Persephone’s Rising

By way of editorial comment: This poem of mine was published in Datura (2010), an anthology of Pagan poetry and essays by U.K.-based occult/esoterica powerhouse Scarlet Imprint.

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Persephone’s Rising

If the Ides of March are past

whence comes this heaviness of heart?

 

He said it would be like this

in the silver half-light

the chariot steeds splashed across the waves

of Acheron

then I tumbled headlong into Lethe

 

No forgetfulness, though,

for She Who Never Slumbers Above

yet she caused the earth to slumber

her own body to be ravaged by winter’s withering

force

Golden poppy tresses

trembling with rage

as I found a new half-life for myself

fructifying

the dead populace

and my beloved drank deeply

smeared himself

with my pomegranate juices

nectar more precious than wine, he said

pomegranate

 

Everything cavernous

cadaverous eye sockets

the mask of white loveliness

frozen onto my face like the folds of

the himation molded to my breasts

The pillars of this place

gleaming with the hope

of untold dreaming

the quiet denizens of this murk-world gape and shuffle towards me

arms outstretched

Mother

Queen

The curve of the sickle

Warm lap of abundance

Fertile in fallowness

Gaze not with the imperium of the Judge

but as an unconquerable Protectress

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Hypnosis Naturalis

Restorative contact

Made in the refashioning of a wintry spell

A glimpse of reptilian hide

Beneath the dull gleam of the non-waves

Photo (c) by my friend Jovan Radakovich, www.countrad.blogspot.com

Photo (c) by my friend Jovan Radakovich, http://www.countrad.blogspot.com

Forest hush interrupted

By startled stork wings

A white blur in treetops pricked by

Budding sensations

And why not delight

Despite the overhead cling of gray expanse

Unpenetrated by shaft of sun?

 

Why not delight

Despite the din of debris and

Slicked ghost swirls of stains

Upon the land’s liquid mirror?

 

Why not delight

In the midst of this yawning grave,

This unthinking hum of collective

Motion to nowhere?

 

Now here

is treasured medicine,

Spun by untold minds at dreaming’s dawn

 

Now here

is quickened lifeblood

Splashed against the haze of infinite crossroads

 

The gazes of gods guide my stumbling footsteps aloft.

 

Now.

 

Here.

Contractor Blues

I can stroll through their muted neutral corridors

be conveyed between floors and

worlds of ethereal architecture

by the loftiest escalators

I can shit in their toilets

and park under pines

near the front entrance

I can discuss the events of my weekends with teammates

congenial and dull

stand in long lines

during personal pizza luncheons in the cafeteria

be proffered pens and tchotchkes

bearing pharmaceutical logos

 

But they won’t pay me their wages

won’t include me in their sick time

and paid holidays

and accrued vacation time

and medical, dental, vision, prescription, 401(k) and life insurance plans

They won’t even include me in their on-site gym

so I can try to undo the deleterious

effects of all this sitting,

this mysterious “word smithing” they demand of me

40-plus hours a week

 

My badge is the wrong color

it has a pale blue stripe

doesn’t bear the royal purple Continue reading