Posts Tagged ‘Love’

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Equals

March 3, 2010

Reality – oozing,
Dripping from his fingers
As though it was blood
Spilt from the wounds of men.

The rages and passions
Are his; he, simmering,
Darkest lord, controls most
Of that which we hold dear.

Yet we reject him:
We hide our faces and
Harden our hearts against him.
He is war, we say—

How can we trust him?

But Aphrodite did not suffer thus;
She, who some call the softest
And most beautiful of the gods,
Took him into her arms – her equal,

In all things.

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Beauty of Eternity

January 30, 2010

Sometimes I feel you here—
The magic of sunshine, the golden haze
That spreads down from the clouds
To hang as a crown atop my head.

I whisper your name in the shadows,
And dream of your eyes, heavy-lidded
With smoky rapture, with the ecstasy
Of a thousand nights, of all lovers.

Your couch is the most sweet of all,
And it is also the most transient,
Torn away in a moment of bitterness.
The beauty of the eternity lies here, now—

With you, my goddess.

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Dawn’s Light

January 16, 2010

Her name flows
Like honey or wine
From the lips of
Lovers and babes alike.

Her call hums
Through the veins
Of humans everywhere,
Men, women and children.

Her dance asks
To be freed from
The confines of the skin;
To live and love as if alive.

Her name spills now
From the eager throats
Of her doves, and is echoed
In dawn’s light by all that lives.

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Dove

December 3, 2009

A young boy swings,
Kicking his foot against the tree.
The nymphai chastise him;
He lifts his gaze and speaks.

“Why, of all birds,
Is the soft dove the creature
That Erotes have chosen
To dance with them in this world?”

The nymphs scoff, for he
Has answered his own question;
And yet he does not understand truly
The impact of which he asks.

One drifts down from the cherry-laden boughs,
Takes his hand in her soft, red hands
And smiles into the boy’s face.
“Love is the answer.” He frowns; she laughs.

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Persephone

December 1, 2009

I sing of thee,
Night Queen,
fervent lover of the darkest lord;
Iron Queen,
unbending ruler of the dead;
Bright Queen,
removed from a mother’s shadow;
Winter Queen,
ethereal, smoke-born maiden;
Infernal Queen,
keeper of the natural balance;
Motherly Queen,
defender of the dying and forsaken;
Summer Queen,
bringer of life and fertile love;
Young Queen,
champion of the lovelorn;
Vengeful Queen,
mistress of the fair Eumenides;
Lovely Queen,
bringer of moonlit magic;
Shadow Queen,
saviour of the broken;
Child Queen,
keeper of the earthly fruits;
Patient Queen,
unmovable in justice and honour;
Ghastly Queen,
lady of the shades of the dead;
Eternal Queen,
existing in the shadow-world;
Persephone,
bringer of light to dusky Dis.

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Hymn to Persephone

November 30, 2009

I sing of Persephone,
With spring dancing in her skin
And the taste of summer upon her lips.

I sing of Persephone,
With sun-kissed skin gleaming gold,
Still hot and lovely from the morning light.

I sing of Persephone,
With lovely, rich hair that falls
In a shimmering curtain, bright as shadows.

I song of Persephone,
With fair Eumenides waiting at her feet
And snakes rippling through their smoky hair.

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Cherry

November 30, 2009

In the cherry flush of pre-dawn light,
Persephone’s skin glinted gold, her smiling lips red.
Her hair was tangled with Aphrodite’s;
They slept side by side, basking in their heat,
In the warmth of divinity and sex.

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Twin Gods

November 30, 2009

Crisp autumn leaves drift down, flowing through the
Winter-tinted streams of silvery air.
Hares, lovers’ gifts, lift their heads and dart out
Across fields, leaving the lightest snow-tracks.

The twin gods, life and death, walk hand-in-hand.

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The Maenad

November 30, 2009

Quietly, quietly, whispered the nymphai with their hands and lips and soft, soft smiles. Come quickly, but come quietly.

Their winged words reached my ears, and fell over my skin as shimmering stars. I plucked a heart from the air and held it to my chest, let the blood drip.

My skin yearned for the explosion; my breasts ached with unfulfilled need. The nymphai danced silently ahead, writhing in wild ecstasy.

Lions roamed at their feet, and bared their teeth when I walked closer. So I danced: I became one of them, throwing back my head, spinning round and round.

I felt his eyes on me, anciently hungry, and I danced faster. I became a rabbit, darting here and there, and when the leopard came I jumped into his jaws.

I opened my eyes. Sweat covered my skin. My body tingled and ached with release and need. I smiled at my god’s statue and stepped back, still trembling with love.

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The Songs of Bilitis: III. Epigrams in the Isle of Cyprus

November 26, 2009

Hymn to Astarte

Mother inexhaustible and incorruptible, creatures, born the first, engendered by thyself and by thyself conceived, issue of thyself alone and seeking joy within thyself, Astarte!

Oh! perpetually fertilized, virgin and nurse of all that is, chaste and lascivious, pure and revelling, ineffable, nocturnal, sweet, breather of fire, foam of the sea!

Thou who accordest grace in secret, thou who unitest, thou who lovest, thou who seizest with furious desire the multiplied races of savage beasts and couplest the sexes in the wood.

Oh, irresistible Astarte! hear me, take me, possess me, oh, Moon! and thirteen times each year draw from my womb the sweet libation of my blood!

The Sea of Kypris

I had crouched on the edge of the highest promontory. The sea was black as a field of violets. And the Milky Way was gushing from the great supernal breast.

About me a thousand Maenads slept in the torn-up flowers. Long grasses mingled with their flowing hair. And now the sun was born from the eastern waters.

These the same waves and these the self-same shores that saw one day the white body of Aphrodite rising. . . I suddenly hid my eyes in my hands.

For I had seen the water trembling with a thousand little lips of light: the pure sex, or it may have been the smile of Kypris Philommeïdes.

The Priestesses of Astarte

Astarte’s priestesses engage in love at the rising of the moon; then they arise and bathe themselves in a great basin with a silver rim.

With crook’d fingers they comb their tangled locks, and their purple-tinted hands twined in their jet-black curls are like so many coral-branches in a dark and running sea.

They never pluck their deltas, for the goddess’s triangle marks their bellies as a temple; but they tint themselves with paint-brush, and heavily scent themselves.

Astarte’s priestesses engage in love at the setting of the moon, then in a tent where bums a high gold lamp they stretch themselves at random.

The Mysteries

In the thrice mysterious hall where men have never entered, we have fêted you, Astarte of the Night. Mother of the World, Well-Spring of the life of all the Gods!

I shall reveal a portion of the rite, but no more of it than is permissible. About a crowned Phallos, a hundred-twenty women swayed and cried. The initiates were dressed as men, the others in the split tunic.

The fumes of perfumes and the smoke of torches floated fog-like in and out among us all. I wept my scorching tears. All, at the feet of Berbeia, we threw ourselves, extended on our backs.

Then, when the Religious Act was consummated, and when into the Holy Triangle the purpled phallos had been plunged anew, the mysteries began; but I shall say no more.