poetry: threads
Ok, so this is long - around 1,600 words. But it's totally worth it. It tells the stories of the women (minus Phaedra) who knew Theseus. I'm really proud of it so I hope you enjoy.
threads
Moirae
They call us The Fates, Moirae, the Weavers.
We watch from behind humanity’s eye,
Time curving like light. And we watch -
Nations fall, heroes fail. And we watch -
Love triumphant, envy creeping. And we watch -
Colours of life fade to black. So we watch.
Don’t take that to mean we don’t know
How to have fun. Oh, we let our hairs
Down once in a millennia. But then it’s back to our
Tomb, with a beer and a giggle. We know our place.
Life slides through our fingers like silk on skin.
Fiery reds for victory, harsh blacks for sorrow.
(Pick that one out dear, her face is wrong.)
Drama, anguish, it’s all just thread. Just one
Snip and you’ll tumble, head over, back
Home with us. All humanity’s achievements
And failures just 2D on a canvas.
We bring it out at parties.
But enough of the small talk. Let’s start with
A story, in the traditional fashion. Once upon
A Tuesday fair... (or was it Wednesday?)
Three women, brought together by yours truly.
It’s a girls’ night, a bitchfest, won’t you
Come in? Pull up a chair, have a glass.
(But not the good port.)
The topic my dears? How about that fresh
Lad, Athens’ pin-up poster boy,
That wondrous Theseus.
We can tell by your looks you’re familiar with
The name.
So kick back, relax, it’s Storytime,
Girls. We want to know everything.
The good and bad, gory details and of course,
All about the sex. Won’t you have another drink?
So tell us (though we already know),
How did you first meet the luscious lad?
Ariadne
When we first met I was little more
Than a girl. You know how it
Goes. Blushing maiden, dashing hero.
So he strides in all daring do.
Going to rescue all the youths of Athens,
Or some such nonsense. But his words fell like
Glorious music on my young ears.
Love. Bam. That’s how it hits you,
You know. Like a bullet to the brain.
Such a beautiful lad, he was. Gold hair,
Great tan, a smile to melt a statue. Fit
For a princess, by all accounts.
A smile across the room, a blazing wink,
His hand sliding up my skirt
Under the table, tracing fire with his nimble
Fingers.
Oh, that boy could play like a maestro.
He totally couldn’t have done it without me,
You know. A simple trick, really. Just a bit of
Thread to guide him home.
I gazed, entranced,
As he led those frightened children to
Freedom, the head of Mr Mino
(our palace pet)
Dripping under his arm.
My fluttering heart soared in his
Triumphant embrace
(his arm still wet).
Off we sailed, all happy endings,
(if you get what I mean)
Into the sunset. Perfect.
Do you know what betrayal feels like,
Ladies? Sorry, of course you do.
To me it was a blade wrenched, silver
Slid into a fresh wound. A future shattered.
A world twisted and shown to be the
Opposite
Of what you’d thought.
Marooned. Hardly an end befitting one
Of royal blood.
Pillock.
Oh but ladies, it’s not so bad. That
God bloke came along - what was his -
Ah yes. Dionysus. Ooh. Had a
Jolly go of it with that one.
So for a while it was all jet-setting
And wild parties, martinis at midnight, an
Olive on the side of an orgy. Shaken, not
Stirred. But a gal needs to live
Her own life.
(I don’t need to tell you that.)
So here I am. Telling my tale.
Tabloids’ll eat it up, you know.
Athens’ pet hero shamed, degraded.
I’ll get back on top, you’ll see.
I will.
You’ll see.
Hippolyta
He did not come
Quietly,
Oh conquering hero.
He burnt as he marched,
Fire leaping
From cruel, outstretched hands.
My warriors fell
Like children,
Like dolls,
To his snickering sword,
Red gleam in the
Sunset haze.
That’s how we first met.
A romance born of the
Threads
Of battle,
The tabloids screamed.
Hot stuff, our
Theseus.
I didn’t care.
I was mistress of nations,
Daughter of War.
So why did I succumb
To his fumbling,
Forced
Advances?
Simple.
He promised one night,
Dark in the mouth of the
Howling moon,
Not to touch them.
My girls.
They don’t need protecting.
We could burn these
Men
To the heavens, turn them into
Cinder blocks,
No more than playthings.
But I’m a practical one,
Always have been.
Though violence
And revenge
Burnt
In my veins
(foolish man! You think to treat us like cattle?)
I knew more would fall,
Would die,
Would scream.
I would not have that.
I’d already given my girdle to that
Yelping pup.
(Hercules I think they called him)
Just to shut him up.
So while my women yelled
Blue murder
At those ships from the
West,
I lay, silently screaming
In the cage of
Our marriage bed.
Got bent,
Got broken,
Turned and twisted
Under his probing,
Prodding,
Boy’s fingers.
And as he forced,
And as I tore,
I remembered my ladies,
Their silken touch,
Soft whispers at dawn,
Fragrance and beauty and
Bliss.
Not this.
Pain?
I am mistress of pain.
He could not claim me
I stood by his side,
A statue.
Unmoving.
They thought to tame me with
Palaces, satins and milks.
I played along.
Never let him know you’re
Screaming.
Never let him know you’re
Wild.
But I felt the harsh moon
The fierce tides
Coarse
Within me.
Was split, gold and glistening,
Glory in life.
In short, gave birth.
But it was male.
I sighed.
Theseus grew bored
Of my Ice Queen ways.
Our marriage bed cooled,
And he fell to the
Eyes
Of his secretary,
The blonde bombshell.
Ph-something.
I forget.
When the troops came,
My glorious women,
I left with them.
A war averted, though
Poets,
Dramatists,
Pricks,
Sang of Theseus’ wondrous
Victory,
Over those fearsome feminists.
I rolled my eyes
And sailed away.
Cast gold in
The shadow of the
Falling sun.
My girls, my women,
Surround me.
Soon there will be dancing,
Celebration,
Ecstasy a mere
Man
Could not hope to know.
So they shun us,
Capture us,
Tame us.
But they ignore the truth,
Buried deep in their meaty hearts.
That they are the true
Barbarians.
Medea
I never met him. Dread prince,
Womaniser, deserter, false hero.
Why would I need to? For one as I,
Blessed with Sight, with magicks,
The spirits of those he hurt called out
To me, screaming behind my eyes,
Terrible threads weaving together...
No! No. Not yet. Not my story.
This is later, much later, too late.
My tale begins years before.
Jason.
He was my hero. Our love was burning,
Passionate, perfect. That first touch
Chained me to him, when he kissed me
Softly in moonlight fair. I loved him,
Yes. Good. It was good.
We wove magicks together, then.
Without me he’d be dead
DEAD
Burnt and bleeding, pouring out his
Miserable, miserable
Blood.
YES!
No. Not yet.
We ran, fled, my murderous brother
Struck down. By me.
Me. Murderer, killer, sorceress.
I bore him children.
Beautiful, innocent.
I loved them more than life.
Life.
That’s the truth.
But when we returned, triumphant...
Everything changed.
I hate Corinth.
Take me back to the lands where
Women
Are equal. Intelligent. Celebrated.
Not here in the world of terrible
Female silence.
He, Jason (my love, my only)
Wanted a fresh start.
A new model.
A princess who didn’t know
Her own mind.
I wept for an eternity.
Agony
Known by so many before me.
Foolish BITCH
I’ll kill them all! Days will be
Rued
Jason should know better than to
Cross
Granddaughter of the Sun,
Niece of Circe.
Medea.
Just a drop of poison,
A sprinkle of death,
And down they fell,
Puppets without strings.
Ha.
What a joke.
I had to run. Naturally.
Don’t believe what they say.
That damned poet spread lies
Cried infanticide.
I love my darlings
(my darlings!)
If there is blame, it is mine,
To be sure,
I killed them because I could not
Save them.
Torn apart. Bloodied. Stoned.
By crowds of Corinth.
They were born to the wrong
Princess.
This their only crime.
No matter. (NO!)
I flew to Athens, city of minds.
Met that man of men,
Aegeus. The first to see me as
I truly am.
And love me for it.
There was happiness then, for a while.
Then I was struck. Asleep and fire erupted
In my mind. I saw you,
Maiden,
Abandoned and beaten. And you,
Queen,
Stripped and humiliated. I swore
No more.
Not another woman will feel his
Slime. Of course, I had a hard time
Persuading Aggy. Hard to explain things
That haven’t happened yet.
So tricks, more tricks. When Theseus returned
All trumpets and flags
(don’t believe that white sail, black sail crap)
It was nearly done. So close.
Father killing a son.
One woman scorned, another could
Be saved.
No. Failure. My husband, my love,
Knew my tricks. Cast me out in
Favour of his treacherous son.
Men.
Now here I stand.
Alone.
Fallen princess.
Hated sorceress.
Once I had gold, love, children.
Now all that is left are the threads
Ever spinning, always spinning,
Of my dwindling years.
All just threads.
---
Had I had more words I would have gone into more detail with Hippolyta, mostly with her relationship with her son. Because there's got to be a link between having an Amazonian mother and deciding to dedicate your life to Artemis. If I ever publish these I'll definitely go into this, and then do a poem from Phaedra's POV as well, to link the stories. But this was all I had words for.
Anyway, I'm off to scoff noodles and Ben and Jerry's and generally feel sorry for myself. Unfortunately the next Buffy ep on my list is Lovers' Walk so that should be fun (as I'm really identifying with Cordelia atm). Ah well.
~Lili
threads
Moirae
They call us The Fates, Moirae, the Weavers.
We watch from behind humanity’s eye,
Time curving like light. And we watch -
Nations fall, heroes fail. And we watch -
Love triumphant, envy creeping. And we watch -
Colours of life fade to black. So we watch.
Don’t take that to mean we don’t know
How to have fun. Oh, we let our hairs
Down once in a millennia. But then it’s back to our
Tomb, with a beer and a giggle. We know our place.
Life slides through our fingers like silk on skin.
Fiery reds for victory, harsh blacks for sorrow.
(Pick that one out dear, her face is wrong.)
Drama, anguish, it’s all just thread. Just one
Snip and you’ll tumble, head over, back
Home with us. All humanity’s achievements
And failures just 2D on a canvas.
We bring it out at parties.
But enough of the small talk. Let’s start with
A story, in the traditional fashion. Once upon
A Tuesday fair... (or was it Wednesday?)
Three women, brought together by yours truly.
It’s a girls’ night, a bitchfest, won’t you
Come in? Pull up a chair, have a glass.
(But not the good port.)
The topic my dears? How about that fresh
Lad, Athens’ pin-up poster boy,
That wondrous Theseus.
We can tell by your looks you’re familiar with
The name.
So kick back, relax, it’s Storytime,
Girls. We want to know everything.
The good and bad, gory details and of course,
All about the sex. Won’t you have another drink?
So tell us (though we already know),
How did you first meet the luscious lad?
Ariadne
When we first met I was little more
Than a girl. You know how it
Goes. Blushing maiden, dashing hero.
So he strides in all daring do.
Going to rescue all the youths of Athens,
Or some such nonsense. But his words fell like
Glorious music on my young ears.
Love. Bam. That’s how it hits you,
You know. Like a bullet to the brain.
Such a beautiful lad, he was. Gold hair,
Great tan, a smile to melt a statue. Fit
For a princess, by all accounts.
A smile across the room, a blazing wink,
His hand sliding up my skirt
Under the table, tracing fire with his nimble
Fingers.
Oh, that boy could play like a maestro.
He totally couldn’t have done it without me,
You know. A simple trick, really. Just a bit of
Thread to guide him home.
I gazed, entranced,
As he led those frightened children to
Freedom, the head of Mr Mino
(our palace pet)
Dripping under his arm.
My fluttering heart soared in his
Triumphant embrace
(his arm still wet).
Off we sailed, all happy endings,
(if you get what I mean)
Into the sunset. Perfect.
Do you know what betrayal feels like,
Ladies? Sorry, of course you do.
To me it was a blade wrenched, silver
Slid into a fresh wound. A future shattered.
A world twisted and shown to be the
Opposite
Of what you’d thought.
Marooned. Hardly an end befitting one
Of royal blood.
Pillock.
Oh but ladies, it’s not so bad. That
God bloke came along - what was his -
Ah yes. Dionysus. Ooh. Had a
Jolly go of it with that one.
So for a while it was all jet-setting
And wild parties, martinis at midnight, an
Olive on the side of an orgy. Shaken, not
Stirred. But a gal needs to live
Her own life.
(I don’t need to tell you that.)
So here I am. Telling my tale.
Tabloids’ll eat it up, you know.
Athens’ pet hero shamed, degraded.
I’ll get back on top, you’ll see.
I will.
You’ll see.
Hippolyta
He did not come
Quietly,
Oh conquering hero.
He burnt as he marched,
Fire leaping
From cruel, outstretched hands.
My warriors fell
Like children,
Like dolls,
To his snickering sword,
Red gleam in the
Sunset haze.
That’s how we first met.
A romance born of the
Threads
Of battle,
The tabloids screamed.
Hot stuff, our
Theseus.
I didn’t care.
I was mistress of nations,
Daughter of War.
So why did I succumb
To his fumbling,
Forced
Advances?
Simple.
He promised one night,
Dark in the mouth of the
Howling moon,
Not to touch them.
My girls.
They don’t need protecting.
We could burn these
Men
To the heavens, turn them into
Cinder blocks,
No more than playthings.
But I’m a practical one,
Always have been.
Though violence
And revenge
Burnt
In my veins
(foolish man! You think to treat us like cattle?)
I knew more would fall,
Would die,
Would scream.
I would not have that.
I’d already given my girdle to that
Yelping pup.
(Hercules I think they called him)
Just to shut him up.
So while my women yelled
Blue murder
At those ships from the
West,
I lay, silently screaming
In the cage of
Our marriage bed.
Got bent,
Got broken,
Turned and twisted
Under his probing,
Prodding,
Boy’s fingers.
And as he forced,
And as I tore,
I remembered my ladies,
Their silken touch,
Soft whispers at dawn,
Fragrance and beauty and
Bliss.
Not this.
Pain?
I am mistress of pain.
He could not claim me
I stood by his side,
A statue.
Unmoving.
They thought to tame me with
Palaces, satins and milks.
I played along.
Never let him know you’re
Screaming.
Never let him know you’re
Wild.
But I felt the harsh moon
The fierce tides
Coarse
Within me.
Was split, gold and glistening,
Glory in life.
In short, gave birth.
But it was male.
I sighed.
Theseus grew bored
Of my Ice Queen ways.
Our marriage bed cooled,
And he fell to the
Eyes
Of his secretary,
The blonde bombshell.
Ph-something.
I forget.
When the troops came,
My glorious women,
I left with them.
A war averted, though
Poets,
Dramatists,
Pricks,
Sang of Theseus’ wondrous
Victory,
Over those fearsome feminists.
I rolled my eyes
And sailed away.
Cast gold in
The shadow of the
Falling sun.
My girls, my women,
Surround me.
Soon there will be dancing,
Celebration,
Ecstasy a mere
Man
Could not hope to know.
So they shun us,
Capture us,
Tame us.
But they ignore the truth,
Buried deep in their meaty hearts.
That they are the true
Barbarians.
Medea
I never met him. Dread prince,
Womaniser, deserter, false hero.
Why would I need to? For one as I,
Blessed with Sight, with magicks,
The spirits of those he hurt called out
To me, screaming behind my eyes,
Terrible threads weaving together...
No! No. Not yet. Not my story.
This is later, much later, too late.
My tale begins years before.
Jason.
He was my hero. Our love was burning,
Passionate, perfect. That first touch
Chained me to him, when he kissed me
Softly in moonlight fair. I loved him,
Yes. Good. It was good.
We wove magicks together, then.
Without me he’d be dead
DEAD
Burnt and bleeding, pouring out his
Miserable, miserable
Blood.
YES!
No. Not yet.
We ran, fled, my murderous brother
Struck down. By me.
Me. Murderer, killer, sorceress.
I bore him children.
Beautiful, innocent.
I loved them more than life.
Life.
That’s the truth.
But when we returned, triumphant...
Everything changed.
I hate Corinth.
Take me back to the lands where
Women
Are equal. Intelligent. Celebrated.
Not here in the world of terrible
Female silence.
He, Jason (my love, my only)
Wanted a fresh start.
A new model.
A princess who didn’t know
Her own mind.
I wept for an eternity.
Agony
Known by so many before me.
Foolish BITCH
I’ll kill them all! Days will be
Rued
Jason should know better than to
Cross
Granddaughter of the Sun,
Niece of Circe.
Medea.
Just a drop of poison,
A sprinkle of death,
And down they fell,
Puppets without strings.
Ha.
What a joke.
I had to run. Naturally.
Don’t believe what they say.
That damned poet spread lies
Cried infanticide.
I love my darlings
(my darlings!)
If there is blame, it is mine,
To be sure,
I killed them because I could not
Save them.
Torn apart. Bloodied. Stoned.
By crowds of Corinth.
They were born to the wrong
Princess.
This their only crime.
No matter. (NO!)
I flew to Athens, city of minds.
Met that man of men,
Aegeus. The first to see me as
I truly am.
And love me for it.
There was happiness then, for a while.
Then I was struck. Asleep and fire erupted
In my mind. I saw you,
Maiden,
Abandoned and beaten. And you,
Queen,
Stripped and humiliated. I swore
No more.
Not another woman will feel his
Slime. Of course, I had a hard time
Persuading Aggy. Hard to explain things
That haven’t happened yet.
So tricks, more tricks. When Theseus returned
All trumpets and flags
(don’t believe that white sail, black sail crap)
It was nearly done. So close.
Father killing a son.
One woman scorned, another could
Be saved.
No. Failure. My husband, my love,
Knew my tricks. Cast me out in
Favour of his treacherous son.
Men.
Now here I stand.
Alone.
Fallen princess.
Hated sorceress.
Once I had gold, love, children.
Now all that is left are the threads
Ever spinning, always spinning,
Of my dwindling years.
All just threads.
---
Had I had more words I would have gone into more detail with Hippolyta, mostly with her relationship with her son. Because there's got to be a link between having an Amazonian mother and deciding to dedicate your life to Artemis. If I ever publish these I'll definitely go into this, and then do a poem from Phaedra's POV as well, to link the stories. But this was all I had words for.
Anyway, I'm off to scoff noodles and Ben and Jerry's and generally feel sorry for myself. Unfortunately the next Buffy ep on my list is Lovers' Walk so that should be fun (as I'm really identifying with Cordelia atm). Ah well.
~Lili