Saturday, January 13, 2007

Three Poem Drafts

Iphigenia's Wedding

Birds brightly sing,
song pours out,
flowers litter the path,
joy leaps up,
diamonds bloom in silver;
maidens sing soft hymns
of white heifers led home
to rest in royal fold,
of chastity and gladness
and everlasting love.
The procession leads to a bower,
to a genial bed of stone,
to a knife of bronze
that glitters in the fire.


Somewhere on the green-topped Tor
where Michael prays and Arthur swore,
I lost my way in swirling mist
and lost my heart in spite of this,
the ringing of the bells.

Down in valleys like the sea,
somewhere deep inside of me,
I broke the sword that caught the light;
its shattered shards were gleaming bright
and rang like little bells.

Old Glastonbury's stone complains
that in its ruin naught remains
of Dunstan's chapel, save the trace
that even time cannot erase,
the ringing of the bells.

The raven feathers gathered here
cannot speak a word so clear,
cannot move the silent crowd
as when in times of dark and cloud
the bells are rung, the ringing bells.

Somewhere on the green-crowned height
we lost the chapel in the fight
to wander lost in depths below;
but still our children come to know
the ringing of the bells.


Mighty on earth, mighty in heaven,
many in name, I Aphrodite
sway every soul in light of the sun
from Euxine shore to distant main,
honor those who revere my might,
bring to the ground the arrogant heart.

Am I a goddess remote from her people?
You feel me inside you, my power prevails.
Am I a goddess dark and unyielding?
Those whom I punish all praise my power.

Holy on earth, holy in heaven,
many in form, elusive and luring,
I Aphrodite ride on the waves,
rise from the foam in splendor appearing,
rise like a goddess from death and decay.

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