Posts Tagged ‘Sky’



January 3, 2010

Rainbow dust settles in her hair
And along the dark arch of her wings.
She pauses in her errand and turns to me,
Smiling. “Don’t you know me?”

Of course, I try to say, but my tongue
Is held fast by threads of gleaming ecstasy
And the reverence one cannot help
But hold for the mighty gods, above and below.

She steps out of her skin and into
Another, easier form. She laughs at me,
Covering her mouth with rosy fingers.
“I am Iris, messenger of the skies.”

I cannot speak, dazzled still by her.
My mind is a thorny world, tangled and painful.
She takes flight, speaks, and then she is gone. Her words
Linger as I awaken: “Blessed are those who help themselves.”


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.


Golden Dawn

October 2, 2009

Rosy-fingered girl,
Bringing change in her
Easy smiles and the
Pulse of golden light
That clings to her skin.

She changes even
As she pulls herself
From her tangled dreams;
Humanity drifts,
Hazy, barely there.

In the twilight hours,
When she is not yet
Awake, but not still
Lost in her dreamworld,
She glows with promise.

From her bed she comes,
Lifting up her hands
So that her skin gleams
Ruby-red in the
Dim morning sunlight.

Selene meets her;
Her eyes droop from the
Tiredness that comes
From her eternal
Desire to sleep.

“Morning, sweet sister,”
Eos murmurs; her
Eyes shine with rosy
Laughter, daring her
Sister to argue.

She does not retort.
Instead, she presses
A shy kiss to her
Sister’s radiant
Brow, and walks onwards.

Eos carries on–
Alone, so alone–
Towards her shining
Brother’s ever-warm,
Candle-lit chambers.

The Horai meet her,
And make her pause so
That they can string beads
And pretty flowers
Into her gold hair.

“Stay with us awhile,”
One whispers, bending
To reverently
Kiss the sunshine-sweet
Lips of the Dawn Queen.

“Yes, stay,” another
Sighs, pressing her warm
Cheek to the Queen’s, and
Smiling as Titane
Light slips between them.

“I must not linger,”
Eos objects, but
She desires no
More than to dance with
Them, and they know it.

The Horai part, but
It is not Eos
Who makes them move; it
Is the hum of fate.

She continues forth,
Ignorant to the
Gazes of her bright
Brother’s guards – they would
Not dare to harm her.

Her radiant hands
Push open the doors
To his lovely rooms;
His gleaming birds take
To the air, singing.

He, lying in his
Bed of white petals,
Lifts his head and glows
So brightly that it
Hurts even her eyes.

“Is it my time now?”
Helios asks, his
Golden eyes meeting
Her own. She nods, smiles,
And says one word: “Yes.”

She helps him rise from
His soft bed and to
Clothe himself in the
Delicate, purple
Robes he wears each day.

They exchange idle
Kisses to pass the
Time as he dresses;
The room grows heavy
With perfumed hunger.

Their kisses become
Sharper; lined with teeth
That yearn to nip and
Scrape over bare flesh
In the morning hours.

Dawn rises and the
Sun shines on, on, on;
They lie together,
He in his robes, she
In nothing at all.

Helios kisses
Her brow, smiling as
Brightly as the sun
That draws its daily
Heat from their embrace.

The day passes in
A blur of red heat,
Of beating hearts – though
No blood ever sweeps
Through their golden veins.

The day ends
And they seperate;
Each returns to their
Own bed, exhausted
By eternal love.