Best Circe Poems
"The Circe Effect" (Part 1)
Circe, Goddess of magic, nymph, witch, bold enchantress
daughter of Helios, Sun God, her father, can you imagine? ...
let me paint you further, the tree of this wacked-out family canvas -
daughter of Perse, her mother, wild Oceanid Nymph, spawned not on landmass,
but in the vast deep blue deep.
Aeetes, her brother hung tight to his Fleece
and Pasiphaë, her sister, given in marriage to King Minos of Crete,
had a fling with a monstrous White Bull,
a gift from Poseidon, ain't that so sweet?
she bore a bastard child, the Monataur with a ring in his nose,
horns and hoofed feet.
Now there was a family of total dysfunction
and Circe, poor dear, betrayed for remaining herself,
remaining non-function
was banished to Aeaea for murdering her husband
the Prince of Colchis.
There on Aeaea, as revenge, Circe drew out her magic wand - not a sword,
transmuted her enemies, all those who offended her into wild beasts,
where they were left to circle her mansion and roam to eat swill as their feast.
Docile not dangerous, drugged and delerious,
these beasts never gored -
they were fawned on by all newcomers, who were simply just curious,
never bored.
These entranced beasts lured newcomers to our girl Circe
with a woof and purr.
Enter Circe, quite disturbed, in a logical kind of way.
“More pets for me!”, she thought, “they will never stray”.
These lonely, adventurous vagabonds who ventured into her lair,
well, she showered them with all her incantations, but they never heard
her words of Love ever there –
Circe would finally reveal who she truly was,
for you see by now all that pain, all that hurt
had converted our dear old Circe into a siren
otherworldly, deadly lethal, mysterious, re-birthed;
all that ventured into her Kingdom now were
captivated by her spells and
then promptly, with a wave of her wand,
transfigured forevermore
as creatures,
of her Elysian Fields interred.
(Lovejoy-Burton/ Dec 2017)
"The Circe Effect" (Part 2)
In solitary confinement, she remained all alone
in a big old mansion in the middle of a woodland zone
there she sat weaving on her loom all alone
on that Island of Aeaea, until that good sort, Odysseus
walked into her home.
Athena, sent Hermes to warn Odysseus “Beware Circe’s wizardry! Beware!”
and handed him a sharp sword with some Moly to imbibe,
“Protective powers! Added benefit!”, she prescribed -
with her final parting words, something to this effect,
“Odysseus, dear friend, Goddesses are not mortal, they are extremely treacherous in bed!”
Circe’s powers were far too strong and before very long
she had Odysseus
hooked on her magnificent wand.
He remained on her island for one year,
feasting, drinking wine, dancing merry with our Circe,
where he slumbered in a meadow full of flowers with her,
to avoid getting dirty.
Eventually it was time for Odysseus to continue on his quest
where Circe, our clever and dear girl,
gave him final directions to The Underworld
you know, that other dubious
place to rest.
(Lovejoy-Burton/ Dec 2017)
"Underworld Blues"/The Mechanisms
https://youtu.be/wkWkk7Di2YU
Ocean (Circe)
Clearly an abyss,
you paint your lips blue,
adorn yourself in light's zirconium-hue-
masquerading as some golden gem, laden Queen.
Lying in your bed in waiting,
offering the possibility of adventure,
of hidden world's of retreat.
Your magic mesmerizes and flaunts.
Teases with possibilities imagery.
Endless font.
Stories to sell.
Corrupting your fools, licking your taunts upon their feet.
Mermaids minions in seductions reflection so
demure.
Reflecting the sky with their tails.
You are a sourceress,
a prostitute and a street, storefront sign purely forged in a spell.
A true window to your soul and it's keep, that rolls like a dungeon on the back of a Great turtle.
That of a corrupting changeling,
unpurely-changing with every phase shift of swell.
Your great alchemy is fusing illusion with serenity's false sleep.
With your ambitions that run silent, and run deep amongst that subsiding pillow.
Your platform for your maelstrom of sinking- through Azurine- dreams.
Your quicksilver beads above the morpheant sands that flows so easily,
like the lies that lie beyond men's reach.
Amóre; what is that, he wondered,
before, before her, before the raw
Circean glimpsed across the buzzing
dance crazed rhythmic beating pulsing room.
Erudite, perniciously droll his
father was, he could have been, the old
generation, but not him, no sir;
he was master of the universe.
It took a while to traverse the room,
jam-packed with hot, febrile bodies in
karezza writhings, bodies touching;
love, or lust, on their minds and on his.
"May I?" "May you what?" She taunted;
neither spoke; both stared. His head bowed in
obeisance, bright red shoes his focus.
Power shifted, as both knew it would.
Quarry now the huntress, wolf killer
relishing command, his submission.
Slowly, mischievously; a wink; words;
"take me to your room, this moment, now
undress me; like you have already."
Vainglorious once; now, kin to a
witless fool, he stood, helpless; she stared;
x-rayed him with her cold steel-blue eyes;
"you're blushing," she whispered. The words like
zephyrs softly caressing his face …
The versatile goddess Circe shapeshifts herself into a dolphin
Happily diving in and out of the waters of the island of Aeaea
From a balcony the king watches her, recognizing her power
Her magic lures him closer to the edge, he is mesmerized
She jumps high into the air, entertaining him
Knowing full well she is enticing him into the deep waters