The Goddess Series

Lady of Cythera ~

Rising on the whitecaps

foam born

she shone like a pearl in the dawn

and the waves washed through her

and washed over her

and washed over her

until she was full of the sea and the sun

and all things that gleam

and the doves polished her and the myrtle scented her

and she was beauty



The Lady of Ephesus ~

In the pewter twilight she comes

fleet as a hound running through her forests

and her bow sings and the cypress sway

and justice flies swiftly from her hand

she rises with the moon

and like the moon she waxes and wanes

and only she decides what side she will show 

as the hills echo with the roar and beautiful fury of her lyre


The Lady of the Harvest ~

Red berries in her hair

 poppy on her lips 

the goddess walks the seasons like a path of fine polished stone

knowing every step and fold and twisting

and every turn of earth

each journey of the sun across the sky

is felt in her bloodpulse

now warm and blooming 

now cool and drowsing

she whispers to the acorns tales of the mighty oak

and releases the seeds in measured time

as her mothers tears fall on the greening fields


The Lady of the Heights ~

The solemn woman treads lightly in a leafdark forest

the spurs of jealousy scoring her flesh and spirit

like cheap wine

 metallic on the tongue 

setting fire in the belly 

like the pomegranate she hides her jewel nature deep inside

and like the peacock she is beautiful

rich in color and majesty

but the harshness of her voice

her blistering call

 betrays her overpowering 

adamantine rage



About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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