A Weekend in Hades

hades
Source: https://classroom.synonym.com/goes-underworld-greek-mythology-13711.html

 

A Weekend in Hades

Fickle Muses: journal of mythic poetry & fiction, April 2011

It starts with the creak of oars in murky waters,
blood rising to the surface like goldfish.
The weeds are wild with the hair of the dead.

Small price to pay for a weekend in Hades.

We get off at the next stop,
drunk with excitement, like all tourists.
Then we remember we forgot our camera.

The half-dressed guide swivels around us high-heeled,
barking out orders, whipping the group into shape.
She looks like a three-headed dog
snapping at the end of its chain.

We are all apparitions, these women and men,
dressed in our best clothes among raging flames.
Some of us go barefoot
for the sheer experience of it.

* * *

The look on Hades’s face is unforgettable. Persephone
has a hard time refraining from laughter.
Cerberus did it again—ate up all the tourists.

And now, with the hot season over, and Hell
entering its winter stagnation, with sinners
huddling beside the huge cold vats, waiting
like eastern Europeans for some unlikely sparks,
their luck thinning with each passing day,
Hades will have to admit: the company’s going bankrupt.
The necessary apologies are issued, tickets
returned, then, the news: we’re going home!

* * *

The dead crowd the passage between darkness and light.
At the end of the tunnel people are chanting.
It happens quickly—the light grows opaque,
then disappears. No one knows who is responsible
for what. Someone requests a head count.

We quickly discover that Lazarus is missing. Again.
He’s done this before, he knows the ropes,
the secret trail, the way back to the body.

Naturally, people are angry.
Why should one soul get all the perks?
Something must be done about it—a petition,
a firm request for an audition.
Lots are cast among the elderly and the children.
There’s always the chance that age or innocence
may earn them another reprieve.
The blind old guy with the staff stumbles back
into the underworld. We never see him again.

The rest of us wait. Someday
the rock will be moved. Someday the light will slice
this solid darkness, and someone—
a god, perhaps?—will call us forth
into the livid, unholy body of our dreams.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

paeansunpluggedblog

songs unheard by the poet next door

Murtagh's Meadow

Ramblings of an Irish ecologist and gardener

An Edinburgh Cook

Flavours of a burgeoning cook, father and wannabe adventurer

Fluffy Pool

Let's write something every day.

The Curious Blog of a Millennial

I'm on a curiosity voyage. These books are my paddles. I need my paddles!

dreamydamselblog

Dream as if u live forever.. Live as tomorrow is the last one.

Short Prose

short prose, fiction, poetry

Wandering Worlds

Lost, Hidden, Forgotten

The Dreaming Lady

personal blog of Kiyo - artist and writer

shllyn

An attempt to understand myself through art and writing.

the creative life in between

cherishing the moments and exploring my passion for creativity... through art, photography, food, and writing

Charmed Chaos

Musings on Life, Love, and Linguini

Rhyme N Review

Poetry, books, music, movies, and motivation / Videos, essays, art, and some quotation!

FeelPurple

Creativity Unleashed

For what they were... we are

Prehistory, Anthropology and Genetics

The Diary of a Country Bumpkin

A Londoner now enjoying country living.

The Jittery Goat

short stories, ebooks, and other stuff

Fingers to Sky

Soul Searching. Gardening. Aspiring Writer.

awritersfountain

Freelance writer back on the edge ready to jump!

Veronica's Garden

I originally started this blog to promote my novel, Post Rock Limestone Caryatids. Now I write essays and poetry about everything, including the Flint Hills, healing, parenting, etc. WARNING: emotional content, sometimes intense. Read at own risk of feeling.

WRITING WHILE BLACK

POETRY IS THE SONG IN MY HEART, THE LANGUAGE THAT I SPEAK, THE ESSENCE OF MY EXISTENCE, THE KEYS TO THE LIFE I SEEK.

The Eggcorn

malapropisms abound

Michelle Harrington

She writes and waits for the end of the world.

MovieBabble

The Casual Way to Discuss Movies

Z for short.

Writing and e-publishing.

Insights from "Inside"

Sunshine on Razor Wire: perspectives from "inside"

An Artist's Path

A space for creative seekers.

scattered words

scribbles by Hemendra Dibaakor

Put Out to Pasture

Trading in my combat boots

ProCrasstheNation

Writing is Coming!

Stop procrastinating now!

New site available: www.procrastinationcoach.net

Toby's Big Oul Blog

here are some words what i wrote

My Garden

Uma Gowrishankar

Permacircular horizons

Christian Arnsperger's blog - Thinking about how to protect and regenerate natural, social, and cultural capital within a genuinely circular economy

Yoga Mom

Yoga Happens Every Day—Divorce And All

Peacock Poetry

by Sam Allen

Smoke words every day.

Tumse na ho payega

The Moving Finger Writes

Roshni Rajshekhar Nair

Not the Whole Story

Just a girl and her street pup, living abroad

%d bloggers like this: