Nihilism gnaws at Persephone as she surrenders the last of her love to the darkness. She knows Hades will welcome her there; place a crown upon her enlightenment.
She wrestles with catastrophe.
Despair, wraps her arms around her and comfort finds a home in the familial wasteland of the Great Lost. Confusion offering up the last dying shards of illumination into the nothing.
She sinks to an all-time low.
She is broken beyond words, an unimaginable state of being, untenable suffering refusing to let go rendering her moot.
She trusts in the All of everything.
Right time, right place airs grace her presence and she is alone once again. This is her destiny? If only she could be happy here.
As above, so below.
Psyche is not stupid, knowing she must fall in order to rise, she feels compelled to find Persephone dwelling in the dark and look to the beauty hidden there; her ability to love dependant.
‘Fuck me!’ she yells.
They say no pain, no gain; no light without dark but the world burns while she waits for it all to end and it can’t come fast enough! Persephone can’t believe she signed up for this hell hole.
‘You can all suck my phantom dick!’
In the meantime, soul searching becomes a crash course on survival for her demise. She wishes — magical thoughts skip the tutorial and head straight back home where Demeter pours her a cup of sweet leaf tea.
This too shall pass.
The aftermath will give her a reprieve, a reason to put one foot in front of the other and leave those betrayers behind. Solitude giving her security in the end. A simple life if she can find a way to live.
Give thanks and gratitude.
But what about anger? Persephone wants to continue to die on her own terms admitting defeat. Psyche’s heart beat only for Cupid and yet she is not worthy of love. Everything is an illusion, a false construct by design.
It is only through death we find life.
The only life Persephone wants, is with Hades — conditional love built upon mistrust and betrayal. What hope is left when that’s all there is on offer?
All those beautiful things about you
that glittered like gold; your face,
a ray of fucking sunshine
portending our future
happiness, growing old together.
I crave to see your smile, fall
about the place laughing.
I look back through photographs,
those ones on the balcony
encapsulating you against a green backdrop
when we were ecstatic, tripping
over our good fortune pleasured to meet,
makes me weep now.
I loved you so much it’s unbearable
witnessing our demise.
I chastise my foolishness,
choosing to believe in love – you,
I would do anything to turn back time,
start over knowing what we know now,
hold on to that part of us
that was true, before
reality ripped me a new one
and I belly flopped into despair.
My eyes search for you everywhere,
in my rearview
to steal a glance, catch a glimpse
to see if you remember me, re-ignite
one final psychic spark
awakening those butterflies.
I don’t want the dawn to sing to me.
I long to dream rainbows and fairy floss
instead of axe handles / switch blades
cutting off my head,
dismembering my brain stem
from my heartbeat for you.
Some days I look for ways I can feel,
my fingers frantic
without prying ears interfering
and I ride you into rhythm; doublets
triplets and fours
before I stare transfixed
into the silent night – did you feel anything?
I don’t like this, nastiness unbecoming
it’s not how I want to remember you
but it’s all you’ve ever known.
It’s not too late to salvage respect
putting it all down to folly, our hurt
doesn’t need to scar, on par
with adolescent angst.
I love all those who have gone before
each finding that special place
lodged in the spaces between
the good, the bad and the ugly.
Forgive me, for I will in time; make
it all worthwhile.
I want you to be happy,
successful and content.
Please don’t fall back into line,
choosing thugs for pittance —
you’re worth more than pseudo security
it’s all bullshit, that old way.
You are made for enlightenment
not eternal darkness.
I still love you the way I remember you,
I just don’t believe in the Devil.
So it seems, three and a half years of Hell with nothing left to show for it, except heartache and pain watching love leach from my soul; phosphorescent, sparks like spheres float up, up and away to fizzle out in to nothingness.
Since when did I become the enemy?
Clumped into the annuls of misogyny tarred / scarred for being a woman empowered because I threaten the old ways where women were barefoot and pregnant, swathed in floral aprons with floured hands kneading wholesome Madonna complexes designed to subdue.
I love
depth and passion moving my heart to where I am mesmerized in awe; my fragile smile let loose like an arrow straight and true into you and I, jubilant where I am left wondering where you have been all my life – that I would do anything for you.
I love my self more,
and I am not broken completely. I can take those looks of contempt along with those cutting words and stand my ground against interrogation/subjugation I lead myself in cycles, navigating my way out of ear shot for a while till I can stand it no more, when I hide away inside and stuff my fingers.
All is not lost,
despite my sense of guilt at not being strong enough in your eyes, unlike grandma whom you adored, admiring resilience I am merely a shade by comparison if I subscribed to your anger and hurt if I took her on and became a better person, wife, mother for you if only I chose to keep my mouth shut like she learned in the war.
I don’t believe
staying silent will keep us alive these days. Life requires I fight for truth, freedom, rights and for love so you may find your self, lifted from those ashes – Dachau, and understand that women need tenderness, a kindness that takes away the hurt of injustices, finding safety your arms filling me with hope that I am not alone.
It is with great sadness
that I must choose love, letting go the innocence of youth and embrace my own mortality if I am to be a survivor. I cannot condone atrocities of any kind and turn a blind eye without losing that part of myself that wanted to die, finding respect in being true to myself Lest We Forget.
I am mourning
a life of trials and tribulations that had me in tears for the most part. My heart is broken, I no longer believe in you, us – I am setting fire to the 3rd mar closing my eyelids on my dreams facing those feelings I have been too afraid to feel reaching in to pull them out into the open and lay myself bare so I can finally heal.
Demeter’s world is falling apart
she enters the tomb
leaving behind every last bit
of skin and bone
her heart in jagged little pieces
tears condensed salted earth,
her spirit as dark as Hades, ashen
her womb, a barren undergrowth of loss, her voice, a howling banshee
sevenfold
Persephone revisited in dreams
her escape futile, Hades whispers
she runs, never holding on nor looking back
dismembered dissociation awaits
those who fail
while cadaverous limbs are discarded
fertile appendages flail
her pieces crumble to dust
Demeter withdraws her love
only to find a serpent tongue
suckling at her breast
Demeter descends, Persephone awaits
her chamber the great unclean
unashamedly devouring our lost souls
Demeter falls to her knees in despair
death is just a figment and life
here is just a memory
she breathes in the rancid air,
the smell of a distant pyre
she kisses the hand that feeds her
Mary, the one without
a Halo — a married whore,
found unconditional love
hiding in the soles of His feet.
After the fact that
pseudo relationships
took precedence for a while,
she washed Him clean
for no other reason
than to show respect, reverence
for one that would give
His soul for her.
2.
My feet are bare, scarred
by broken beer bottles & red
blood paint tips to toes,
manicured to perfection once
upon a time. His feet
are cold; numbness held in a vice-like
grip as she works her way up
past calves & quads seeking
warmth in the apex comfort
sucking a thumb print, embedded
ecstasy applying pressure
where it hurts, to ease the pain.
3.
She thinks the sun shines.
Cradling his head, healing hands
mindful of circular breathing, muscles & tendons ache for release.
Mary doesn’t mind manipulating
bones, fingering the spaces
in between, redirecting blood flow
to all the right places. Kneading,
stretching & burns ping back, send signals like sparks; endorphins
take up the slack, usher in sweet
sensation & nipples peek.
There’s nothing special about Mary
knowing a thing or two,
making money serving more than a handful of life’s little pleasures. Making hay while the sun
shines requires little effort on her part, preferring to let it slide
up past the point of no return. Those days over now
before they really took hold.
4.
Mary looks at him spent, kinesthetic
energy on standby as he reconsiders
where he stands. The party’s over,
someone has to clean up, Mary
learning to love the hand
that feeds her, wishing sometimes
for independence and silence, in
between phone calls. Those days
over now, up for tender for the next
wave of youthful antagonists who seek an existence unbeholden. Love
knows no rules of engagement.
He wasn’t my usual punter. There was something in the way he greeted me at the door that piqued my interest. A smile, a quick flash of his eyes, a bowed head and the way he made a surprised Mmmm sound as he came inside.
His name was Michael and I was intrigued. We exchange pleasantries, he a wad of cash, reading each other in between the transaction. I go into routine-mode, show him the shower and wait for him in the bedroom.
I almost always start with sensual oral, kisses and licks but he had other designs. I wasn’t sure I was agreeing to this then and I was tense but he was gentle and reassuring so I let him touch my skin.
He cradled me in his left arm while his right hand caressed my body and mound. He whispered gently and I feel my legs begin to relax and spread. He rubbed my vulva in rhythmic circles over and under before slipping his fingers inside me.
I had a moment of uncertainty and my legs began to shut. I am not sure that I’m ready for this, intrude my thoughts, but he said I would be ok and I allowed myself to relax under his control as he penetrated me further.
He used a technique I hadn’t experienced before. I rarely let my clients touch me intimately, a boundary that protected my psyche and separated love from lust. His two middle fingers curved up in behind my clitoris, his two outer fingers down toward my anus, his thumb acting as a brace hold.
He moved me up and down, his internal fingers sliding purposely back and forth. I felt an intense sensation that made me spread my legs wide, completely open. He sped up and then I freaked out again. I thought I was going to pee — this strange delightful sensation created such confusion that I shut down and closed my legs in a moment of fear.
This is not how my typical clients behaved. I was not the one in control and it was a little unnerving. He murmured reassurance and gave me permission to let go. He was so experienced and strangely loving with his care and skill, that I had no choice but to relax into his hand and bury myself into his armpit breathing in his masculine musk.
I felt raw, open and exposed, my vulva swollen, wet and warm. I let him move me with his fingers and allowed myself to moan, surrendering unabashed. My vagina responded like she’s never responded before. I had no choice but to bear down and let out a long, high crescendoing Arrrrrrrgh as I ejaculated for the first time, soaking his hand, his arm, my bed, spraying cum everywhere.
I burst into hysterical laughter. A mixture of embarrassment and shame, enlightenment and release but he wasn’t finished with me yet. He kept going. Slower, faster until he had milked me spontaneously multiple times and I was completely drained of all my juices.
He moved to missionary and looked me in the eyes, held my limp legs and sensually slid his thick penis inside me. He took his time and I watched him bring himself to a long, slow erotic orgasm.
I couldn’t stop giggling when we were both sated. I think during the throes of ecstasy, I even bit him on the arm. We lay there beside each other in silence, me cocooned in warmth and basking in what felt like divinity. He, beaming prowess. I think we both felt blessed.
We went out onto my balcony and talked for hours. The professional in me, negotiated another transaction, although I refused another advance near the end of our encounter. I was still processing and because it was such an unusual night, I felt a little uncomfortable with performance anxiety. The tables had well and truly turned, I knew I was smitten and that was a huge red flag in my book.
Two years later and together, for all intents and purposes and nothing about Michael and I is normal. It’s as-if he comes from another world and my world has been tipped upside down and ripped a new arsehole (not that I’m complaining) I chuckle, but Oh how we have both grown!
We still struggle with our presence at times, and our sex life is a hit and miss affair. The love building up slower than our trust in itself. One thing is for certain though, we are on a different plane and the spiritual depth between us is deep enough to continue to endure and evolve. As exhilarating as it is exhausting, it is well worth the risk, red flags and all.
Snails pace, in my frenzy to move the mountains of my dreams / nightmares of pirate ships, skull and crossbones flap uncontrollably on a tumultuous sea, draw ever near.
Albatross and Kookaburra tear me apart, settling somewhere in between; salvation coming in from all sides, conjures vibration and a vortex rages, weaving through those fateful past lives — Furies casting their spell.
I have lived through aeons and yet I have not yet lived. My desire to ascend a blessing in disguise and wise, for we all must return to the stars to find peace. Our time on Earth, stepping stones to enlightenment fraught with danger and it will continue to go on and on and on.
We navigate the shit storms, weather the highs and lows, scan the horizon for those rogue waves we see coming in a little too late \ curse ourselves before they crash land on our front doorstep. They’ve brought me back down a peg or two.
My life is blessed. I have always been protected by the Gods, Goddess filling my heart with love but it’s not always been for me. I stole love and devoured hearts like Daenerys Stormborn; her last supper broke the spindle but she left her mark.
We all make mistakes, fuck up, hurt the people we love until we face ourselves in the mirror | pray for forgiveness.
Uhh!
Awakening taking an age to consolidate this solid ground, surrender showing us release in the end, so we break the wishing wheel, ride the lightening Zeus inspires and feel our way back home.
That uncomfortable feeling of awkward recognition and detachment — that made me want to run least I fall apart, reveal my core which you saw, reflected back at you between glimpses.
That unspoken knowing.
I felt the push of energy and the pull of old habits back into regression, back into the familiar comfort zone of old where nothing changes and we both die a little bit more inside and destiny forgets to reset.
I’m wondering if we’re humble enough to surrender, strong enough to become vulnerable long enough to push through the sparks, ignite the fire and transform pain into passion so we can both decide to rise.
We dance as if we’re going nowhere but in reality, we are already somewhere. Somewhere untapped, viscerally raw and undeniably on the edge of something far greater than either of us anticipated of love.
I want us to push through.
We are free falling to unknown depths and still creating marble pillars from blind faith alone, to eck out an existence that illuminates the veils so we can both find freedom in enlightenment.
All we need to do is walk through the door and let go of the past once and for all and finally fall completely and utterly in love where nothing else matters, except us.
My ether box graunching & grinding through stargates shudders, misfiring synapses lurch from push to pull ascending descending traversing my self worth, mitigating losses tempering gains. I am giving in, my self esteem proving much harder to love and set free.
I’m trying to make peace my lover. Finding my path with you is unconventional at best excruciating at worst, leaving behind socially acceptable hopes & dreams settling in to formalities — contracts designed to pave the way; a gold lining to my pewter paradise on that long road to happiness. I stare into Aphrodite through my looking glass & blow her a kiss goodbye.
Skeleton’s eventually decay but demons still want to purge pain, set me up to fail tempt Narcissus to stray, to step away from his reflection & risk a coward’s death. I ask the Goddess for forgiveness trust my fate & fury & instinct to guide me. Psyche would lead me astray to plummet over the edge of reason — but Aphrodite will broker a deal.
Start over. My fossil fuelled forge will always find a way forward, transform blue light beams into fire, illuminate those pitchforks & burning crosses hiding in my ether; shadows that threaten to cast spells & incinerate whole galaxies, merely pseudo reflections of my reality. I choose you & take no prisoners at the same time, for I choose wisely.
There is no burden I cannot bear when it comes to you, how you see yourself is a reflection. We hold our head & hearts in their hands; their hands create a destiny for us both. We are intertwined & enlightened — a gift from God. Our souls recognise, accept & understand there is only now, the past is gone. The future is whatever we divine.
Poetry Out West 