Saturday Poetry Blogging

I'm shamelessly stealing this idea from the brilliant Hecate. The following is one of my favorites from Emily Dickinson. I've always been drawn to her poetry for several reasons: her poems are mostly short and sweet and that appeals to me. Her poetry also reveals a sense of humor and a love of nature, two things I can easily get behind. All in all, she's probably my favorite female poet. Enjoy.

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd banish -- you know!

How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one's name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Sappho on the Moon

The sinking moon has left the sky,
The Pleiades have also gone.
Midnight comes-and goes, the hours fly.
And solitary still, I lie.

The Moon has left the sky,
Lost is the Pleiads' light;
It is midnight,
And time slips by,
But on my couch alone I lie.

Offering to Aphrodite

Click for larger version.

The statue is the Venus de Milo but the prayer is meant for Aphrodite, same difference, so sue me. I found this prayer uncredited on a long lost website, so I have no idea who wrote it. I'm really quite pleased with this collage if I do say so myself. Most of the flowers came from seed catalogs and there's a bit of old stationary in there too. The Venus came from an illustrated encyclopedia of mythology I shredded to bits for its many photos. The text was added with my plain 'ol paint program.

Aphrodite is one of my patron goddesses so I'm sure I will eventually post more offerings to her to go along with this and the other 2 already posted.

A Prayer to Eris

To be quite honest, this past year has sucked, royally. I don't usually include personal stuff on this blog cuz I often find it dull when others talk about their personal lives and, thus, don't want to bore my own readers. But godsdamnit to hell, I've had enough! Our finances, which were more or less fine a year ago, have been driven into the ground by drug addiction (not mine, thank you very fucking much), our family has been stressed to the limit by the aforementioned addiction and its related lies and associated drama and to finish the calendar year off, our pipes have frozen and then blown up. It's been a helluva year and a helluva holiday season. So, in the hopes of receiving some mercy and a better year (and to make up for my apparently too casual discussion of the goddess Eris) I'm sending up this prayer to Eris. These phrases did not come from me, partly because I've no talent for poetry but mostly because my own phrases these days are chock full of expletives and I don't think Eris would appreciate them very much. So, I'm offering up words from Anna Livia Plurabelle (don't ya just love that name?) from Book of the Goddess.

Sing now, my muse, of the Goddess of Chaos,
Arising from primeval Quantum foam born,
Goddess of Entropy, Goddess of Anarchy,
She who creates and destroys innumerable cosmos
In the gap between dawn and the rise of the sun,
She who dances between unseen fractal dimensions,
In a small still place all enfolded in storm,
Where tempests so huge, lighting rends open the quasars,
So massive no light escapes from her shroud,
She who sunders our soul from our sweet earthly flesh,
And brings us rebirth with her ghastly sweet breath,
Lover of Death and Lover of Life,
She dances a dance on the edge of a knife,
A gulf of ten thousand light years on each side,
And She never misses one step in the dark,
Singularity bound, in a teardrop of light,
Cocooned in the smallest, suffused in the largest,
Immortal Chaos wreathed with broken planets and dust,
Thy name is Eris, world shattering Goddess,
We ride your wave breathless and are towed under again.
Singularity Goddess, you approach inverse zero,
Still more drowned worlds loom in Thy billowing shroud.
Asleep and awake she dreams our creation,
The sound of a bell in an dark empty cavern,
The scent of a rose in a room long abandoned,
The dance of the motes in the eye of the Goddess,
The touch of a breeze in the heat of the noon,
The taste of wine from an ancient tomb offering
She is there always, and not there ever,
Look and you will miss her,
Close your eyes and she is before you.
Most terrible and most beautiful name of the Goddess, Eris!

Please Eris, I'm begging you, some relief, please!!

Edited to add: You might not believe it but approximately 5 seconds after I published this post I heard a yell from the back of the house: "You have water!" Yay! After a few frantic hours scrubbing, mopping, washing this and washing that I've almost dug us out of the filth of the last week.

Gibran On Religion

Have I spoken this day of aught else?
Is not religion all deeds and all reflection,
And that which is neither deed nor reflection, but a wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul, even while the hands hew the stone or tend the loom?
Who can separate his faith from his actions, or his belief from his occupations?
Who can spread his hours before him, saying, "This for God and this for myself; This for my soul, and this other for my body?"
All your hours are wings that beat through space from self to self.
He who wears his morality but as his best garment were better naked.
The wind and the sun will tear no holes in his skin.
And he who defines his conduct by ethics imprisons his song-bird in a cage.
The freest song comes not through bars and wires.
And he to whom worshipping is a window, to open but also to shut, has not yet visited the house of his soul whose windows are from dawn to dawn.


Your daily life is your temple and your religion.
Whenever you enter into it take with you your all.
Take the plough and the forge and the mallet and the lute,
The things you have fashioned in necessity or for delight.
For in revery you cannot rise above your achievements nor fall lower than your failures.
And take with you all men:
For in adoration you cannot fly higher than their hopes nor humble yourself lower than their despair.


And if you would know God be not therefore a solver of riddles.
Rather look about you and you shall see Him playing with your children.
And look into space; you shall see Him walking in the cloud, outstretching His arms in the lightning and descending in rain.
You shall see Him smiling in flowers, then rising and waving His hands in trees.
-Kahlil Gibran

The Murmur of a Bee

The murmur of a bee
A witchcraft yieldeth me.
If any ask me why,
'Twere easier to die
Than tell.

The red upon the hill
Taketh away my will;
If anybody sneer,
Take care, for God is here,
That's all.

The breaking of the day
Addeth to my degree;
If any ask me how,
Artist, who drew me so,
Must tell!

-Emily Dickinson

Inspiration from Gibran

I'm not a poetry enthusiast, nor can I tell the difference between good poetry and bad poetry. And, honestly, when people post their own poetry on their blogs I sometimes don't even have the patience to read it. There are only two poets I truly love: Emily Dickinson and Kahlil Gibran. Basically, I may not know much about poetry but I know what I like. The following is The Life of Love by Gibran.


Spring

Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its
Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.
Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw
Inspiration high above the cool green plains.
Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
the Night of Kedre.
The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like
Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of
Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.
Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter's
Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits
With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.
Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.

Summer

Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the
Time of harvest approaches, and the sun's eyes
Are ripening the grain.
Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the
Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the
Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts.
Let us fill our bins with the products of
Nature, as life fills so abundantly the
Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.
Let us make the flowers our bed, and the
Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together
Upon pillows of soft hay.
Let us relax after the day's toil, and listen
To the provoking murmur of the brook.

Autumn

Let us go and gather grapes in the vineyard
For the winepress, and keep the wine in old
Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the
Ages in eternal vessels.
Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has
Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the
Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.
Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds
Have made pilgrimage to warmth and lest the chilled
Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine
And myrtle have no more tears.
Let us retreat, for the tired brook has
Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs
Are drained of their copious weeping; and
Their cautious old hills have stored away
Their colorful garments.
Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary
And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell
With quiet and contented melody.

Winter

Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
Come close to me and let not Winter's touch
Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
For fire is the only fruit of Winter.
Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
That is greater than the shrieking elements
Beyond our door.
Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the
Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my
Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields
Makes my soul cry.
Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
Your life with me has written upon your face.
Bring Autumn's wine. Let us drink and sing the
Song of remembrance to Spring's carefree sowing,
And Summer's watchful tending, and Autumn's
Reward in harvest.
Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
They are shut.
Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
All but our moving lips.
You are close by me, My Forever.
How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber,
And how recent was the dawn!

Floralia

Flora, by Evelyn de Morgan

Today marks the beginning of the three, or possibly six, day festival honoring Flora, Roman goddess of flowers and youth. She is the maidenly incarnation of the Great Mother, Cybele, also known as Magna Mater. On these days medallions displaying various sexual positions as well as seeds and beans were thrown into the crowds. Also, athletic competitions between classes took place with the participants treated as equals.

Fair Flora! Now attend thy sportful feast,
Of which some days I with design have past;
A part in April and a part in May
Thou claim’st, and both command my tuneful lay;
And as the confines of two months are thine
To sing of both the double task be mine.
-Ovid