jademermaid: (Medusa)

by Patricia Smith

Poseidon was easier than most.
He calls himself a god,
but he fell beneath my fingers
with more shaking than any mortal.
He wept when my robe fell from my shoulders.

I made him bend his back for me,
listened to his screams break like waves.
We defiled that temple the way it should be defiled,
screaming and bucking our way from corner to corner.
The bitch goddess probably got a real kick out of that.
I'm sure I'll be hearing from her.

She'll give me nightmares for a week or so;
that I can handle.
Or she'll turn the water in my well into blood;
I'll scream when I see it,
and that will be that.

Maybe my first child
will be born with the head of a fish.
I'm not even sure it was worth it,
Poseidon pounding away at me, a madman,
losing his immortal mind
because of the way my copper skin swells in moonlight.

Now my arms smoke and itch.
Hard scales cover my wrists like armour.
C'mon Athena, he was only another lay,
and not a particularly good one at that,
even though he can spit steam from his fingers.
Won't touch him again. Promise.
And we didn't mean to drop to our knees
in your temple,
but our bodies were so hot and misaligned.
It's not every day a gal gets to sample a god,
you know that. Why are you being so rough on me?

I feel my eyes twisting,
the lids crusting over and boiling,
the pupils glowing red with heat.
Athena, woman to woman,
could you have resisted him?

Would you have been able to wait
for the proper place, the right moment,
to jump those immortal bones?

Now my feet are tangled with hair,
my ears are gone. My back is curving
and my lips have grown numb.
My garden boy just shattered at my feet.

Dammit, Athena,
take away my father's gold.
Send me away to live with lepers.
Give me a pimple or two.

But my face. To have men never again
be able to gaze at my face,
growing stupid in anticipation
of that first touch,
how can any woman live like that?

How will I be able
to watch their warm bodies turn to rock
when their only sin was desiring me?

All they want is to see me sweat.

They only want to touch my face
and run their fingers through my . . .

my hair

is it moving?

© 1992 by Patricia Smith, from Big Towns, Big Talk, published by Zoland Books (Cambridge, MA). Used with permission. All rights reserved.


"What Do Women Want?"
by Kim Addonizio

I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what's underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty's and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I'm the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I'll pull that garment
from its hanger like I'm choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I'll wear it like bones, like skin,
it'll be the goddamned
dress they bury me in.
jademermaid: (Default)

A Dancer's Prayer

Giver of life, Creator of all
that is lovely,
Teach me to sing the words
of your song;
I want to feel the music of living
And not fear the sad songs,
But from them make new songs
Composed of both laughter and tears.
Teach me to dance to the sounds of
your world and your people,
I want to move in rhythm with
your plan;
Help me to try to follow your leading,
To risk even falling,
To rise and keep trying
Because you are leading the dance.

An oldie.

Feb. 2nd, 2006 09:57 pm
jademermaid: (Default)
This is part of an older poem I wrote, but I think I like it trimmed down like this better:

When I say I love you,
it is a shoe under the staircase
seen every day and changing nothing.
You just press the snooze on your alarm,
but I still say it, over and over - an inane mantra,
performed for ages, long ago losing any significance.
I wrote pretty words that slithered to the floor one night,
but it could have been the hot wax that you remembered.
I told you that I would gladly steep in you for hours,
carry your stain like a potent mahogany tattoo.
I know how you taste even when you are gone,
white chocolate and grease soaked denim.
I roll in your scent like a lonely beast,
lap you up in my mind every day.
Being in love is acute insanity,
dashing off sugarshore lines,
spewing red butterflies,
tracing Spirographs,
and I love you.

I thought I might do some calligraphy on a card for the hubby. Awwww.
jademermaid: (Default)
Wrote this today, with Neptune's guidance.

Father Neptune, king of tides
your fist shakes the earth-
Maelstroms your dark hair,
corals your bones fair-
You stir with trident the passionate seas,
And calm the swells to a lover's breeze-

Your stallions flecked with foam
charge the shore with abandon-
Your call sets every storm to ride,
and in your belly demons glide,
Let your cerulean heart turn here,
and blow this raging storm to clear.

-Jill, 2005

Today I burned myrrh in his honor and thanked him for his influences and challenges.
jademermaid: (Default)

If I push past the skin
until it gummydrop pops
it will silence
the head and
heart line turns
a tale untold as promised

familiar limbs fall from trunks
of devotion;
I gather them up
leave them be
like oilspots in gutters,
pretty to look at
but black on my thumb.

I ride Hokusai's wave
until it evens the shore
to something soft and malleable;
a new foot
shallows under gulls
bubbled with new days.


jademermaid: (Default)

October 2011

16 171819202122
232425 26272829


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 20th, 2017 03:43 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios