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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
June 5, 2011
She who destroys the light by ~poetoffire flows through a garden of mythology, drawing in similar motifs from a multitude of religions to create a global, haunting poem.
Featured by Halatia
Literature Text
first seed
Darling, you and I both know
in a better world I could be your Lethe
wrap around you, drown you
erode everything
that ever tried to bring your fate down on you.
Still if I picked up the pieces
I'd hear their soft hum—
the one shells moan for the sea—
for even then there would be places in you
still not free.
second seed
Surely women must have learned by now
never to trust fruit.
A garden is a prison earned
and there is nothing satanic, nothing sacred
about hunger.
Yet when your body curls in on itself
seduced by not-seeds that need only thirst to root
you find your lips wet
and what might be blood or juice
becomes the same as sweat.
third seed
Your skin is singing
I swear, hymns to the colors
the way the world's ringing hurts your ears
the salt of the Dead Sea come alive in your tears
the smell only in the sky as the rain clears
the poppy-eyed bud people who spend years
walking around, faces turned toward the light
thrusting pomegranate crown
fingers up up up to pray
as if the good lord giveth for reasons
other than to contrast what happens
when he taketh away.
fourth seed
If I was brave enough
I would plant my spit and bones and fingernails
and grow roses
when you build glass houses for your stones.
But I am no iron queen
content to perfectly decompose.
All I can do is lay down on your altar
dream of making the world barren
as my organs feel it must be.
When things that flowed under me have dried
screaming echoes into spiral shells
will never change the tide.
fifth seed
If only there would not be seasons—
but, oh, darling
I know he's idling between nerve endings
painting wine wings on your shoulder blades
his words sticking between
the back of your throat and swallowing
and I don't care, now.
You will, I hope you won't but you will
and still the world is alight.
Tinged in green, fit to bursting
it cascades through gaps in the boughs
of our tree of
you're the one who gives me
life.
sixth seed
Persephone, if this curse would let me
before you next depart
I would crown you queen of queens
give you rule over your 613-chamber heart.
Darling, you and I both know
in a better world I could be your Lethe
wrap around you, drown you
erode everything
that ever tried to bring your fate down on you.
Still if I picked up the pieces
I'd hear their soft hum—
the one shells moan for the sea—
for even then there would be places in you
still not free.
second seed
Surely women must have learned by now
never to trust fruit.
A garden is a prison earned
and there is nothing satanic, nothing sacred
about hunger.
Yet when your body curls in on itself
seduced by not-seeds that need only thirst to root
you find your lips wet
and what might be blood or juice
becomes the same as sweat.
third seed
Your skin is singing
I swear, hymns to the colors
the way the world's ringing hurts your ears
the salt of the Dead Sea come alive in your tears
the smell only in the sky as the rain clears
the poppy-eyed bud people who spend years
walking around, faces turned toward the light
thrusting pomegranate crown
fingers up up up to pray
as if the good lord giveth for reasons
other than to contrast what happens
when he taketh away.
fourth seed
If I was brave enough
I would plant my spit and bones and fingernails
and grow roses
when you build glass houses for your stones.
But I am no iron queen
content to perfectly decompose.
All I can do is lay down on your altar
dream of making the world barren
as my organs feel it must be.
When things that flowed under me have dried
screaming echoes into spiral shells
will never change the tide.
fifth seed
If only there would not be seasons—
but, oh, darling
I know he's idling between nerve endings
painting wine wings on your shoulder blades
his words sticking between
the back of your throat and swallowing
and I don't care, now.
You will, I hope you won't but you will
and still the world is alight.
Tinged in green, fit to bursting
it cascades through gaps in the boughs
of our tree of
you're the one who gives me
life.
sixth seed
Persephone, if this curse would let me
before you next depart
I would crown you queen of queens
give you rule over your 613-chamber heart.
Literature
On Ariadne
the loom of lust:
In the heart of your ears,
and till your outstretched feet
the spinner of mad red has corrupted,
her fingers like dragonflies threading
bark and twined grass into your hair
around your sure wrists, your angled feet
'this is love, my shining bride-to be,' you whisper,
and disappear with her among billowing black sails.
the abandonment of Ariadne:
He wooed you in a labyrinth of spinners,
and wed you in black sails, beneath jealous skies.
'Sleep and tomorrow you shall be Queen of Athens,'
Ariadne, sleep, tomorrow the sun will shine,
and the sea will ebb sympathetic away from
these deserted sands.
the death, or descent:
Spin,
Literature
distinction
This is what I cannot understand.
There is an understanding that nothing is ever black and white. Good can be achieved through bad means, what's wrong can sometimes be right, and if you turn right for long enough, you eventually go left. Boys can be girls who fall in love with girls who sometimes think they are boys and the lines between everything end up irreversibly blurred.
Or so I've always thought.
But this is a line that cannot be blurred. This is the only remaining clear-cut line that separates black from white as perfectly as a color wheel. And that is the fact that everything is until it isn't. We are until we aren't. We breathe u
Literature
Bipolar
I.
A dove into a mirror;
A crow into a tree.
II.
There is a word missing.
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In Judaism, the pomegranate is a sacred fruit because it's said that the average number of seeds is 613, the number of commandments in the Torah.
In Greece, there is still a mysticism of the pomegranate that goes back to Persephone and Hades.
Persephone's name translates into "she who destroys the light", just like Isis's name translates into "she of the throne".
A sequel to [link] , but very different because my feelings about the situation have changed and mellowed out.
This is the first poem I've written that's entirely from my own POV. Metaphors, but no exaggeration, my story to tell.
It's so good to be writing poetry again, and I'm really proud of this one.
In Greece, there is still a mysticism of the pomegranate that goes back to Persephone and Hades.
Persephone's name translates into "she who destroys the light", just like Isis's name translates into "she of the throne".
A sequel to [link] , but very different because my feelings about the situation have changed and mellowed out.
This is the first poem I've written that's entirely from my own POV. Metaphors, but no exaggeration, my story to tell.
It's so good to be writing poetry again, and I'm really proud of this one.
Comments26
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NOW you know why I called the pomegranate "the fruit of hell".