Artemis, tall, white
Radiance in the night
Half-moon in her braid
Keeper of our last dolls
Breasts like the teats of a she-wolf triangular pointed
Long stems of her slender legs
tensed muscles and bowstring
Caressing the lucent pale curl by the ear
On the exhale – a faint whistle between clenched teeth
And the flight of Death
Gaia, shade of the day
Lithe in her flowing deliberate movements,
Her thighs are strong, she carried many children,
Her buttocks are perfect spheres
The sky and the earth
And the juicy ripe mangoes.
Where her tender foot treads,
Lakes are filled with life-giving water
Grapes dream, translucent in the sun,
And the irrepressible desire of lovers
Burns mortality with a sigh...
Then why does Gaia discover with trepidation
a grey hair in the tumbling mass of that dark waterfall?
Why does she peer at the mirror
Studying a new line at the edge of the dusky eye?
And why does the virgin vernal Artemis
Weep for Aktaeon
Why would she flee the enchantment of the starry effervescent night?
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3 comments:
A wonderful poem contrasting the ethereal Artemis with the lusty and more earthy Gaia. The images are powerful and disturbing. The wasted opportunity of Actaeon incense and frustrates the virginal Artemis, while Gaia with the many children suffers the consequences of age...
Thank you for your comment about my poem. Here it is written down:
The Wind in the Meadow
The wind blew wildly in the field
While reeds stood shivering on the river-bank.
Clouds black the silver moon concealed
And in the dark your bright eyes closed and sank.
The mournful nightjar with the owl do cry
While the roof timbers move, shift, creak;
Death casts his dark net down from high
To catch some wretched soul that’s weak.
And suddenly a wind gust bares the moon,
Its silvery reflection falls in the pond.
A she-wolf stops and howls a deathly tune
Her dirge provoking death to respond.
I look at you, your breath so cold and dark,
Your flesh as moon, and even more, is wan.
Your gaze extinguished like a brazier’s spark
Your eyes unseeing like a dying swan.
The wind blows cold out in the meadow,
And in the hut the candle sputters, dies.
Death’s net is full, and as his shadow
Leaves, the laden death ship climbs the skies.
NJV
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