My river is a goddess, Verbeia,
she of the snakes, she who will bend and turn,
a twisting kelpie creature who will take
tribute, assailing with onslaughts of rain
Tag: Mythology
Gaia by Elijah Basler
The forest is alive
Branches snap in exclamation to a joke
Whispered by the trees
The wind whines in protest
To the crushing of flowers
Not by a foot but a sole
You are alone on this path
Through the underbrush
Through the pine thickets and burrs
Through the wildflower dotted fields
But you never feel alone
In Conversation with Medea by Lorna Fraser
I think I understand Medea a little more now.
Look at my hands.
When the hands that would rather scratch out your own eyes
do harm, what is there to do?
When you hurt them,
where is there to go but the gods?
Seasonal Depression Guide by Morgan Boyer
Traverse along the pebble-filled potholes,
wander aimlessly through the aisles at CVS,
gazing at every variety of potato chips in their
plastic bags whose wrinkles glisten ever so slightly.
buy something just because you’d feel awkward
going somewhere and coming back with nothing.
The Sharp Edge of Spring, a love letter to Hades by Lauren Theresa
Sitting in my room
incense burning in the living space.
Unsettled here, on the edge of Spring.
Today marks Oestara, the Vernal Equinox where I reside.
It’s 9:22pm; already one foot deeper into Spring than the Winter
And I’m having a very difficult time stepping out of my Dark Beautiful Season.
This Winter has been long and deep.
Entering it with a distracted head, focusing on the holidays and festivities—
the novelty of the seasons.
When January edged on and February came,
I was truly finding my Self in the Depths of Darkness.
Consumed by the cold Void as the days were mostly consumed by the Moonlit eve.
Although I first met this with resistance, I’ve grown comfortable here.
Not complacent or at ease, but profoundly at Home
in this fiery Underworld.
The Traitor Hag by I. Papadopoulou
The castle was the most magnificent building Helias knew. He was a cook boy and he lived in the strongest and the safest castle in the world. It was so strong that people even claimed it was alive, protecting its inhabitants. Helias believed that. He had whispered to the walls.
“Are you alive?”
“Can you feel my touch?”
When The Pendulum Swings Too Far by Jenny Butler
The group were weary. They had reached the deserted settlement, black-clad pilgrims comprised of masters, priests, prophets, messengers, and six big German Shepherds. The meaning of the place, Xtul, was “the end” in Yucatec Maya, which they had taken as a sign that they should settle there. At first it seemed desolate and without hope but they held out until they received a communication. Some among them believed beings had accompanied them along the journey but more important were the felt presences in this new land. The beings here were altogether unique, apparitions of translucent shapes, amorphous blobs that moved slowly and deliberately, others appearing jewelled and shining or human-sized billowing forms.
Self-Portrait as an Inferno by Jane Burn
I saw the birthing of a crazy phoenix – saw it raise hackles of fire,
span its bright wings of pain, sear the night with a flock of sparks.
It made a spear of embers and flew its pyre into the night –
crackled with vicious feathers, spat its language of waste