Hand in hand, we walk
together through fields of
barley, watching grain
ripen as we pass.
Persephone: daughter of
sunlight; daughter of
corn; child of Zeus;
child of mine.
I watch as sunbeams
trace a path across your
face: your father’s
kiss. (Your
uncle’s too.)
Zeus: King of
Gods; son of a
Titan; my brother;
my lover.
Mount Olympus
is populated with
his offspring: he
sows his seed
up there as
blithely as we
sow our seed
within the world
of men.
Scattering
grain, planting crops
to yield a harvest,
we walk the fields
together, you and
I, your tiny hand
in mine.
Time is a gentle
breeze: you
grow. Like the crops we
plant, you ripen and
mature.
Sunbeams still dance
across your
face, still kiss
your hair with glints
of gold; but now,
your childhood
chubbiness is
gone: your curves
accentuate
your woman’s
shape.
Ripe you are
and ready to be
plucked. My
fingers tighten
as I keep you
close. Child of
my womb; daughter
of my heart –
I cannot let you
go.
We walk the fields
together. Flowers
spring up with each
footfall; crops ripen
in response to our
warmth.
This mother-daughter
love, this bond
we share
kisses the earth,
coaxes growth
from the ground.
We are content.
The sky is blue;
the sun golden.
The earth is at peace.
One day, the sunlight
disappears; the sky
turns black.
A flash of
darkness;
a rumble of
wheels; a
hint of sorrow,
pain, suffering
as Hades’ chariot
passes.
Mesmerised
by your golden
beauty, he
plucks you from
the earth,
carrying you off
to be his bride.
Hades: King of the
Underworld; son
of a Titan; brother of
Zeus; brother
of mine.
Nine long days and
nine long nights I
wander the earth,
searching, searching,
desperate to hear
your voice.
I walk the earth
alone. Flowers
fade with each
footfall; crops die
in response to my
grief.
Sorrow
blights the earth,
hardening it
to reflect
my heart.
Hear me, Zeus!
Have pity on a mother!
Have pity on a sister!
Command our brother
to give me back my daughter!
I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
At last, a messenger appears.
She may return, says Zeus
– but only if
no food or drink has passed her lips.
How can she eat
when pain gnaws at her heart?
How can she drink
when she thirsts only to be back home?
Hermes delivers the message.
Persephone weeps.
I ate six seeds, she says.
Six seeds.
Six tiny pomegranate seeds.
She will be Hades’ Queen forever.
Pain.
Grief.
The world shrinks
to the size of a
pomegranate seed
as my grief grows,
eclipsing nature itself.
I paint the sky a
pale grey then cover
it with inky
clouds: let it
wear mourning
for my daughter!
Grief withers
crops that had
ripened. Pain pricks
at my heart.
Gouts of
blood fall to the
ground; my heartache
spills and splashes
in scarlet drops
as I walk across
the fields of corn.
Sorrow blossoms
into flowers
as red as blood,
their centres black
as Hades himself.
Remember, the flowers
whisper. Remember
Persephone
And grieve for her.
They grieve, and I grieve too.
Pushing aside the
sunbeams, I take
the chill from my
heart and
wrap it around
the earth.
The ground
hardens
as my soul
freezes over.
Ice seeps from my
fingertips: my hand
is cold without the
warmth
of yours.
I trace my grief
in patterns of
frost; snow blankets
the ground: smothering
life; smothering
hope.
Persephone.
Your name
is a dagger in
my heart.
It tears.
It rips.
I feel life leaking
slowly from me.
The earth and I
will die
together.
Cold. I am
oh, so cold.
Dryads tremble
in their trees
as I pass by; naiads
freeze within their
waters.
My heart hurts
and I want the earth
to hurt with me.
Let all creation mourn
my daughter’s loss!
Let nature suffer
as I have suffered!
Nine long days and
nine long nights I
wander the earth,
weeping, weeping,
mourning a daughter
lost.
Aged by grief, I
touch trees, watching
branches wither to match
my twig-like limbs.
The icy breath of
my despair
skims across waters;
life freezes into
death.
Soon, everything will be
no more.
The world is dying
and I do not care.
Enough! says Zeus.
Zeus: King of
Gods; Giver of
Justice; my brother;
my hope.
Six seeds has she eaten,
the Lawgiver says,
so for six months will she
live underground
and be your Queen.
For six months will she
return to her mother
and let the earth
return to life.
Six months.
Six tiny human months.
Six seeds of hope:
six seeds to sow a future.
Hand in hand, we walk
together through fields of
barley, watching grain
ripen as we pass.
The sky once more is
blue, the sun golden.
Sunbeams kiss your
face: your father’s
touch. Birds sing.
Let all creation sing
of my daughter’s retrieval!
Let nature rejoice
as I have rejoiced!
I have you back for
six short months.
Six months.
We can repair the
world in six short months.
Warmth floods my being
as I take your hand in
mine. I touch trees and see
their twigs begin to bud;
you smile at me and the ice
across my heart begins
to melt.
New life blooms
at our feet;
snowdrops and
crocus carpet
the earth.
Overhead, birds
sing as they
choose their mates.
Would that I could keep you
safely under my wing
for always, Little One!
Six months.
Six months of golden
sunlight and refreshing
rains. I paint the sky:
gold for your hair,
blue for your eyes,
pink for the rosy time
ahead of us.
Trees blossom; chicks
hatch; the whole world
is returning to
life. Creation celebrates
your return.
Scattering
grain, planting crops
to yield a harvest,
we walk the fields
together, you and
I, your hand
in mine.
Six months of spring and
summer. Six
seeds of hope
that will sustain me
through
the winter of your absence.
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4 comments
Thank you Jane, for reminding me how beautiful poetry can be at how rarely I read it anymore. Yet, I have always loved it, even written it, but never with the skill that you exhibit here. What a poetic way to show the passage of the seasons. In a word, brilliant. 👏👏
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Thank you, Viga. I've written my own versions of Greek myths before, but never in verse. Somehow, this seemed appropriate. Thanks for your positive response.
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The poetry of this one is fantastic! I love the structure. There are too many beautiful lines for me to just pick one. Just lovely
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Thanks, Michelle. As someone who loves your writing, this is high praise indeed! Thanks for the encouragement.
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