She paints one of my hands in a blue nail polish. It’s ocean, heart, diamonds, a writer’s pen, an artist’s mind. How about this color? for your other hand? she shakes the bottle and paints the liquid sunshine on my hand It has glitter like sandy beaches. It’s practical, warm, close to home. I stare at my hands. Everyone loves the yellow, she says, beaming like the sunshine. But the blue is so you! she gushes, it matches your eyes. I stare at my hands. Well, she asks, which do you like the best? I shrug, they both look good. They’re just really different. But they both look good. So, which do you want to keep? she asks, holding up her two little bottles. A gift for you, she says. I stare at my hands. I don’t really know, I say. I’ll think on it. Ok, she says, just let me know soon.
i left my heart far away, in the ancient rubble of a greek god’s temple, crafted with symmetry so precise the math checks out. crafted with marble that gleams in the sun and has taken ages to excavate i left my heart far away, hidden in the ruins, left behind like the soft disappearance of the defeat and drama of hellenistic greece.
Lovely poems so far Rain - the indecisiveness of the speaker in poem 1 was interesting to read the perspective of; it's a theme that I don't think comes up as a poetry subject very often and it made me wonder about the symbolism of two nail polish colors and if the point was the indecisiveness rather than the contrast - made me think!
Also you chose an interesting metaphor for poem 2: "i left my heart far away, in the ancient rubble of a greek god’s temple, crafted with symmetry so precise the math checks out."
The first line made me think the poem was going to be about carelessness, but the next lines contradicted that, so the unexpected back and forth and then the setting of Greek Ruins was really interesting to read through!
Looking forward to reading the rest! [Also you're a 5th of the way to your goal and it's only day 2 - you've totally got this!]
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
@alliyah Thank you so much for your comment! It’s great to hear your thoughts about each of the poems. I’m so glad the indecisiveness of the first one came across. It’s actually about my struggle to choose between college - so both the indecisiveness and contrast are really important:) Also, lol, yeah, I’ve been a lot more inspired than I thought I would be... so more poems!
hestia by the hearth, she sits by her flame. she pokes her fire with a metal rod, watches as the sparks fizzle and pop. hestia by the hearth, she sits by her flame. she’s quite a bit lonely, she’s peaceful at home. she hugs her knees to her chest, sighs a quiet sigh, and tucks away the promise of warmth from her hearth to her heart.
persephone gives him her sad eyes, says it’s not too bad. he has eaten the pomegranate seeds, too late to spit them back up. persephone says you get used to the fear and loneliness, but it looms behind you like a shadow come spring.
Today, the wishing well is empty: It greets me with slumped shoulders and pockets upturned. Today, the wishing well is empty: no wishes left for me. As I lean over the well and poke my head inside, a voice echoes up from the bottom of the well. My wishes are gone, I’ve no more to give. There’s nothing left of me now except rain water tears, so maybe come by tomorrow, or if you’d like, you can stay just a little while.
Rain - I think you're making really strong use of repetition/echo in these last three poems; where you're starting with some sort of premise, build on it, then return to that premise again half-way through the poem. I thought hestia was particularly well-written - I don't know if I can identify the mood in the poem exactly, but it's sort of a quiet-weary-vulnerability (at least that's what I felt from it!). I'm no expert in Greek mythology, but even just looking into the background of Hestia & Persephone a little bit gives so much depth to these pieces. I loved your take on both characters. Thank you again for sharing these!
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
@alliyah Thank you so much! I'm having a lot of fun writing with Greek myths!
vii. pandora
The curiosity pulls her in, squeezes her chest like panic at night, draws her in like a sweet tasting dream. It controls, leaves a fog in her mind and then when the curiosity has its clutch around her broken wrist, she opens the box.
There’s something different about these flowers: The way they reach out and say hello, The way they calm me, melt my insides like a ginger candy in hot tea. They’re the kind that are too pretty, so pretty that I cannot pick them for my glass vase sitting at home, but instead leave them in their green tea grass fields.
She wants to live how Kritios Boy stands. She wants to breathe it all in: the air, the sea, the embers of a dying fire, the loose dirt of a four by four flower garden. She wants to count the marble columns, laugh at the beauty of tilted hips and the movement of muscles when she shifts her world to the left foot.
June wears her crown of roses at the summer party. The other months dance on the tips of their toes, they adjust their flower crowns when they are near slipping, they point at them and smile, or they hold them to their chest with a shy smile. July dances in the middle of the floor, hasn’t paid mind to her lost larkspur. She has the eclectic energy of sun and yellow gummy bears. The gladiolus garland upon August’s wild curls shines like it’s a polished diamond. Her crown is full, colorful, abundant. September is quiet, her aster crown pushed against the wall (she is the wallflower of the summer party, after all). Her crown is composed of half asters and half leaves; June’s is just roses and thorns. June adjusts her crown. It does not feel right, the thorns scratch her scalp. She watches July, her closest friend, (May is all the time busy with Spring), and watches her bubble laugh. Her crown must be somewhere on the floor, nearly forgotten. August shows off her crown as she twirls and lights up the hot gravel with petals and pollen. September now clutches her flowers to her chest, the purple bright against her lonely skin. June doesn’t so much like her own garland of roses - it’s itchy and gets caught in her hair and really she’s not fond of the red, but she admires the flower crowns of her summer friends at the summer party.
it’s a perspective type of thing, she says What do you mean? I say I don’t understand Well it’s really quite simple, she says If you tilt your head, tilt it into the light the right way, like that! no, turn your chin. see, now when the light catches your eyes, you may be able to see in a different perspective.
tomorrow, my lungs will be squeezed until the air is all gone, until my deep breaths turn shallow. i will hold back tears, so i don’t drown myself in pity. tomorrow, my cheeks will burn red, until i’m grasping again for my tears to cool me down. the pity will eat at me, an ant feasting on rotten meat, until i’m nothing more but broken bones and broken lungs.
People say I love you all the time - when they say, ‘take an umbrella, it’s raining,’ or ‘hurry back,’ or even ‘watch out, you’ll break your neck.’ There are hundreds of ways of wording it - you just have to listen for it, my dear. — John Patrick, The Curious Savage
I'm having a lot of fun writing with Greek myths! 