#mythpoem
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Great Bast, lover of sun, defender of royalty,
The hunter with sheathed claws, snake's bane,
I call you here so that I might love you,
Share from my plate, drink from my cup,
Oh beloved of doctors, enemy of vermin,
Lion of the Nile, I worship thee.
May your cup always be full of wine,
May your devotees cherish you,
Drinking deeply in your name.
And too we tend to your descendants,
Providing for them as you provided for us.
Oh companion, family, goddess -
Protect us from evil will and evil ways,
Us, your devotees and attendants.
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How To Become a Myth
- Nikita Gill
1.
Fly into the sun, defy anyone who tells you that you cannot love Him.
The ocean will break your fall. even if it is by drowning you.
(You knew he would burn you, Icarus you simply thought he was worth the risk)
2.
Get stolen by a God away from the meadows you once knew, wood nymph.
Become Queen of the Underworld. Turn the land of the dead into home.
(You knew didn’t you, Kore? How to survive you would become Persephone?)
3.
Turn yourself into an echo of the person you used to be, then fall in love with him.
And when he doesn’t notice you Instead falls in love with himself, pine away.
(Narcissus could never love you, dear Echo. Not the way he loved himself.)
4.
Become an indestructible monster. Become the thing that warriors speak of in hushed breaths in terror.
When you finally do die at someone’s hands make sure it is glorious.
(Theseus was the only end worthy of you, Minotaur.)
5.
When the Sea God assaults you, turn people into stone. Turn Gods into stone.
Turn anything that threatens you ever again into stone.
(Medusa, Athena turned you monster to protect you. She took your beauty to give you power.)
6.
Adore her so much that the world grieves with your broken heart’s song.
Almost save her from the Underworld. Almost.
(Orpheus, all you had to do was not turn to look at her.)
7.
Marry a God King.
Watch him betray you over and over again. Become bitter and cruel.
Recognise he will never respect you. Promise to make him suffer till he does.
(Hera, I know why you couldn’t leave him, it was all for love, it was all for love)
8.
Become an undefeated warrior in a war where you lose everything you love.
Even the one you love most of all. Don’t realise it. Keep fighting.
(Achilles, Patroclus’ love would have made you immortal anyway.)
9.
Be unhappy in your marriage. Find a dangerous Prince who promises you a real love.
Run away with him
Do not think of the consequences.
(Helen, you didn’t just launch a thousand ships you set kingdoms ablaze.)
10.
Destroy everyone you love in a murderous rage.
Go on a journey hoping it will kill you
(Hercules tell the truth, you hoped those tasks would be your destruction didn’t you?)
Addendum:
Don’t become a myth. Stay human.
Stay mortal.
It is less wounds.
I promise. It is less wounds.
#spilled ink#mythpoem#mythology#poem#poetry#words#writing#nikita gill#retellings#lit#literature#alt lit#hipster#indie#myths#Icarus#Medusa#hera#persephone#Hades
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I admire his strong jaw,
slope of his nose, and the way his brows
pinch in stern expression over dark
brooding eyes. I imagined kissing him,
tasting pomegranate on his lips.
Shrieking souls haunt him
each step he takes, condemns
a soul. In his throne of skulls,
he sits regal and imposing.
Behind his mirthless gaze
of black coal lies torment,
weariness weighing heavily
upon him like a crown.
I admire the Undead King,
isolated in his Kingdom
of Death seeking solace from
Spring, with her grace and
compassion. Even death felt
loneliness.
The Undead King
c.k.m | ko-fi
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seeing you come to me should be a catharsis
but instead it takes on the colour of murder.
it is because you are the mortal one between us.
more beautiful in your emotion, easier to kill,
all that energy inside you as quickly perishable
as the entire lifespan of a butterfly.
maybe this was why i wanted you,
i had grown cold with responsibility for the sun.
destruction was not what i intended for you
but it is what happens to all who follow in my wake.
ask the sunflower who she used to be, she will tell you
she was the mortal who fell in love with me.
this was the difference between ichor and iron.
the universe made you closer to itself than us.
the water will take better care of you than me,
let me melt your wings, you belong to the sea.
now a stillness neither of us knew before.
now a softness no one can answer for.
nikita gill // apollo to icarus
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A list of things from after the resurrection
1. You do not forget anything. Or you forget too much. It is hazy.
2. Sometimes, when the Sun is bright and shinves over your face, people see decay devouring your flesh. There are worms feasting on your sunken cheeks and animalistic eyes. And then, there is nothing. Ashes to ashes.
3. A more callous person might call you a despairing messiah. It is as true as anyone can imagine, which means not at all.
4. You only are still learning to how breath again.
5. A shallow grave is kinder than this.
#poetry#my poetry#writing#my writing#poem#my poem#poet#poetic#resurrection#fantasy#angst#spilled thoughts#spilled words#spilled heart#spilled ink#spilled poetry#dead#mythology#mythpoetry#mythpoem#excerpt from a story i'll never write#original writing#first original work in a while
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petrified
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we all have a little bit of icarus inside us:
the icarus who would rather look to the clouds,
and the shapes they could make rather than
the harshness of the reality which the ground brings.
the icarus who wished and wished and then did,
even if just for a second, even if just for a moment--
the stars were his.
and even when he crashed, he refused
to see the ocean,
but the sky reflected in them instead.
- silver linings // d.c
#spilled ink#mythpoetry#mythpoem#icarus and the sun#poets on tumblr#society of poets#im a hoe for icarus what can i say!#my poetry
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to become immortal, you must devour
the gods. begin with the god of fear
and when the god of the nile
floods your heart’s temple
lay your offerings underwater.
two lessons from ancient egypt | 02-06.07.19 // lenore
#ancient egypt#my poem#my poetry#egypt#egyptian mythology#poets on tumblr#tumblr poetry#mythology#girloutofmyth#mythpoem#mythpoetry#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#spilled words#spilled poetry#the rise and fall of ancient egypt
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Gabriel walks the streets,
an Angel of the Lord dressed in the skin of man,
but police are too afraid of his black skin,
or when he appears as a Native American,
speaking loudly at Standing Rock,
holding up a sign at a Black Matters Protest.
Gabriel attends the protests and the meetings,
a man of god with the fiery strength of his,
trying to make a difference in this suffering world,
knowing that all man are created equal
and yet they beg to differ arguing over each other.
Gabriel is a woman protesting for feminism,
here, there, everywhere that Gabriel can speak,
but no one listens to this Angel of God,
shouting at Gabriel, “Not all Men”
and Gabriel screams back, “You have missed the point!”
Gabriel is a Buddhist nun who strives for peace,
wanting to bring humanity compassion and hope,
speaking regularly to the cameras like the Dalai Lama.
All Gabriel wants to do is bring humanity back to the fold,
to knowing that it is one with the cosmos,
but Gabriel’s message is drowned out in the bitter hate
and the anger and the skewing of media,
and humans lie and lie to each other,
breaking each other’s heart as they ignore
the suffering of environment, animal, and fellow man.
Gabriel appears as Prophet among the men,
but no one listens, they just turn their ears away
saying, God doesn’t exist and why should they love their enemy
who has tried to oppress them and
didn’t God do the same kind of shit that isn’t progressive?
Just look at the Bible they say
and they spew forth hate for each other,
never wanting to listen or feel.
Modern Gabriel
Leanne Thach
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Pears
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Brigid, I have not laid your linen.
Forgive me flame bearer, I have no fire in my limbs.
Press your healers hands
Into my back
Where it hurts the most.
I cup my hands
Drink from the well of my heart
Where holy water
Looks an awful lot like blood.
I don't want to be forged anew
I would settle for a little peace.
Soon, snowdrops.
Soon, the coolest morning light.
Soon, the poetry that comes
from being awake,
dreamless and whole.
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#spilled ink#writing#poetry#indie#gods#mythology#mythpoem#lit#creative writing#literature#poets on tumblr#spilled thoughts#alt lit#words#poem#thoughts#nikita gill#great goddesses
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Modern gods don’t exist
because we want them to.
They flourish,
in the dark depths of Tartarus
where the shattered
piece themselves together
and rest.
They float,
through the vivid hills,
where ruins lie scattered,
across a golden sea
of bones and regret.
They live,
in the sprawling towers
of an age,
where it means nothing
to be a god.
Modern gods exist,
because we are gods.
Hold the golden ichor until it drip, drip, drips down (l.h)
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(is the night sky ruined for you too?)
for i always told you about
the constellations
and pointed out
the planets
you said that whenever
you saw orion
you would think of
me
(i hope it is)
(i hope it isn't)
m.r.l. // orion
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I am left. Left behind and, maybe,
left singing as Gabriel slots
holiness in my too soft mouth,
silver like a blade, silver like a noose,
silver like the eyes of God overflowing
with light. With memories –
Adam taking his first breath,
his dusty joints, the way he looked up
to God.
The screams at the cross.
A girl-saint laughing,
before she was a saint, right after she
became a girl. Miracle like the tower.
Like me.
Singing devotion: 3 am coffee-dizzy talks with God.
#poetry#poem#my poetry#my poem#mythpoetry#myth poetry#mythpoem#biblical mythology#biblical poem#biblical poetry#biblical#catholic#catholicism#Catholic poetry#christian poetry#abrahamic faiths#abrahamic mythology#god#archange gabriel#gabriel#adam#saints#writing#my writing#poet#poetic#poem on tumblr#spilled ink#spilled words#spilled thoughts
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i.
in return for cutting his hair,
(which felt like removing all traces of my hands from his body)
I let him rub bruise cream onto my shoulders, as if
this will dull the ache of carrying him around for so long.
I never wanted to become the boy I was warned about;
so I stayed soft, pliable. bubblegum around a boy’s
index finger and tongue.
the time of being delicate is over.
I’ve been carving my collarbones cutthroat:
let the next boy who thinks he can use my neck
as a means of escape walk away bleeding.
I’ve been redefining how I covet sharp objects;
my whole body becomes blade.
#spilled ink#nosebleedclub#mythpoem#. dead poets society .#burning muse#poetry#poem#literature#prose#not thinking just writing
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