a model.
© Sia Jane
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Searching in the gutters
of Meadow Row
and up along by the back
of the coal wharf
Benedict picked out
and up
dog ends
or cigarette butts
as his old man
called them
and picking them up
he tore open the paper
and tipped the tobacco
into a white paper
sweet bag
how can you do that?
Ingrid said
all those people’s
spit and dribble
on them
she pulled a face
he smiled
she looked serious
germs on them
she said
she wiped her hands
on her stained
green dress
he bent down
and picked out
another cigarette ****
and opened it up
between fingers
and thumbs
and emptied it
into the bag
you’re too young
to smoke
she said
if my dad saw me smoking
he’d smack me silly
she said
he does anyway
he said
she bit her lip
and looked away
sorry
he said
didn’t mean
to be like that
he touched her hand
she stared at him
through wire
framed glasses
she liked it when
his hand touched hers
no one else
touched her tenderly
she looked
at his cowboy hat
placed to the back
of his head
the six shooter gun
stuffed in the belt
of his jeans
the borrowed blue waistcoat
(his grandfather’s given
a month or so back)
she put her other hand
on top of his
he took his hand out slowly
in case other boys
from school may see
and walked to the shelter
of a wall
of a bombed out house
and they both sat down
he took out a packet
of cigarette papers
( liberated from
his old man)
and pulled out
a paper and shoved
the packet of papers
back in the pocket
of his jeans
and taking a pinch
of tobacco from the bag
he fingered it
in a straight line
into the cigarette paper
then rolled it
as he’d seen
his old man do
then licked the end
to form a thin cigarette
Ingrid watched in silence
as his fingers moved
and his tongue licked
you’re not going to
smoke it are you?
she asked
he put the cigarette
between his lips
sure am
he said John Wayne like
but you’re only 9
she said
you’re only 9
and you’re watching
he replied
he took out a box
of Swan Vesta
(borrowed from
the cupboard at home)
and lit the cigarette
and puffed slowly
she waved a hand
as smoke came near
her face
my dad will smell that
on me
she said
and think it was me
smoking and tell me off
she said
beat you black and blue
Benedict thought
not said
he coughed and spluttered
and took out
the cigarette
and blew smoke
from his mouth
and spat out phlegm
brownish yellow
if your old man hits you again
I’ll shoot him
full of cap smoke
he said
she laughed
and hit his arm
he flicked the cigarette
onto the bombsite
with a finger
and watched
as the smoke
he’d blown out
like a pale ghost
seemed to linger.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
I see no other endless tomorrow than
To lie face to face with you
On a bed of lavenders and violets.
The cool sun magnifies
The verdant fields in your eyes
And the radiant shadows of my hair.
Morning breeze enshrouds our bodies
Sustained by flames more eternal than Vesta’s.
Here forever after
In my ideal world.
If I felt hunger it shall not last long,
For there are nectars from the giant continent that is you.
If you knew thirst it shall be quenched,
Just drink from my hidden wells and fountains.
But remember that I’m not like the ancient Eve
And you can only be the Adam in our own accord.
The butterflies or birds won’t shame me.
The grasses or trees won’t complain.
For loving you is the only truth
In my ideal world.
My hands are here to heal and amuse you,
As long as your arms embrace me from harm.
We own only the lips and ears
Where sweet sounds pass by
To lull as to dream or memorize
We’ll not know starless night of horror,
The way the moon becomes our constant watcher.
We’ll fear no lightning or thunder of wrath
For the rain will be our noble preserver.
Come and stay
In my ideal world.
We don’t have to worry about Sunday
Or think of God to pray.
Nature is our divine link to the cosmos,
And us the perpetual worship fleshed out.
Celestial or earthly we need not know
For this is the spot where boundaries depart.
But all these remain as bright colors in my head
Unless you key in yourself in my mind
And enshrine me to your heart.
Our story can be written by our breath
On petals and foliage of existence to this place.
Somewhere we can call ours,
Come and take
My ideal world.
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 2:16 AM UTC
i gravitate towards you
like a dusky desolate deposit of dirt
to its glimmering counterpart
of lapis lazuli, ridden with veins of gold
i reach and reach
to no avail
and i watch as you spin quickly away
stumbling and straightening before slipping into another stagnant spiral
how do i catch up to one
so quickly moving amongst the stars?
celestial bodies they may be
but i am a mere moon, reflecting light for your gaze
i can feel my muscles expanding and stretching
tendons taut with tension and
heart pounding and pounding away at the pavement
as i move forward and grasp outwards to you
but a mere millimeter of air becomes solid
and my knuckles crash against nothingness
instead of the warmth of your palm
which i'm not truly sure was even there to begin with
the darkness of this dying universe
is colder and more derelict than i have the capacity
to understand; and so i curl inwards
alone amongst pebbles and freely floating matter
because a moon without a planet
is simply an orb named vesta
or a goddess called hestia:
frequently forgotten and oft omitted
by those who claim to be scholars of myth, keepers of lore
and by extension, the very children she presided over
overseer of life and hearth nevermore.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
This day was fused with difficulty and a newer sun
The only note this night can end on, is a bad one
In the rush I fell further from life, poor fortune seemed impaled
The crude white's new and improved hypocrisy had been scaled
A restless heart burns beneath these bones with a trembling sigh
As I'm identified, it hits like vesta when these loaned emblems tie
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
From Dover
to Zeebrugge
across on the ferry
Moira said nothing
kept herself
to herself
except moaning
at her brother
until you reached
the base camp
outside the port
and in the bar
after seeing
the caravans
instead of tents
she said
did you see the state
of those caravans?
talk about dosshouses
you studied her
as she spoke
her lips moving
ten to the dozen
her eyes blazing
like a lit up
Swan Vesta
you saw her
short frame shake
with her anger
I’ve told Billy
to have a go
but will he?
no ****
he won’t say boo
to a ghost
if it was tired
to a chair
and on she went
her words spreading
through the bar
like spilt oil
but all the time
her eyes
were on you
her hands gesturing
the thumb
pointing back
towards
the caravans
the barman
a Belgium guy
gazed at her
bemused
wiping glasses
in the background
someone put a coin
in the jukebox
and out played
loud and clear
Heartbreak Hotel
and all you
could think was
I wonder how she kisses
this wild eyed girl?
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 4:26 AM UTC
i. Arc.tic Eur.ope mark.ings wo.ven to lea.ves –
8 Salix Boloria nails whisper the
rocky, submarginal dark –
triangles of Alberta and most wide –
arctic willow (except, occasionally,
other spots of Discal cell) Numero Uno, we've parallel branch
( n. )
with basal spot
invaded by the darker
adjacent colors or silvery white;
ii. Fo.od pl.ants l.ight Ka.nsa.s
defined Oakland or the apex clasp
inner face of Valva
Texola Higgins. Food?
Brooded multiple orange
various species, obsolete cells
Yellowed cast; transverse lines..............(...)
9 Chlosyne wings; dark Maculation
Virginia portion
iii. re.d ex.tend.ing
multiple orange (except Vesta Millicta)
Athalia Ambigua
Callophrys south
brooded flowers
connected wing
tooth like line
but central gray
new Juniperus
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 3:02 AM UTC
Mary Moran rolls a cigarette
between fingers and thumbs,
liberated tobacco and paper
from her da's pocket,
if he knew he'd belt her behind,
she licks the paper end
with her damp tongue,
rolls it thin and lights it up
with a Swan Vesta stole
from her ma's kitchen box,
Magdalene she'd met
at the coffee bar
had a laugh talked
of Sister Bridget and the priest
and some going ons,
sweet Mags gazed at her
placed a hand on her thigh
talked of her da,
the smoke rises
from the ciggie skyward
cloud like,
Martha sat sipping her coffee
********* her rosary
in the bar like Brian
fingers my bra strap
the loon,
Mary knows what
Brian is after
he's more chance
of the pox than that
she muses watching
the smoke twirl
as it touches the roof
of the greenhouse glass,
if Da found me now
he'd tan my ***
she muses inhaling
deeper lungful drag,
the priest in confessions
(the old boy)nigh on
had a heart attack
when she confessed
the weeks worth,
spluttering she heard
through the wire mesh
of the confessional,
Magdalene wants me
to go listen to LPs
on her record player
in her room away
from her da and ma
and their moans and groans,
Martha with her blue eyes
stared at the crucifix
on her rosary
like a lovesick cow
as they sipped their coffee
and yakked
of the priest and nun
and imagined fun.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
****** Vesta perched on the hearth
Warming her strong slender hands.
30 years is a very long wait
To have them warmed by a man.
However she knew she could rely
On the constant warm love of her sisters.
The men could wait while she matured
In sisters' softer caresses.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC