Monday, July 18, 2011

30/30 Day 18: Pity From the Sirens

            "...'Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror..."
                        -Percy Bysshe Shelley

It starts at the eyes,
not that anyone asks.

Too often the limbs
break before everything
is done––I have too
many fallen arms
littering my home, shields
as platters, swords enough
to shutter the windows,
fence the yard.

Pity from the sirens
whose art needs only
a sweet song and
sharp stones, one-time
shows lauded for
sincerity and scale.

For me, a fine line
between victim and
sculpture. A man
will always guard
his face. I paved
the path last summer
with so many stone hands.

3 comments:

twitches said...
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Nathan Landau said...

I started a series from the point of view of Pandora more than two years ago called "Like the Clay" (It starts here, if you're interested: http://poemsaboutnothinginparticular.blogspot.com/2009/05/like-clay.html).

It incorporates a lot of the same elements you're seeing here––the casual voice, the behind-the-scenes moments––in an effort to humanize her, and tell a different story. I ended up writing a series of seven poems for it.

I figured it was about time to peek into someone else's myth.

twitches said...
This comment has been removed by the author.