Before the first moonlight spilled down upon us like winged doves from the sky
we were fettered together like lovers were,
In passion not yet transmuted into devotion to one another.
Above us rose a virgin sky void of stars
of constellations that would map out our cosmic future.
You, son of Adonis in my wide eyes, me, an idol of Inanna,
Convincing the future to never let this die,
Not knowing as of yet that Amphitrite and Poseidon’s coercive alliance
would coax us down the coast where we would seek refuge
in the surf and away from the trappings of winter’s swirling snows
and snarling winds.
Many years into a union of rings of gold and diamonds,
tumultuous at times but mostly heaven falling with her
heaviness upon us.
We fight side by side for a peace that seems so easily bestowed
upon others
And yet, like the ashes of Kilauea we rise without choking
At night we listen for the songs of our children
Born and unborn
reminding us we are wrapped in the protection of cashmere Carolina twilight.
Tiny and fearless, a lifeless black stray
Last bought with death arose
Strength came into the day
She held firm, but death was close
Given no nourishment or love
By the one who gave her life
Sensed that death was nearly enough
Gave her the strength to fight
I found her, as she was wilting away
Grabber her, held her to my breast
She felt my warmth, the rhythm of my chest
I asked the gods to save my Queen, chanting a sarinae...
I will forever love you, Inanna, to my very last day.
For the accountant, the librarian, on this cold day
there is no revelation. He will go his own way
to the roar of the tinnitus in his ears.
About our war what is there to say. Yesterday
a flock of bluebirds was the only color in the woods.
Have they arrived too early for their good?
Of Judith and Inanna I have Korf's fears.
Inanna is generous, Judith is dangerous.
On each the wise elders depend for sustenance,
protection. Agriculture is sexual
and wars end when men remember cunnilingus.
To savor the young woman's thighs and the old one's food,
to water her womb and cut her wood.
Is this not what's real, the actual, the animal?
The women I have known were bluebirds and crows, such
nuthatches, cardinals, robins, an occasional thrush.
They did not consider their bodies holy,
they found my seduction easy. What good luck
on the bed, in the light of the land, in our youth.
Our enemy eventually becomes our brother,
his misery lifted by coming to her city.
Are you the Aphrodite of the Greek tales
Or the Artemis who admirers drooling sent?
No, for Aphrodite had her little flaws
And Artemis the fortunes of Orion bent.
Nor are you the stunning star that the Magi led.
For the over-told story of the Magi is as old as dirt
But your drowsy rounded eyes look so cunning fresh;
The kind of tools that the will men pervert.
The famous Ishtar cannot be your match
For she lured with looks in order to kill;
And Inanna may have tried to rival you a bit
Had she not given in to Dumuzi’s antique skill.
And tired of prating about deities, I now must say I love you.
I know that time is so much gone, and so is my chance;
The remote luck I thought I stood some years gone
Must now be as extinct as the Pyrenean Ibex of ancient France.
Nosy bird says you vowed holy nuptials yesteryear,
Iron twines that a luck-loving man must never sever.
Yet can I ever lose you without losing all breath,too?
Do I toy with the time-oiled vice that damns forever?
There lives with-in, a grande dame fair,
goddess of many talents rare.
Yet, humble in her own shy way,
she weaves her words without delay, beyond compare.
You might just think she lives to write,
that poetry consumes her sight.
I see a soul that lives to love . . .
to share below and rise above, in divine light.
A beauty only few can see
is gifted in her poetry.
As dawn reveals through clouded sky
the glory of its golden eye, in majesty.
A tapestry in varied hues . . .
a rainbow painted over blues.
Her lovely words continue on.
They’ll live long after she is gone, to greet her muse.
This poem is in The Florette form created by Jan Turner
Note:
‘Since the Sumerian poet Enheduanna carved her odes to the
goddess Inanna in cuneiform tablets more than 4,500 years ago,
civilizations have expressed their most beautiful, tragic, triumphant,
and perceptive thoughts through poetry.’
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