Nyx - Ode -
The shadows know the scent of clove *
as Nyx devolves her orphic code;
her odes address the stars above, *
inviting so, the Morpheus' bode.
Her darkness strings the scenic stillness, *
her laughter waves inside the ether,
small hours submit erotic bleakness,
advancing 'mid the sage and heather.
The creatures glance - with eyes of amber
beneath the blinking starry flare, *
while Nyx, the infinite advancer,
inflicts her thralldom and affair.
The blanching moon, in ventured glory, *
embraced by Erebus at night,
unfolds her mane of black graphite,
distributing her daunting dowry.
She meekly bids to worlds of blooms, *
the mortals on the breezes' breath,
bestowing grand the kiss of death,
with fates to weave the orchard looms.
Suggesting darkened deeds and dismal,
with sovereignty she guides - abysmal,
the chanted souls to follow thence,
her clouded callings consequence.
© 26-03-2014 - (date the poem was revised)
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Dark and Mystical
Nyx = Night
Paintings of Nyx:
The story on Wikipedia:
Nyx ("Night" in Greek) – Roman (in Latin): Nox – is the Greek goddess (or personification) of the night. A shadowy figure, Nyx stood at or near the beginning of creation, and was the mother of other personified deities such as Hypnos (Sleep) and Thanatos (Death). Her appearances are sparse in surviving mythology, but reveal her as a figure of exceptional power and beauty. She is found in the shadows of the world and only ever seen in glimpses. }
A collaboration with Linda (Poet Destroyer)
Can't be re-written by the Gods
The land and sands of time
Destroyed by the fire of Poseidon's curse
Atlantis swallowed by: Earth
In one day and one night
Peaceful existence met its end
Built on a volcano, now surrounded by ancient rippled tears
Lava stripped apart the rich and glorious empire
Enriched by engineers and architects whom loved power more than the Gods
Forgotten souls, sheltered by a watery grave
History withheld from shallow sunken memories
Western sky's hide the truth, a vision from the Pillars of Hercules
"An island situated in front of the Strait of Gibraltar"
Ghostly ruins wait to rise above the Mediterranean and Atlantic waves
A magical land held down by the hands of death,
Atlantis lost city walls...a secret hidden by mermaids
Partially buried, beneath the ocean floor it lies
The largest sunken treasure never to be found
Magnificent pillars of an imperial palace still stand
Somewhere hidden under ancient sand
Some are leaning against turrets, that toppled after the impact
Nothing human will ever inhabit these walls
No feet will ever touch these staircases, again
Only an eerie silence now resides here, with the blue-green waters
Seaweed grows along it's outer walls, like ivy on a trellis.
Obscuring it even further from the human eye.
Other ocean tides will never compare
Tantalizing blend of fantasy and mystery
Stone walls covered with precious gems
...Listen to Plato's voice...
"Look close, look close, into the sea!"
Through the light and Pillars of Hercules
Some where out there buried in the vast
Atlantis the Paradise
Linda, I just wanted to say thank you for allowing me to write this awesome poem
with you. I truly appreciate all of the support that you have given me since I have been here. It is sad to see such a talented poet leaving the Soup.
You are one of my favorites, and I will miss you very, very much, Linda.
Always & Forever, Kelly
Behind the angel’s cove a trinket star of value twinkles soft and bright
It keeps the angel’s pathway lit, and roams from here to edge of night
There is no mention of her role, but still she glows, on treasured trove
Resplendent rubies, lustered diamonds, green agates on stardust rove
Beneath the sweet celestial dome the people sleep in slumbered keep
The tadpoles dilly dally by the lake, and lilies float by shadows deep
They wander what on earth could be, so incandescent brilliant bright
On wayward wing a butterfly strings, from tree to tree, eclectic sight
It’s faraway through spaces sill, that stark reality effaces like a dream
Through back end roads, where river rocks lie still by rushing stream
A quiet bull frog pipes a note and wishes two, by trinket star of beaut
While lady lock goes miming down the forest glen, silent as a newt
The baby doe takes leaps of faith on scrawny legs towards the clear
The owl hoots the night and hides behind an oak alert & with no fear
While a caterpillar soaked in rich chenille turns to golden marmalade
The angels gather round the creek, to frolic, dance, and play Charade.
Written by: Mystic Rose
January 19, 2014
Contest : In the faraway, for Giorgio xxx
I Chose The Motif: Spiritual
There is a place you can go that is full of only love and Warmth .
you will be surrounded by a light that shines from the Heavens ,
Sprinkles of Silver and Gold.
This place is filled with brilliant colors of Purple , vibrant Gold, all colors.
not one Color is less significant then another ,
for every color is equal here .
This place is surrounded by the beauty of different Flowers.
All flowers have significance here . No one Flower is better then another .
All Flowers are equal here .
It is important you know , you can cry here , and should cry as often as needed .
For the tears will cleanse your Soul and give the Flowers water to grow.
No one Tear is insignificant here , every tear has value and not one is better then another .
money holds no value , Where you live , what you own, has no significance here .
You will be surrounded by a beautiful light that shines from the Heavens .
A shining warm light will encircle you and allow nothing to hurt you .
Hate will be shed at the door light a old jacket of no use.
There is a place of beauty and Worth.
This place will not be found on Earth .
It is a place where no one person is better then another .
U nderstandably pleasing everyone is not possible. She wrings her hands
f or even under the best of circumstances, those who wish to take
o ffensive will, ranting and raving, howling at the moon, arse-kissing
A ny plastic image stuck to a dash-board, paying the piper.
r eally, is it any wonder hellicopter head lights are taken for
e rrant space ships, even Ezekiel saw a flying wheel
S uspended within a wheel, and we all know, the Bible is the word
o f God. Are you going to argue with that
R easoning? really? like well, just because Leary was on acid
e ven Hindi yogis saw levitating laghimas
a nyway, she says wringing her hands
l believe in them!
The master of the light scopes on the brae,
bequeathing her the dusk that sweeps the fields,
his manly thoroughness and thought's cache,
in front of her transmitting aura yields,
while dark befalls around her form and shields;
whatever poised the shades' outlines as real
became Nyx' pass, became the fog's slack seal.
Her thoughts metamorphose, so e'er unplanned
to skyward borders where the maiden's prayers
amid apocryphal of aisles expand,
and winding they disperse, dew forlorn heirs;
the flutter of the blackbird drives her tears
and beatific perfect form that fades -
domain of conquered arbor woods and glades.
For Gaia's daughter begs to be transformed,
her perfect structure turns to laurel bole,
her splendid mane to foliage and adorned
the woods shall bear her innocence of soul;
the Nymph persists upon her vestal role,
cantabile his harp and sunshine beams,
forever meet the spieling of her dreams.
© 02-01-2014, G. Venetopoulos
Daphne was a Nymph of the streams, Apollo's beloved.
Please, read the "about the poem" details...
Love of truth
the very light of Greece
A peninsula thrust out
like a bony hand,
“I shall give man ‘an evil,’ as the price of fire:
They will clasp destruction with laughter of desire.”
The Gods live on-even though obscure.
Fate rules them too, as Zeus learns
the heroes must die; and the greater
the heroism the earlier the death.
Greece being, itself so divided
between the rational and irrational,
between logic and instinct,
between the scientific and the magical,
between the state of self possession
and that of being possessed,
and one can continue……
between symmetry and diversity,
between the recognition of limits
and the pursuit of the limitless,
between restraint and vaulting ambitions,
or hubris, Pythagoras in all his wisdom
could achieve no resolution or harmonia.
Of all these diverse elements, what was
greatest in him, and in Greece,
was the recognition of these conflicts
for what they were…….
that by grappling with them
a better order in life might then arise.
She's a golden bird with wings afire, like an eagle she appears
Her age be often very great some say one hundred years.
At death she builds her funeral pyre and puts herself to flame
But she will rise above the fire and she will live again.
This mighty bird rules Scorpio, a deep and mystic sign
Which births those brooding types of folk with questions on their mind.
Who's lives be ruled by transformation, who must rise above the fire
Yes Scorpios be here on earth to rise above desire.
It starts off with the Scorpion, boy she knows how to sting
She hides herself in icy water, to desires she will cling.
And she must grow into an eagle and fly high in the sky
She must peel away the onion layers and learn before she dies.
And then her golden feathers, come ablaze with orange fire
And the Phoenix bird she will rise up above those bold desires.
The fiery eagle will build her pyre and put herself to flames
This be the song of transformation, when life's no more the same.
Subsequent the fog walls act
(dance solitaire of its white sway)
the sovereign of woods display
- adaxial his life protract.
Amidst the woods and in the haze
(diffused in air's the deep green light)
advertent nymph in veiling white
- and ancient Thracian spirits' phase.
An aisling she appeared and ere
her solitude his stare absorbed
she spelled his name - a song birds curbed
- betrothal mountains' claim of e'er.
A melody of singing aves
upon the slopes where lantern-moons
interconnected with the tunes,
- aloneness of her festal Eves.
Belike beams floated on air streams
the Gods invited while fog's soars
agremones clothe ancient wars
entwined with Strymon's seaward themes.
Aberdevines on Thracian wold
and nightingales' expanded song
the mountain mists embrace erelong
- abthane the temples eyes behold.
Her flight has reached the ether's heights
steep slopes that mortals followed thence,
amid the thymes their lives commence,
when nightingales invite the nights.
© 05-24-2013, G. Venetopoulos
The moon is full and white, and chill, this night,
it cascades past my open window sill,
and all the color fades to dark from light,
a monochrome of gray which can't be stilled.
The armoire's shadow strays across the floor.
I watch it from within my canopy bed.
as a nightmare gallops through my open door,
a Pooka* black as coal with eyes which bled.
Its jaw agape red gore froths from his maw,
and it slowly paws the cover from my bed,
a scream freezes in my throat to bird-like caw,
it dips for me to mount, as I am led.
Upon a demon spawn, I scour the moor
'til dawn descends to end this foul glamour.
*The pooka is a primarily a creature of Irish folklore. Considered to be both bringers of good and bad fortune. The creatures were said to be shape changers which could take the appearance of black horses.