Briar, briar, twisted tight,
remember well that fateful night.
Spell of death turned into hope -
briars were the cunning rope
that guarded all the waiting days
til he could penetrate your maze.
Strong the magic, dark and fair
twined into her raven hair -
vow of death was wrought and spun
but twisted in the rising sun
to turn the darkness into light,
briar, briar, twisted tight.
Watch where she lies, asleep alone,
while father slumbers on his throne
and kitchen maids sleep on their brooms
and spiders dream while at their looms,
but you, the briars, guarding all,
give way at last to true love's call.
You will not stop him this fair night,
briar, briar, twisted tight -
His lips touch hers, the spell is done
your thorns now vanish in the sun.
As castle wakens from its rest,
your leaves adorn her wedding dress.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Sleepy Contentment
How drowsy
this afternoon is,
laying here
as the summer light peeks
through the blind
and across us
as we stretch out in the bed,
your hand tracing
the outline of my thigh
as I listen to your breathing,
and the sound of the clock,
and the ceiling fan.
I would hang onto this moment forever,
sleepy contentment,
afterglow
of a summer's afternoon.
But since I can't,
I'll put it here,
in my memory's treasure box,
take it out sometime
in a cold dark moment
to wrap myself in its warmth.
this afternoon is,
laying here
as the summer light peeks
through the blind
and across us
as we stretch out in the bed,
your hand tracing
the outline of my thigh
as I listen to your breathing,
and the sound of the clock,
and the ceiling fan.
I would hang onto this moment forever,
sleepy contentment,
afterglow
of a summer's afternoon.
But since I can't,
I'll put it here,
in my memory's treasure box,
take it out sometime
in a cold dark moment
to wrap myself in its warmth.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Aphrodite in Modern Times: La Divina Fanfiction
The god of war stood before her, his eyes devouring her. "You're alone?" he asked.
She nodded, her golden curls dancing as she stepped up to him. His hand traced fire down the side of her white neck. The beautiful goddess of love's breath caught as she gazed into his eyes, hooded and hungry.
"Now," he said, catching her hand. His other slid to the perfection of her cloth-covered breast. "Don't make me wait."
"What about..." she said.
"Don't even think there," he said, giving a short, hard laugh, and dragged her closer to his body. His mouth plundered hers as his hands swept down her back, stopping at length to fumble for the knots of her belt. "Forget your husband," he murmured. "There's only room for two in your bed."
His mouth trailed hot kisses down her neck and onto her snowy white bosom as he lifted her up and carried her to...
Aphrodite, goddess of love, heard footsteps behind her. She suddenly pushed her monitor button off. Hephaestus her husband stood behind her, fresh from the bath.
He smiled at her, a warm and cheery grin. "Anything worthwhile on the net?" he asked. If he noticed the flush in her cheeks or a touch of excitement, he ignored it.
"Oh, nothing much. Eros and Psyche sent an email invitation to dinner next week."
She frowned, and her husband laughed, walking up behind her. "You would think after 3000 years, you'd learn to appreciate your daughter-in-law," he said, breathing in her ear.
"Some things never change with time," she said, only pouting a bit.
He kissed her earlobe and gently draped a necklace around her throat, fine gold filigree twisted in delicate arabesques. "I made this for you this afternoon while waiting for those stupid oil field engineers to hurry up with their staff meeting. Wonder if they'll ever get any sense. Hope you like it."
She picked up a mirror, and admired her image, then turned around in her seat and took him by the hand, placed it over her right breast.
"Let me show you my appreciation, husband," she said, and led him away to the bedroom.
Later that night, Hephaestus, the clever craftsman of the gods, sat at his own computer as he uploaded another document to the fanfiction site. It still amazed him how Aphrodite loved reading this trash, but long as she enjoyed "Love and War: The Further Adventures of Aphrodite and Ares," he'd spend his late nights writing them. The hell with the threats Ares was sending him. The payoffs were worth the lost sleep.
A/N According to the old myths, Aphrodite, although married to Hephaestus, the craftsman of the gods, had a long-standing affair with Ares, the god of war. Eros was Aphrodite's son; his wife Psyche was not well loved by Aphrodite, and she rather literally once put her through hell. Interesting to think about how they have adjusted to the modern world...The title is a play on the Italian name of Dante's Divine Comedy, which is a description of one soul's visit to Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven.
She nodded, her golden curls dancing as she stepped up to him. His hand traced fire down the side of her white neck. The beautiful goddess of love's breath caught as she gazed into his eyes, hooded and hungry.
"Now," he said, catching her hand. His other slid to the perfection of her cloth-covered breast. "Don't make me wait."
"What about..." she said.
"Don't even think there," he said, giving a short, hard laugh, and dragged her closer to his body. His mouth plundered hers as his hands swept down her back, stopping at length to fumble for the knots of her belt. "Forget your husband," he murmured. "There's only room for two in your bed."
His mouth trailed hot kisses down her neck and onto her snowy white bosom as he lifted her up and carried her to...
Aphrodite, goddess of love, heard footsteps behind her. She suddenly pushed her monitor button off. Hephaestus her husband stood behind her, fresh from the bath.
He smiled at her, a warm and cheery grin. "Anything worthwhile on the net?" he asked. If he noticed the flush in her cheeks or a touch of excitement, he ignored it.
"Oh, nothing much. Eros and Psyche sent an email invitation to dinner next week."
She frowned, and her husband laughed, walking up behind her. "You would think after 3000 years, you'd learn to appreciate your daughter-in-law," he said, breathing in her ear.
"Some things never change with time," she said, only pouting a bit.
He kissed her earlobe and gently draped a necklace around her throat, fine gold filigree twisted in delicate arabesques. "I made this for you this afternoon while waiting for those stupid oil field engineers to hurry up with their staff meeting. Wonder if they'll ever get any sense. Hope you like it."
She picked up a mirror, and admired her image, then turned around in her seat and took him by the hand, placed it over her right breast.
"Let me show you my appreciation, husband," she said, and led him away to the bedroom.
Later that night, Hephaestus, the clever craftsman of the gods, sat at his own computer as he uploaded another document to the fanfiction site. It still amazed him how Aphrodite loved reading this trash, but long as she enjoyed "Love and War: The Further Adventures of Aphrodite and Ares," he'd spend his late nights writing them. The hell with the threats Ares was sending him. The payoffs were worth the lost sleep.
A/N According to the old myths, Aphrodite, although married to Hephaestus, the craftsman of the gods, had a long-standing affair with Ares, the god of war. Eros was Aphrodite's son; his wife Psyche was not well loved by Aphrodite, and she rather literally once put her through hell. Interesting to think about how they have adjusted to the modern world...The title is a play on the Italian name of Dante's Divine Comedy, which is a description of one soul's visit to Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Foreplay Using 13 Words
Your lips,
sardonically knowing,
smirk
as you brush past my cheek.
I feel your breath
warm
scented with coffee
wrapping around me
as your hand dances across my skin,
your eyes
dominating mine
in that hot soulful gaze
that demands my surrender,
fingertips grazing
the mysteries of my body,
the soft touch
striking just the chord
you want
as you play me like a lute.
You kiss me
hard,
and with the blood pounding in my ears,
I turn off the light
and blanket myself with all of you.
Note: This poem came out of a challenge. A poet I know dared people to avoid a list of 13 words in writing their romantic poems, because they are often overused or used in cliche ways. I, being a horrid contrarian, had to write a poem that satisfied me using all 13 words in some form or another. The 13 words were: lips, breath, warmth, scent, touch, eyes, gaze, body, blood, finger(tip)s, skin, kiss, light.
sardonically knowing,
smirk
as you brush past my cheek.
I feel your breath
warm
scented with coffee
wrapping around me
as your hand dances across my skin,
your eyes
dominating mine
in that hot soulful gaze
that demands my surrender,
fingertips grazing
the mysteries of my body,
the soft touch
striking just the chord
you want
as you play me like a lute.
You kiss me
hard,
and with the blood pounding in my ears,
I turn off the light
and blanket myself with all of you.
Note: This poem came out of a challenge. A poet I know dared people to avoid a list of 13 words in writing their romantic poems, because they are often overused or used in cliche ways. I, being a horrid contrarian, had to write a poem that satisfied me using all 13 words in some form or another. The 13 words were: lips, breath, warmth, scent, touch, eyes, gaze, body, blood, finger(tip)s, skin, kiss, light.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Achlys Contemplates
Before Chaos
was I,
keening grief deeper than night
beating
in the dark heart of the universe.
Who will hear my tears
wailing
through the winds of time,
grieving for each wrong,
each loss
each wrong
every hurtful thing
that man or god or fate
can inflict?
My tears,
they fall useless -
all die
all fail -
one by one,
all come to me in the end.
And yet,
from my shadows I watch them,
their souls bright with hope,
each a small ray
of unquenchable light,
tiny motes of brilliance
flickering
against the endless night -
hope and grief,
the two truths
behind all the masks.
Ah Universe,
I will bear your pain
shoulder the burden,
keen my way until forever.
You bring forth your light,
brilliant,
eternal,
unquenchable,
and just maybe,
maybe,
the sorrow would have been worth it.
Note: Achlys was, according to some ancient cosmogonies, the eternal Night (perhaps the Mist of Death, which clouded the eyes of the dying), born even before Chaos. According to Hesiod, she was the personification of misery and sadness.
was I,
keening grief deeper than night
beating
in the dark heart of the universe.
Who will hear my tears
wailing
through the winds of time,
grieving for each wrong,
each loss
each wrong
every hurtful thing
that man or god or fate
can inflict?
My tears,
they fall useless -
all die
all fail -
one by one,
all come to me in the end.
And yet,
from my shadows I watch them,
their souls bright with hope,
each a small ray
of unquenchable light,
tiny motes of brilliance
flickering
against the endless night -
hope and grief,
the two truths
behind all the masks.
Ah Universe,
I will bear your pain
shoulder the burden,
keen my way until forever.
You bring forth your light,
brilliant,
eternal,
unquenchable,
and just maybe,
maybe,
the sorrow would have been worth it.
Note: Achlys was, according to some ancient cosmogonies, the eternal Night (perhaps the Mist of Death, which clouded the eyes of the dying), born even before Chaos. According to Hesiod, she was the personification of misery and sadness.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The North Wind's Wife
West of the Sun, and east of the Moon,
the wind, it sings a lonely tune
as she stirs the soup with wooden spoon
in the house beside the sea.
In this land of deep twilight,
Never day, and never light,
she remembers well the warm sunlight
in her life that used to be.
The spinning wheel goes round and round,
She hums a little to the sound,
and thinks of the life that she has found
in the house beside the sea.
She spins her wool with tender care
but sometime dreams of silk so rare
that she knows that she will never wear
as she pulls the white thread free.
East of the Moon and west of the Sun,
she thinks of the way her life has run,
and checks the bread to see if it's done
in the house beside the sea.
She remembers the moon shining white,
and the feel of the sun in bright daylight,
as she slices the cheese by candlelight,
but knows this was meant to be.
She keeps the fire burning bright
as he makes his rounds by day or night,
leaving her in the gray twilight
in her house beside the sea.
Setting the table with bread and ale
the North Wind rises in a gale
and rattles the door with a lonely wail.
She lets him in happily.
the wind, it sings a lonely tune
as she stirs the soup with wooden spoon
in the house beside the sea.
In this land of deep twilight,
Never day, and never light,
she remembers well the warm sunlight
in her life that used to be.
The spinning wheel goes round and round,
She hums a little to the sound,
and thinks of the life that she has found
in the house beside the sea.
She spins her wool with tender care
but sometime dreams of silk so rare
that she knows that she will never wear
as she pulls the white thread free.
East of the Moon and west of the Sun,
she thinks of the way her life has run,
and checks the bread to see if it's done
in the house beside the sea.
She remembers the moon shining white,
and the feel of the sun in bright daylight,
as she slices the cheese by candlelight,
but knows this was meant to be.
She keeps the fire burning bright
as he makes his rounds by day or night,
leaving her in the gray twilight
in her house beside the sea.
Setting the table with bread and ale
the North Wind rises in a gale
and rattles the door with a lonely wail.
She lets him in happily.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Tale the Lilitu Told
You ask?
I shall tell you then,
O brave man,
as you sit there,
beneath the silver moon,
while the breeze stirs the leaves,
while the incense wafts up to the sky
in pale, ghostly tendrils,
and the fire burns low,
and you smile at me,
here,
in this gods-forsaken place.
I shall tell you then,
a tale of how a maiden
running from what she knew,
the taste of the whip,
a man's unwanted touch
things she feared more than the wilderness,
moved across the wastes
from shadow to shadow,
desperate in her thirst,
hiding from the hard ways of men,
until she found
the more unfathomable ways
of those who are not men,
not really.
His eyes glowed golden in the midnight,
and his oiled hair shone
beneath the moon, fragrant.
Even though I hid, shaking like a leaf,
in the cleft of a rock he should not have noticed,
he did,
and gazing at me,
seeing into night's depth,
his golden eyes pierced me.
His limbs grew smoke-like,
wrapping around me in the shadows,
tasting my skin,
touching me until I burned with fire.
Fire, yes,
I was the fuel he needed,
and as he drew me out of the cleft,
he consumed me utterly.
Thus I am what you find tonight,
a voice in the shadows,
wanting,
longing,
hungry.
I would run away, if I were you,
lest you find me
wrapping my hunger all around you,
kissing your golden skin
beneath the moonlight,
ready at last
to feed.
The Assyrian lilitû were said to prey upon children and women and were described as associated with lions, storms, desert, and disease. They were highly sexually predatory towards men but were unable to copulate normally. They were thought to dwell in waste, desolate, and desert places.
I shall tell you then,
O brave man,
as you sit there,
beneath the silver moon,
while the breeze stirs the leaves,
while the incense wafts up to the sky
in pale, ghostly tendrils,
and the fire burns low,
and you smile at me,
here,
in this gods-forsaken place.
I shall tell you then,
a tale of how a maiden
running from what she knew,
the taste of the whip,
a man's unwanted touch
things she feared more than the wilderness,
moved across the wastes
from shadow to shadow,
desperate in her thirst,
hiding from the hard ways of men,
until she found
the more unfathomable ways
of those who are not men,
not really.
His eyes glowed golden in the midnight,
and his oiled hair shone
beneath the moon, fragrant.
Even though I hid, shaking like a leaf,
in the cleft of a rock he should not have noticed,
he did,
and gazing at me,
seeing into night's depth,
his golden eyes pierced me.
His limbs grew smoke-like,
wrapping around me in the shadows,
tasting my skin,
touching me until I burned with fire.
Fire, yes,
I was the fuel he needed,
and as he drew me out of the cleft,
he consumed me utterly.
Thus I am what you find tonight,
a voice in the shadows,
wanting,
longing,
hungry.
I would run away, if I were you,
lest you find me
wrapping my hunger all around you,
kissing your golden skin
beneath the moonlight,
ready at last
to feed.
The Assyrian lilitû were said to prey upon children and women and were described as associated with lions, storms, desert, and disease. They were highly sexually predatory towards men but were unable to copulate normally. They were thought to dwell in waste, desolate, and desert places.
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