tigriswolfwrites

[tigriswolfwrites]

as i sat in the waiting room --

Written May 11, 2025

as i sat in the waiting room of the car dealership while my car was being worked on,  the person next to me,  long nails clacking,  typing loudly on her phone, the TV playing “Kids Baking  Championship” reruns, a thought popped into my mind fully formed, mine own Athena: he who hesitates, defecates. after a few minutes of pondering, i realized that with but a simple, slight refinement, it could become a survival mantra: he who hesitates, desiccates. a few more minutes pondering on verbs and rhyme schemes, i began to research to which part of speech defenestrates belongs.

[tigriswolfwrites]

also, hey, my second book is out in the world for purchasing...

[tigriswolfwrites]

11/18/24

Abraham, i've never understood you: the child you cradled or a god you've never seen-- how is that even a choice? to one who would demand it, i could only walk away.

[tigriswolfwrites]

Greek myth poem: Ariadne

Written January 25-26, 2024

She watches the ship fade into the setting, Abandoned on an unclaimed island By the prince whose life and people she saved. No tears in her eyes as the sky weeps Her pain and fury, she watches the moon rise.

When the god comes to her, she asks for one thing. He vows to see it done and she sips from the sacred cup.

Across the sea, a prince forgets his words to His father so the sails are not changed.

[tigriswolfwrites]

Greek myth poem: Hera

Written January 25-26, 2024

Indigo – Hera

Sister-wife, queen of the heavens, Humiliated Goddess of Marriage To a brother-husband who found Pleasure everywhere but the sacred Marriage bed. But the King of the Gods can never be held Accountable for his never-ending Transgressions and so it is to the women, Mothers of countless semi-divine children, That her rage flows.

[tigriswolfwrites]

Greek myth poem: Clytemnestra

Written November 18, 2023

Blue - Clytemnestra

She scatters the ashes in the water, a river rushing to the ocean.

She holds close her toddling daughter, infant son— the only two children she has left.

Rocking back and forth, standing at the window, slumbering boy tucked against her breast, little girl playing joyfully behind her, she watches the eastern horizon, listening to her children’s breath, feeling their heartbeats. Her husband, their father—he wanted war. When he returns, war he shall have.

[tigriswolfwrites]

Greek myth fragment: Persephone

Green—Persephone

Long, slow winter in the darkness,

Clearing up the clutter, playing

Fetch with the dog, cuddling

Before the hearth with her quiet

Husband—a respite of which she

Never speaks because nobody else

Deserves to see the sweet man

Who swept her away at her

Own request

[tigriswolfwrites]

Greek myth fragment: Eris

Yellow—Eris:

A simple fruit coated in golden dust

A party with no invitation to attend

A husband and wife who never insulted

But hosted those childish gods who did—

She bent slowly in the doorway, waiting

[tigriswolfwrites]

Greek myth fragment: Psyche

Orange—Psyche:

Your gentle hands, warm skin,

The soft bed, luxurious halls—

But to never see you

To live without your face—

I sleep beside you, trust in

Your kindness, the love shared nightly between us—

Long days alone in waiting for dark

To fall. I trust

[tigriswolfwrites]

Greek myth fragment: Medea

Begun November 18, 2023

Red—Medea:

In blood, I sacrificed for you home

I sowed bones to reap your kingdom

For you I gave away every part—

Family, fortune, future for your throne

...

I sacrificed for you my  home;

Sowed bones in blood to

Reap your kingdom; for you

I gave away family, fortune,

Future—the path to your

Throne, I laid

[tigriswolfwrites]

Lady MacBeth fragments

Begun September 12, 2023

He crumbles, dagger still in hand, blood-soaked

Cloak and trousers revealing the deed—weeping

And groaning, blade slipping from his loose grasp,

And he reaches—

This man, trembling on his knees, head bowed

Low, fingers clasped tightly in a pointless prayer,

Begging in mutters and mumbles, is the stern man,

Proud warrior, determined husband, king-to-be?

…

He crumbles, dagger still in hand,

Blood soaked cloak and trousers revealing

The deed

…

Staring at me, he crumbles

…

You, trembling on your knees in bloody trousers,

Knife discovered on the stone by your lax hand—

Broken by your deed—you have betrayed your kind.

You kneel in blood, still pooling, knife loose in your lax

Fingers, your back bent, head nearly pressed to the stone

[tigriswolfwrites]

poem: Judeo/Christian mythology

Prompts: The Bible, Jesus, sinless? ; author's choice, author's choice, Lies, Knives, and Girls in Red Dresses

Written September 8 - 11, 2022

What, you asked me once, is sin? You groan, nails piercing your flesh, side spear-torn, and oh my son, my son, first child I carried, nursed, wept for and celebrated— What, you asked me, curious, is sin? My son, I asked in turn, have you lied? My son, I asked when you shook your head, Have you disobeyed your parents? I remember, watching your wounded chest gasp for air, your body tremble, how you thought for a moment before you answered, no. I smiled at you, my son who did not know he spoke an untruth— I have loved you, my son, since I first felt you kick inside me. Until that moment, the angel’s words were not real. What, you asked me, hands clutching my skirt, Mama, is sin? Gazing up at me with wide eyes, bouncing on your tiptoes, you listened as I spoke of the Commandments. I told you the Word of your Father and you nodded; I asked if you had  ever broken one of great rules and you considered a long moment, teeth nibbling at your lower lip. My son, my son, I remember how you shook your head that afternoon, assuring me with fervent words that you had never broken any of the Ten carved by the Most High onto the sacred stones. My son, I wondered, is a lie a sin if the liar does not know they speak a lie? Oh, my son, my son, my first child, who I have loved so fiercely, so devoutly— What, you asked me once, is sin? I fall before you, weeping as I never have, and I know that I have sinned in my heart because I would kill them all if I could, scatter them across this barren ground where your blood pools. My son. I would sin gladly, if it kept you from pain—and it is a mother’s curse that pain is something every child must know.

[tigriswolfwrites]

Cast aside, Medea muses and plots.

[NO CHILDREN DIE]

[tigriswolfwrites]

poem: Iphigenia

Prompt: Greek mythology, Iphigenia, the truth is that she was born for this one moment of glory Written: August 14, 2023

oh, Mother, i see that the winds have stilled and Achilles does not wait for me—you scream and clutch for me but Father's hand on my arm, strong and sure, guides me to the alter. oh, Mother, i know i have told you of the dream that returns to my sleep every month with the swelling of the moon. you scream for me, Mother, I hear you. Father will not meet my eyes and so i stare past him, to the sky. Mother, i would tell you not to fear or to mourn for to the sky is where i will go once Father has spilt my blood to sate the rage of the huntress. i have dreamed of this moment, when the wind awakens with a roar upon my last gasp and i forgive Father, Mother. i do. this moment, when a princess dies so that a war can begin, is what i was born for. i forgive every soul who guided the way, and i look from the sky to you, Mother, when the knife in Father’s steady hand bleeds me. i have dreamed of this moment, my one and only taste of glory— you are silent, Mother, as to the sky i return my darkening gaze. i would tell you not to mourn but the Huntress has clasped my hand and pulled me to the sky, wind roaring in my ears with the baying of the hounds, and laughing, fleet-footed, i follow the goddess.

[tigriswolfwrites]

poem: Goddess // Mother // Queen

Title: Goddess // Mother // Queen

Prompts: The Iliad - Homer, Aphrodite + Helen, destiny is a bitch ; Greek mythology, Clytemnestra, this is the start of how it all ends ; Greek mythology, Andromache/Helen, only if for a night ;; 14

Written: August 14, 2023

Goddess To the fairest, so it was said Mightiest warrior, wisest king, most beautiful wife— To the fairest, the shepherd chose And to the prince was the fairest given

Mother An ill wind is better than no wind Yet no wind blows Until smoke from the small pyre rises

An ill wind to cross an ocean A coastline of pyres And it is an ill wind a grieving mother breathes out

Queen She does love the prince who tempted her away The prince on whom all this could perhaps be blamed But it is the prince’s brother’s sister who shares her bed As they weep for all the fallen at the fairest’s feet

[tigriswolfwrites]

poem: Clytemnestra

prompt: Greek Mythology, Clytemnestra/Agamemnon, I don't love you/but I always will Written: August 14, 2023

Husband, mine king—lord of the land, of the house, of my body and the children I have birthed for you—Husband. Love is but a trick of the gods, a trap and a prison. From an egg laid by a queen and sired by the greatest I hatched, a sister and two brothers with me; as the eldest daughter of two kings and a queen, I knew always what my duty would be. Husband, have I not been a good wife? Three children I have carried and borne for you, healthy and strong and good, obedient, intelligent, and fair of face and form. Love, I learned as a child, is naught but a game played by gods. In your bed, I learned no different. But when the midwife placed my shrieking daughter in my arms before giving her to the nursemaid, I felt—I learned, watching our first child grow, that never before had I truly understood love as the poets tell of it. You, mine king, lord of all my world, I thought I might love you, for you did give me mine children: Iphigenia, the first child of my heart and my body, and then in turn Orestes and Electra. I thought all was well, Husband, until you told me what my sister had done, what you and your brother had planned. A war for a woman who chose her own path? Aye, I raged that she was mad, a traitor, a temptress who deserved naught but pain. Mine own sister, with whom I played as a child. The one thing Helen did with which I did not agree, Husband, was leaving behind her only child. I have dreamt of running from all the trappings of queenship but I would never abandon my daughters or son. You will wage a war to salve your wounded pride, will raze a kingdom to punish one foolish prince and the daughter of a god, sister to your own loyal and obedient wife. Husband, with you against my own family I would have stood. The family of my girlhood, my parents and sister and brothers. Against the world, with you I would have stood. Loyalty and love do not go hand in hand. Obedience and love do not go hand in hand. Indifference and obedience and loyalty—aye, together they might stand. I obeyed you, in your bed and on your throne, at your feet and by your side. Loyalty of a god’s daughter, that is no small thing. I am not blessed as Helen is, neither as beautiful nor brilliant. But I am loyal. Loyalty, mine husband, is no small thing. Love, as the poets tell, can shake mountains. Love and loyalty—you told me our firstborn would marry Achilles, would bring blessings to our house and name. You told me my dearest Iphigenia would become a queen, a celebration to begin a war, and that all must be hurried before the winds would turn. And so I brought our children to where you gathered the might of Greece, dowry following, and Iphigenia dressed in all the finery due a king’s daughter and future king’s wife. Husband. Against the world and the gods, I would have stood with you. The duty of a wife, the burden I accepted. You put a knife to my child’s throat and spilt her blood to assuage your pride and offer apologies to the goddess you alone offended. You bled my daughter dry. Your soldiers held me in place to watch the sacrifice of the child I carried and bore, the child who was the first person for whom I ever loved. The winds turned and away you sailed, my surviving children too young yet to understand. I could blame Helen, or the goddess you so offended. I could blame the priests or your brother or all the kings hungry for more land and slaves and riches. I could blame anyone in the world to save our marriage and myself, the sanctity of our union and our son and daughter’s birthright. I could blame the fates. We are but playthings to the mightiest, are we not? But I know to whom the blame is due.

[tigriswolfwrites]

poem: Gluttony

Written August 8, 2023 Prompt: gluttony Note: three versions of the same poem

She builds the cage from bones. Her house, the trick and trap, the bait, she crafts with delights for a child's palate.

The magic sets in, fed on the same sustenance she craves. She is not greedy, she assures herself. One meal a month, the flesh to feed her, the life lost to feed the magic, and another layer of gingerbread to patch the trap.

The cage for her prey deepens, lengthens, strengthens from their bones. She feasts every time, one meal a month, and though she swears to store, to save, to fill the larder— Never, by the dusk of the day's cooking does anything remain.

And so she resets the trap, repairs the cage, and waits, hunger already beginning to gnaw at her gullet.

…

Her lure, she crafts from delights for a child's palate sweets and treats to trick and trap. She can't stand the taste herself but it does add to the delicious flavor she craves. The cage where she tends to her chattel, where her food grows plum enough to sate her perpetual hunger: the cage, she builds from bones. She feeds them well, each and every child, and on them, their flesh, and spark of life, she feasts. She then bakes another layer of gingerbread, boils another set of bones, and plans the next menu.

…

The trap, she bakes in gingerbread. The cage, she builds from bone. She feasts.