POETRY SUBMISSIONS: The Ballad of a Watergoddess by Jasmine Respess

Poem by Jasmine Respess

The Ballad of a Watergoddess

 

My father the Moonchild,

Makes the the tide rebel.

But can also quell,

The dark part of me,

When he whispers to the sea.

 

——–

 

Aphrodite was a geophiliac,

Yet a hydrophyte from birth.

She arose from the sea,

But was nourished by the earth.

Out of an oyster,

But she sipped sweet honey nectar.

She hummed with the birds,

And danced with the bees.

A perfect Supreme,

But to her mortal suppliants ––

She was saccharine.

So she went back to the ocean,

Unsatisfied, but one with the tide.

 

——–

 

Curse my jealous heart!

The Supreme mused in her restless slumber.

You would think a Deity would be less petty,

But even an enchantress can lose her charm,

When she’s the one on his mind,

But wishes to be on his heart.

 

He says you can’t spell compassion without compass,

But she knows the word is empathy.

A man once said there were no synonyms.

What he meant was no two words are the same.

Would the creatures in the forest be more fearful of a great storm or a torrential downpour?

 

——–

 

Floraluminosity.

Like the Sun to a Blossom,

Two naturals bursting.

In heart and in mind,

One burns and One unfolds.

 

You can see the untold,

Just don’t stare too hard,

Or listen too blindly.

 

Could it be that to the Flower,

Ra is not a god?

But a pollen dusted honeybee,

Or a nymph in a light shift,

Lifting spores in her path,

As she runs soundlessly.

 

You can feel the phantom touch,

Just don’t go too fast,

Or swallow too hungrily.

 

———

Etherealism.

If a tree falls,

For a nymph unsound,

Will the creatures in the forest,

Know the sound,

Of my blossoming heart?

 

Pan fills me with manic strength,

I sap you,

You pluck me up.

Lay me down.

Will the others know the touch,

When it brushes their mortal flesh?

 

Thank god almighty,

I think about last night.

Thank god almighty,

I sip my coffee.

Tasseomancy.

 

Has the gold clock ever run,

For pleasure or for pragmatism?

How do you feel about choking hun?

 

To be a petalphile,

Is to be overcome by floral smell.

But as far as I can tell,

You’d rather waft the kill.

 

The flesh is your thrill.

What’s dead is alive.

You suck my fingers,

For blood left behind.

To you, what is violent is divine.

 

To me, peaceful waves are firmament.

A nirvana that floats.

No lust lost nor love spent.

Still waters run deep,

I am content.

But will I consent,

When Poseidon glides his triton,

Across my temperate crest?

Or if Moses puts his religiosity to a test?

 

I surrender to love,

But I want you to give too.

Even nymphs grow old,

And tree limbs bend.

Is life to death,

Means to an end?

 

I can not thrive,

By tide alone,

Nor you by solely soil.

Lust is lovely,

Love begets toil.

 

For now, our love is sap like,

Slipping into serene.

We can not live in between.

To be submersed or to not be taken?

That is the dilemma,

Of God’s creation.

 

——–

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