APRIL 1st, 2014: Venus to Botticelli

NaPoWriMo PROMPT:  Our prompts are there just to help those who are having trouble getting inspired – if you’re full up on inspiration, there’s no need to follow them. With that out of the way, I’ve chosen something I hope will be fun and simple, to ease you into your first day. Today, I’d like you to go to Reb Livingston’s Bibliomancy Oracle. Clear your mind, push the button, and then write a poem based on the quotation that the oracle provides. Happy writing!

“Gratitude is the act of greeting
every stranger as if they approached you
in dream. Or every letter the moon
tries to hand you. The curved light equations”

This is how I started with the suggestion for a ephrastic poem.

 

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Venus to Botticelli

You think that I am just born, fool,

that I am shy and cover my delicacy?

Who are you to dash forth with fear

disguised as cloth?  Do you know

that I walk the paths of Lilith

and long have known Isis

and women of power you know not.

You assume me to be angelic

by the company I keep.

Be wary.  Some angels have bad breath.

              C.J. Prince

               ©2014

 

 

APRIL 2nd: Freyja at Dusk

Today’s prompt:   …today I challenge you to write a poem based on a non-Greco-Roman myth. You could write a poem inspired by Norse mythology, or perhaps by one of these creatures from Japanese legend. Every time and place and culture has its myths and legends, so there’s plenty to choose from. 

I write of Freyja, of whom I long have followed.  And not just for her cats.

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Freyja at Dusk

 

We slip into the shadows,

the big cats and I.

Those who pass see us not

for we shapeshift and slither

like a lake breeze.

 

I press my hand o’er the boar’s snout

lest he protest my departure.

For leave I must to ride starward

in the dark of the moon,

the safe place for woman to see

the scope of the warrioress’ territory.

 

I fasten my fine cloak of falcon feathers,

snug about my shoulders,

offerings from the winged ones I train

to do my bidding.

Tonight we must look into the far future,

the place where they will deny me,

where my name will mean less

than a mouse scuttling in the rushes.

 

                                                C.J. Prince

                                                ©2014