myth

Venus Shipwrecked


What pitch of entropy, what glassy trumpet call

The roar and rolling of a mindless sea

Drowning men of words and beasts of calm

No constant but constant mercury

Shatter there upon the rocks and rise again

To resound, a death knell for death’s rest

That peace which might have been our lot

Between cauldron’s boil and thorny crest

What fury roused and left unanswered!

What ardor, fear, and stark unknowing

Whether against the swell or drifting apart

She cradles – ever sinking, ever floating

 

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Alchemy


Were she mine, then I would twine

Her ropes of pearls in salty swirls

Her charms of ink in dangling rings

And her spells of sighs in sparkling guise

And whisper words of dreamland girt

In chimes of windless, ringing rhymes,

In chests of lockless, burnished depths,

And in mirrors made by hands of jade

And were she mine, I would design

Deep hills of moory, misty thrills

Gold glades of timeless, nymphly shade

Whole worlds in teeming, softened seeming –

So were she mine, I would not pine

For endless tales and hooded vales,

For secret doors and distant shores,

Nor for enchantments lacking

Elizabeth Cook, 2014

Listler’s Paradise


I met a man below a hill, where the road unwinding paused

‘Round a poplar grove and spring, removed from worldly laws

There he sat with tranquil brow, and offered of his bread and wine

And he told me of the place he left, which he hoped again to find

In his eye there lay a land, so splendorous I would not conceal

How bright and gleaming was the port, where ships of starry cargo wheeled

Where a thousand silver suns set sail, and one might buy ten thousand more

Where sailors’ songs gilded the waves, taming siren hearts and storms

(more…)

Hourglass


If only to slip through

This curving wall of glass

Wherein life turns and spills

Spills down the warming glass

And my wish beheld is granted

In pressing palms pressing on

Past the gleaming barrier

Made pliable and soft

I stand under the torrent

To breathe the passing sights

To marvel and to swift forget

How I watched from the outside

For I have gained the hourglass

Where shimmering sands fall

To bathe my feet, my hips, my neck

‘Til I do not breathe at all

Copyright Elizabeth Cook 2013

Parallel Outlet: 8


i do not own the memory of your lips-
for your lips belong to the forest
and the sound of the rain…

We can get very close to belonging to one another – but never can one person completely belong to another.

This is what Geri Geda’s poem, Sena, reminded me of. Lovers may become as close as two people can be, and that is beautiful. Still, if you are like the billions of other people in our world, you cannot read your beloved’s mind and cannot see into the corners of their heart.

Epics, tragedies, and triumphs have resulted from this, and Geri Geda uses imagery from the forest and the sea to give a haunting impression of the divide. (more…)