limbs dance in a breeze
as I gaze out the window
seeds are planted and in
time a garden grows
soft winds say rise
from once dormant ground
and a cover of compost
flowers sprout and grow
and stretch toward the sun
from death new life found
I look out the window
see a goddess burdened
by the bag of seeds she carries
the morning inspired
an act of love
*off-sonnet form
Above, flowers stir and wake in my presence.
They welcome me home with bright petals.
The sun grows joyous at my return.
Wood added to a fire, it seems to burn brighter.
A warmth born of Hestia's hearth blooms through my chest.
It is a pulse.
A paintbrush - Green spilling through dry grass far as the eye can see.
The sky unburdens itself of rain.
The world is filled with adoration.
Though below,
I know Husband Hades awaits with a comforting chill in his hands.
His arms are open wide.
Even when the sun is blown out like a match,
it gives way to a night, where the quiet restores the body.
Hypnos. Nyx. Morpheus. A restful darkness.
The hearth does not die down.
Fences fall. Stone walls crumble. The fire inside lives on.
Grass, although gone, gives way to the clear, sweet waters of oath-bound Styx.
Ancient. Familiar.
It whispers of my return.
The sky breaks open, weeping until the fields drown in nourishment.
Dark or light,
Winter or spring,
Life or death,
Everywhere Persephone goes,
The hearth only seems to burn brighter.
Persephone, as sorrow and as grief,
The world and all its tales are told in brief.
The mirth of all the ages comes to this:
A sunlit sorrow and a broken bliss.
The laws of sorrow rule the lives of men!
And we are different words within that line,
That may, together, solve its mysteries when
Arranged within a harmony divine.
And therefore, sorrow’s children are we all,
And we, like tears, together stay or fall.
Beyond our reach are we, what e’er we clutch.
We are not who we are, but who we touch.
There is no realm where sorrow doth not go!
Nor shall it be a stranger to thy soul.
So make it thy companion, not thy foe.
With sorrow and compassion, both be full.
Then wear thy grief, but wear thy grace as well,
And walk no more the Plains of Asphodel.
Leaven lands thou left, light love, light ladies!
Persephone, thy spring is not for Hades.
Yet, I do know a little of the law:
For all its forms but fortify from flaw.
To that which renders beauty must it serve,
Nor from this purpose, may it ever swerve.
From solemn silence, symphonies upswell,
And half the year I’ll dwell in Asphodel.
For I have found that - there are autumns, too,
And ice of winter doth the springs renew.
Born on the islands that gleam in the sea,
Born in contentment and born to be free,
Raised in your midst with your faults as they be,
Gone is my daughter, sweet Persephone.
And any flower that blooms in any part,
Has bloomed before that in my aching heart.
And she had taught me - what the summer meant;
And in her passing, is my summer spent.
And every tree shall weep its leaves for her;
Nor shall a single petal raise or stir;
Nor shall my barren heart give any ease;
And worthless gods with worthless men shall freeze!
And you who lived so long upon my smile,
Have stole its source, and shall now face my bile!
Gray,
Dismal
Rainy days.
Then leafless trees,
As it gets warmer,
All start to sprout new buds.
Migratory birds appear.
Abandoning the underworld,
And the ruler of the dead, Hades,
Persephone returns to Demeter.
Persephone
Queen of the Underworld
Wife of Hades
Surrounded by demons
Greek Goddess of spring
Easily tempted
A tiny bit cursed
Full of innocence
Persephone
The wind carries my song
From my lips to the corners of the earth,
And the flowers in gladness bloom,
The trees stand a little taller,
And the springs bubble from the roots of the mountains.
The wind carries my whispers
From my teeth to the skies.
But I am oblivious to their sound;
My musings fall not upon my own ears.
Give me grace to renounce my own voice on the wind,
For sometimes I don’t believe it’s there,
Despite the love of flowers for the sound in air.
And yet I sing on
Desperate to hear the melody for myself,
Clinging on to an ancient belief
Give me grace to renounce
In the Underworld they drink pomegranate margaritas
I am certain.
If you had an endless supply of damned fruit to yourself
would you not do the same?
I’m sure Hades is sick of slender Persephone
in her pink rose perfume
and lilac pearls
telling him he drinks too much,
that he might just drink himself to death
if he wasn’t already there.
I apologise for killing you,
Can you ever forgive me?
Yes you can, I know you can
You know how the things have been.
You know how the things have been,
Almost 10 years of weeping
I know just how tired you were,
About time, I put you to sleep.
You've grown so much since
The first and the second try.
Still you're here, at the same place.
Swallow all of them before you lie-
You had no hell to turn to,
You were just waste of soul.
People here, they pity you Kore,
In nobody's life you have a role.
It wasn't enough, I'll admit,
But Persephone, you did your best.
No one cared, not even you
Even if you tried, you couldn't be the rest.
Seph, sweetheart, I'll pray for you
Hope you never reincarnate.
I didn't lock the door last night,
So at least they don't have to break it.
You look happy, well, I don't know that
But I sure hope that you really do.
Goodbye, little girl,
I'll miss myself too.
Drinking red wine
as a
downward shift
A shift toward slowing
down
to see, the softer side
of her
Things that go bump in the
night,
with sweet clattering sounds
but oft go unnoticed
by
the rushed mind of brutes
Yes – it may look
like a moss-covered
forest
to you,
young lady
But in reality, you are
walking
in the quantum field
of God
And you are yourself,
no small
nook
For you too, are part
of that
quantum field of love
A good spring day, is all you
need
to find yourself
Find that place in the woods,
where
wines taste best
And begin to sample your
own soul
with happy libation
under
the wild branches of her loveliness
And let yourself be enthralled
and dismantled
by the Spirit of the Wood
Enthralled too, by Nature’s
never-ending
spirit of wanderlust
And let us throw ourselves
complete
into the breach of Nature’s Glory
Planting our seed with Persephone's
blessing,
To outpace the slow measured rhythm
of time
and the long faltering shadows – that creep behind us
~/~
I welcome your winds, these triumphant storms.
The gleeful cries of the mother who mourned.
Winds carry my soul as I cheer with thunderstorms.
Quickly I shall ride on the fields once scorned.
Creation flits upon Demeter’s song.
New life, a chorus filling lands once dead.
Songs so divine lure Helios along.
Twas Persephone so pure he had glimpsed.
Your gales hold songs filled with a mother’s love.
Yet as spring gallops from your bold embrace.
Chasing winter with the call of the dove.
Autumn comes forth from Orpheus’s staircase.
So shall the seasons shift, as do the tides.
For now I relish in all she provides.
March 5th 2021, Breath of Spring Poetry Contest, Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
What king forsakes the ruling of his heart
To bow before a queen of cruel sting
Who takes but six sharp bites and then departs
When west wind and sun play in brutal spring—
Least of all the high king of Arctic gold
Who will call all at last to his domain;
Why fiercely kiss disloyal marigold
As if silk petals could console the pain
Or striped carnations' sweet and satin blade—
Sweet when they cover wide, denying eyes
But bitter as they heave through breath afraid
Bitter pain with miscoloured iris lies—
What God brings destruction to his own love
Love dishonest and never spoken of?
Seeds of pomegranate
in my belly
This girl wonders how much of her
Is alive
above ground
Or circling Cerebus
as he chases his tail
(If u r stuck in a dream then aren't u only half living?)
I live with eyes wide open
The Gorgon's stare does not deter
We use people as tarot cards
to guide our destiny
Entrails are likely more reliable
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.