jonadine

This one I have worked on for years, I think its made it to its final form. In a lot of ways drawing from greek myths is very visceral for me, since I learned the imagery when I was very young. The story of Daedalus who built the Maze of the Minotaur and his escape from prison where he was thrown so he couldnt reveal the Maze's secret again has deep roots in my childhood. He was a father, who built wings for himself and his son, and during their escape, his son flies too high, playing with his wings, and the wax melts and he falls to his death. I have strong memories of the illustrations in the book as well as my own feelings about the story and how Daedalus must have felt watching Icarus fall, knowing that if he had stayed in prison his son would still be alive. This poem is not subtle, but then, neither am I. I think this one is actually best when read aloud.

Its true, I have been trying to frame a poem about my brothers suicide for years, but couldnt find the imagery I needed to express it. I finally went with imagery that has deep foundations in my childhood. A book I had from even before kindergarten was a text of greek myths. There were beautiful watercolor illustrations in it and I memorized every story before I hit the third grade. The first stanza references the story about what happens to gluttons and drunkards when they go to hades. Cursed with endless hunger and thirst, they are standing in water or below fruit laden branches all of which move away from their hands when they try to collect them. The second stanza references the story of Sisyphus, also sentenced to endless labor. The third stanza references both Echo and Penelope, who pined for their loves, and the fourth stanza references the story of Morpheus, who went to hades to try to rescue his wife, but failed because he disobeyed the gods. The imagery was designed to evoke awareness of death, endless pining, and guilt, but separated by time, so that the feeling isnt quite as immediate as in other poems I have posted up here. I feel that maybe its a little self indulgent, but maybe most poetry is, I think.

Ive reached for that fruit only to have it shrink back from my hand many times and I am sure that the water in this pool has run dry on some other occasion when I have knelt to drink. Why are the hunger and thirst so strong? The loss so new? You'd think I'd be used to it by now. When I remember your silly laugh, the arguments we had; sibling bickering, and that half smile you used to give whenever you were feeling cocky, why does my heart ache so? I have managed to roll this stone up this hill before... so many times Why does it still make me so tired? You'd think I would be used to it by now. I have woven this shroud before, I think, as I rip it up, The loom should not still be leaving blisters on my fingers. I still argue with you, and still you dont answer, all I hear is an Echo, pining away, and it sounds like a shriek of agony. Why does it still deafen me? I should be used to it by now.

She rose through her youth with dreamlike grace. Poetry and dance shone about her like a nimbus. She flew, her wings made of the words she wrote with furious abandon. She soared and spun, whirling, drawn to the warmth and beauty of genius. How like Icarus, spiraling ever higher Wings spread, laughing wildly Free and uncaring Too close to the sun. I am Daedalus watching first in prideful fascination, Slightly jealous, Then staring in growing fear, Then frozen terror. Eyes tearing, heart breaking, as flesh of my flesh spirals out of control, burning and injured. Arms reaching, hopeless grasp unable to slow or stay the conflagration Now she is a haunted shell, wandering. Wings melted, useless. Her words lost, her dance stilled. She fell into that perfect insanity like hateful gravity sucking her down To the unyielding earth. Blackened and smoking, Broken, scarred, disfigured, She lives. Her dancing step Now lurching gait. Gestures, mindless and meaningless, Hold the echo of her prior grace, now all the more ugly For having once been beautiful.

I thought the tears had all dried up,the oceans I cried for you serene and still, dark-deep and blue-green,the schools of memoriesplaying in coral reefs of the past.I thought that wind had died down,tornados gone out of season, whirlwinds nowbecome gentle breezesthat would occasionally ruffle my hair.I was sure those earthquakes were over,all the buildings swallowed up and ruined, no structures remaining,the occasional tremor; a harmless rattle,nothing left for it to destroy. A deceptive riptide pulled me, floundering, out to sea, the thunder shuddered, and shook the sky, Monsoon boiled behind brimming eyes, and I was blistered by that lightning, it burns me now this force of nature,Hurricane screams tear at my throat, That maelstrom stripped me to bare bones seething beneath mountains of furymy magma heart consumes me.