#the poem is about persephone

[alegocarmadein]

Long read ahead I do warn.

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

Somber. Morose. Melancholy. Those three are my holy grail of insane meanings.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

Yeah my own work, the Shaman was too late. So, I wrote it in 2021. Very beginning of 2021. I had just been put on bupropian, after years of trying anti-depressants, it finally worked. Slowly. But I still had psychosis, so I'm getting less depressed but I'm still psychotic. And literally the last day of 2020 into the early hours of Jan 1st 2021, I listened to (and binged) Kane and Feels. Obsessed. FUCKING OBSESSED. IMMEDIATELY. But I was off of social media in its entirety, so I had one (1) person to scream at and she was busy in school and shit. So I turn my mind to fanfiction. Psychosis is a BITCH. It robbed me of my memory during and after, it made me paranoid, and a horrible insomniac. So I sit in my room and formulate this plot in the early hours of morning, just muttering to myself. This weird story that would not ever truly make sense but vaguely had a plot and a destination. And I wrote it! And because my memory was so terribly dogshit, every night and every morning, in between edits and writing fits, I would read it. Uh. Out loud. It took hours to read, partially because of how long it was, partially because my reading skills were close to non existent. For a while I considered making a podfic of it to go along with it, but I didn't have recording equipment or money! I was really isolated and spent well over a hundred, maybe two hundred hours on a 13k fic. My writing skills at the time were…diminished, and far from polished, so it took a lot of edits to make it readable. But it was my baby. It was the first fic I'd truly fallen in love with of my own. And eventually I posted it and didn't hate it like all of my others. I would reread it every month, sometimes every week after, checking for errors (of which there were many). Again, my baby. And still, I consider it one of my best fics, this fic I wrote in between 16 hour sleeps, interrupted often by hallucinations and paranoia attacks. And its just terribly special to me, because I know it so very well. I spent two months writing it, and I love that fic, truly. 

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

Okay its not really a subject matter, but fluff? So hard. Don't get me wrong, I can come up with it and put it on paper….but keeping it around is sooooo very hard. I am very much a kill-the-part-of-you-that-cringes, but with kaf especially….eeek. Like the first bit of physical affection I think we've ever been aware of them doing is in the end of WHY, right? So writing close affection is like….babe no, this is Kane we're talking about. but….I think I've had enough independent events/developments (character wise) through my string of fics that I can stretch the lines a bit and put in a little affection here and there. Not super shippy either, just…"holy fuck I'm so glad you're alive that really sucked man." oh and verbal affection is a BITCH. Dude NO. I can't. it never sounds reasonable. I can't do fluffy I CAN'T DO FLUFFY. I'M A MAN OF ANGST DEAR READER. ANGST. Anyway, I wrote a fic about them waltzing. You should read it. And I'm also really proud of the next of kin scene in Next of Kin.

And memory related magic trauma whatzits are my favorite thing to write. I have it so many fics of mine. Psychosis <3 you are so fun to write about, my beloathed.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

This is from The Shaman was too late, near the very end.

"Lucifer Kane is standing on a cliff, overseeing a hazy ocean with a soft lavender-grey sky. Distant golden-grey light shines through the clouds, and the smell of salt and a gust of a warm, ocean breeze puts him at ease."

First off, full name, this is serious talk. Usually I call him Kane, Lucifer when I'm trying to make a point, full name is for introductions and endings. The present tense is something I very rarely do, I generally get tripped up with present tense. The only other time recently I've used it is in Next of Kin at the very end of chapter 4-7, where Kane notices Brutus and is back in the present moment. Weird choice. And I don't really know why I had such a clear image of the hazy ocean with the golden light, streaming down, crepuscular rays (god's rays) streaming from the cloud, but still hazy. The lavender grey was such a spur of the moment thing while I was writing it, it's the color theme for the fic, the other worlds are lavender grey all over. I knew I wanted an emotional yet…like…quiet moment for them being reunited? Keep in mind at that point only season one and WHO, the first ep of season two had been put out, so no hand squeezes, no ocean, not yet, no reuniting, and I didn't know if kaf would ever be coming back. Sigh. Rough times. Well the scene at least hit dyn hard enough for them to make some really baller art of that scene, so I'm happy.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

so…..so much. Most of the time at least. Big fics are almost guaranteed to have a separate notes document with a general outline, to keep my ideas on track. You usually find them in the final end note on the fic, though occasionally they're too messy to really share. This is actually what has tripped me up so bad with the sequel to Next of Kin that I've been working on FOR A FUCKING YEAR NOW, JESUS, is that I wrote an outline for an ending, went a completely different direction, wrote a new outline, then changed it again and now I'm super duper stuck and have no clue how to get to the end. :\ 

It's a document with bullet points or checkboxes with short plot points and weird details/characters/places I want to add. I ignore them at my will. I actually do enjoy it…for any other fic than the elphame fic. jesus.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

a fucken weirdo. Not like. WEIRD weirdo, just a weirdo. like, that artist who did the beautiful, colorful cat potraits that look very interesting? the one who had schizophrenia so now everyone attributes the weirder ones to his mental illness instead of to his creative ability? louis wain? I feel like they'd attribute all the weirder stuff I write to mental illness, when instead that was hand crafted and delivered by my loving, not-really-stable-i-kinda-have-a-tremor-but-lets-pretend hands.

(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/12/Louis_wain_cats.png)

(my ao3) https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlegoCarmadein/profile

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

(Not my poem (rest of the post is a poem))

Ode to Silence by Edna St. Vincent Millay

---

Aye, but she?

Your other sister and my other soul

Grave Silence, lovelier

Than the three loveliest maidens, what of her?

Clio, not you,

Not you, Calliope,

Nor all your wanton line,

Not Beauty's perfect self shall comfort me

For Silence once departed,

For her the cool-tongued, her the tranquil-hearted,

Whom evermore I follow wistfully,

Wandering Heaven and Earth and Hell and the four seasons through;

Thalia, not you,

Not you, Melpomene,

Not your incomparable feet, O thin Terpsichore, I seek in this great hall,

But one more pale, more pensive, most beloved of you all.

I seek her from afar,

I come from temples where her altars are,

From groves that bear her name,

Noisy with stricken victims now and sacrificial flame,

And cymbals struck on high and strident faces

Obstreperous in her praise

They neither love nor know,

A goddess of gone days,

Departed long ago,

Abandoning the invaded shrines and fanes

Of her old sanctuary,

A deity obscure and legendary,

Of whom there now remains,

For sages to decipher and priests to garble,

Only and for a little while her letters wedged in marble,

Which even now, behold, the friendly mumbling rain erases,

And the inarticulate snow,

Leaving at last of her least signs and traces

None whatsoever, nor whither she is vanished from these places.

"She will love well," I said,

"If love be of that heart inhabiter,

The flowers of the dead;

The red anemone that with no sound

Moves in the wind, and from another wound

That sprang, the heavily-sweet blue hyacinth,

That blossoms underground,

And sallow poppies, will be dear to her.

And will not Silence know

In the black shade of what obsidian steep

Stiffens the white narcissus numb with sleep?

(Seed which Demeter's daughter bore from home,

Uptorn by desperate fingers long ago,

Reluctant even as she,

Undone Persephone,

And even as she set out again to grow

In twilight, in perdition's lean and inauspicious loam).

She will love well," I said,

"The flowers of the dead;

Where dark Persephone the winter round,

Uncomforted for home, uncomforted,

Lacking a sunny southern slope in northern Sicily,

With sullen pupils focussed on a dream,

Stares on the stagnant stream

That moats the unequivocable battlements of Hell,

There, there will she be found,

She that is Beauty veiled from men and Music in a swound."

"I long for Silence as they long for breath

Whose helpless nostrils drink the bitter sea;

What thing can be

So stout, what so redoubtable, in Death

What fury, what considerable rage, if only she,

Upon whose icy breast,

Unquestioned, uncaressed,

One time I lay,

And whom always I lack,

Even to this day,

Being by no means from that frigid bosom weaned away,

If only she therewith be given me back?"

I sought her down that dolorous labyrinth,

Wherein no shaft of sunlight ever fell,

And in among the bloodless everywhere

I sought her, but the air,

Breathed many times and spent,

Was fretful with a whispering discontent,

And questioning me, importuning me to tell

Some slightest tidings of the light of day they know no more,

Plucking my sleeve, the eager shades were with me where I went.

I paused at every grievous door,

And harked a moment, holding up my hand,—and for a space

A hush was on them, while they watched my face;

And then they fell a-whispering as before;

So that I smiled at them and left them, seeing she was not there.

I sought her, too,

Among the upper gods, although I knew

She was not like to be where feasting is,

Nor near to Heaven's lord,

Being a thing abhorred

And shunned of him, although a child of his,

(Not yours, not yours; to you she owes not breath,

Mother of Song, being sown of Zeus upon a dream of Death).

Fearing to pass unvisited some place

And later learn, too late, how all the while,

With her still face,

She had been standing there and seen me pass, without a smile,

I sought her even to the sagging board whereat

The stout immortals sat;

But such a laughter shook the mighty hall

No one could hear me say:

Had she been seen upon the Hill that day?

And no one knew at all

How long I stood, or when at last I sighed and went away.

There is a garden lying in a lull

Between the mountains and the mountainous sea,

I know not where, but which a dream diurnal

Paints on my lids a moment till the hull

Be lifted from the kernel

And Slumber fed to me.

Your foot-print is not there, Mnemosene,

Though it would seem a ruined place and after

Your lichenous heart, being full

Of broken columns, caryatides

Thrown to the earth and fallen forward on their jointless knees,

And urns funereal altered into dust

Minuter than the ashes of the dead,

And Psyche's lamp out of the earth up-thrust,

Dripping itself in marble wax on what was once the bed

Of Love, and his young body asleep, but now is dust instead.

There twists the bitter-sweet, the white wisteria Fastens its fingers in the strangling wall,

And the wide crannies quicken with bright weeds;

There dumbly like a worm all day the still white orchid feeds;

But never an echo of your daughters' laughter

Is there, nor any sign of you at all

Swells fungous from the rotten bough, grey mother of Pieria!

Only her shadow once upon a stone

I saw,—and, lo, the shadow and the garden, too, were gone.

I tell you you have done her body an ill,

You chatterers, you noisy crew!

She is not anywhere!

I sought her in deep Hell;

And through the world as well;

I thought of Heaven and I sought her there;

Above nor under ground

Is Silence to be found,

That was the very warp and woof of you,

Lovely before your songs began and after they were through!

Oh, say if on this hill

Somewhere your sister's body lies in death,

So I may follow there, and make a wreath

Of my locked hands, that on her quiet breast

Shall lie till age has withered them!

                             (Ah, sweetly from the rest

I see

Turn and consider me

Compassionate Euterpe!)

"There is a gate beyond the gate of Death,

Beyond the gate of everlasting Life,

Beyond the gates of Heaven and Hell," she saith,

"Whereon but to believe is horror!

Whereon to meditate engendereth

Even in deathless spirits such as I

A tumult in the breath,

A chilling of the inexhaustible blood

Even in my veins that never will be dry,

And in the austere, divine monotony

That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.

This is her province whom you lack and seek;

And seek her not elsewhere.

Hell is a thoroughfare

For pilgrims,—Herakles,

And he that loved Euridice too well,

Have walked therein; and many more than these;

And witnessed the desire and the despair

Of souls that passed reluctantly and sicken for the air;

You, too, have entered Hell,

And issued thence; but thence whereof I speak

None has returned;—for thither fury brings

Only the driven ghosts of them that flee before all things.

Oblivion is the name of this abode: and she is there."

Oh, radiant Song! Oh, gracious Memory!

Be long upon this height

I shall not climb again!

I know the way you mean,—the little night,

And the long empty day,—never to see

Again the angry light,

Or hear the hungry noises cry my brain!

Ah, but she,

Your other sister and my other soul,

She shall again be mine;

And I shall drink her from a silver bowl,

A chilly thin green wine,

Not bitter to the taste,

Not sweet,

Not of your press, oh, restless, clamorous nine,—

To foam beneath the frantic hoofs of mirth—

But savoring faintly of the acid earth,

And trod by pensive feet

From perfect clusters ripened without haste

Out of the urgent heat

In some clear glimmering vaulted twilight under the odorous vine.

Lift up your lyres! Sing on!

But as for me, I seek your sister whither she is gone.

Weird Questions for Writers (because writers are weird)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you’ve always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice…what do you Know?

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

[gingermintpepper]

So, now that Blood of Zeus has also been given its chance to tell the Demeter/Persephone story (and also, similarly, fundamentally misunderstood the themes of the Hymn to Demeter) can we finally, finally talk about Mother Love?

Because I can scream until I'm blue in the face about how modern, popular interpretations of the myth have become so focused on being 'empowering' to women by fixating on giving power to Persephone in her marriage with Hades and, in turn, disparaging Demeter, another woman, - the mother who grieves her lost daughter - that they've some how spun all the way around and gotten back to being misogynistic and reductive, but I feel like talking nebulously about the fact that it's Demeter and Persephone's story and not Hades and Persephone's story never gets the point across hard enough. So:

Anyone who was upset about Demeter's demonisation in Blood of Zeus S2? Read Mother Love. Anyone who is ever upset that retellings of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter constantly demonise, belittle, accuse and insult Demeter and her grief while making excuses to redeem and forgive her daughter's captor? Read Mother Love. Anyone who likes Hades and Persephone as a romantic tale but yearn for complexity outside of arbitrary romantic antagonists impeding the happiness of the couple? Read Mother Love!! Everyone who has even a passing interest in this tale whether it is for the romance, the mother-daughter connections, the themes of grief and loss and eventual comfort and compromise, the wrath of the mother transgressed, the justice that is served due to a mother's insistence in an unjust society, READ MOTHER LOVE!!!

Because it pains me that such a perfect retelling of Demeter and Persephone's story exists, that it focuses on the mother-daughter relationship by comparing it with the poet's own relationship with her mother and it is nearly obscure in the greek mythology community.

[itchyeye]

the burning heart by louise glück | mag 92 nothing beside remains | mag 160 the eye opens

[bittersweetresilience]

how do you think aromanticism can be expressed visually? im not talking flags or anything else as an ID, i mean the experience through art // an aro asking an aro

like.. can you think of the symbol or trope or metaphor of how aromanticism can be expressed? im an artist who has the opposite of artblock rn so i think of such questions a lot sometimes :D i can think of anatomically gorey correct heart or the lack of attraction/"pull" like an anchor

its interesting to hear a writer's pov of the same question :]

before i say anything else i would like to say the idea of aromanticism as an anatomically correct heart is so fucking sick and i love this.

to me the first thing i thought of was... aromanticism as seeing the world through a slightly different color palette? almost like looking at things from behind a pane of vaguely tinted glass. you can see things happening, but they don't appeal to you the same way they do to everyone else. you can imitate it but it sort of feels like you're miming.

other images that came to mind (depressing)...

the center of mass in a binary system. the two stars are doomed to orbit closer and closer until they collide and go supernova, and despite being in the middle you are sort of just there, invisibly.

a black hole.

a knife.

a train where each passenger keeps getting off until you are the only one left sitting.

snow. a wintry landscape.

a dream.

other images that came to mind (less depressing)...

a plant!! maybe a tree. maybe a full canopy.

a notebook.

a rope used for rappelling.

pandas. i don't know why but they seem so aromantic to me.

a long drive at night on the way to pick up a friend.

the beach in the evening. if you listen to a seashell you can hear the ocean of your identity inside, just as sure as the waves that wash over your feet.

[glasswaters]

come, my sweet, and let me hold you on the way up. this road was paved an age ago, and the stone has cracked. the grasses underneath their blanket are ripe for their bloom, and your mother has started singing again.

let me wind gold into your hair and cold into your breath. i would bleach your tunic and take from your feet the sandals worn soft with use. my mouth against the hollow of your throat, your hair a spill across my chest; come lay on my shoulders the weight of this journey.

i will help you along, if you let me.

little godling, little would-be priestess, little gem; won't you take matrimony's hand on the long walk that devastated Orpheus? spring is budding, and your mother is waiting.

in six months, the leaves will fall again.

[sailermoon]

C. S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces // Louise Glück, Persephone the Wanderer

[theprinceandthewitch]

I just finished watching all of the videos featuring Alice's and Orpheus' lore... and it just confirms for me that this fanbase doesn't know the lore of this game LMAO.

Thank god someone made this reddit post so I'd have an easier time keeping track of key details...

I'm going to make a bigger post at a later date, but I just wanted to point out something important:

The Prologue and the first act of Time of Reunion is set-up for the reveal of Orpheus being "Nightmare" - the person who is creating and carrying out the games. It is also setting up the reveal of Orpheus being the child of the forest ranger who is responsible for the death of Alice's parents. The blond man and woman in this painting are Alice's parents, not Orpheus'.

There's also this letter mentioning Orpheus' sick mother. Orpheus' father planned to rob from the DeRoss family fortune so he could pay for her healthcare.

Here's the same painting taken from AoM - its also in the same room as the TOR painting. It's interesting how Orpheus remembers the maid and his father as forest rangers when in reality his father was the forest ranger.

A photo of Alice and her parents from AoM:

Alice calling Orpheus her playmate:

Orpheus' knows the Nightingale Song that opens all the doors in the manor and the outside gate, which implies he was an unwitting participant in his fathers scheme to murder the DeRoss family and steal their fortune.

The nightingale song in AOM is the same one used in The Novelist backstory video by the way. Timestamp is 0:39

There's just SO MUCH to unpack lmao.

[amalgamationink]

NAPOWRIMO24 #30: persephone (after the party's over)

[braceletofteeth]

Jongwoo and Moonjo as Persephone and Hades: a Greek Gods AU

Hades was the ruler of the Dead

but he coveted Life

Life was the most powerful

and the most lovely

for they had yet to learn

about their own cruelty

Life pleaded with him:

“If I stay by your side,

I will become something else.”

Hades laughed,

more enamored than ever

Life was afraid

but too curious to part

Life gave so much,

they wanted to know what would happen

if they took it all away

if they destroyed what others took for granted

And Hades saw into the future then

one day, undoubtedly, he too would be

at the other end of Life's mercy

challenged

tormented

and grateful

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

Trista Mateer ~ Persephone Made Me Do It

[mistahjs-jester]

A prayer/poem to Demeter and Persephone:

The leaves crunch under my feet

I am grateful.

I am grateful for the sun

I am grateful for the harvest.

I am grateful.

Thank you,

For everything.

Thank you for the sun

Shining on my life

Thank you for the world

Of fruit and vegetables

Thank you for making

My life worth living-

Thank you for being here.

I praise you,

In the name of light and darkness

I praise your names

I praise your way of living

I praise what you do

And I praise what you won't.

A new harvest comes

And I am excited-

Excited for growth,

Excited for time to move forward

And excited to meet you in my dreams

If I may

Thank you- this is for you ❤️

[gingermintpepper]

Mother Love - Demeter and Persephone in poetry

Alright, so, let's finally talk about Mother Love.

I've spent the past couple of weeks compiling most of the poems from my physical copy of Mother Love into a publicly accessible google doc because there is a quite frankly embarrassing lack of archiving of this particular anthology of Dove's work and I am genuinely and greatly saddened that it is not a work more commonly brought up when discussing Demeter/Hades/Persephone retellings and reinterpretations for modern audiences.

In order to speak about what Mother Love is, I first need to address what it is not. It's not a coming of age story which portrays Persephone as a caged bird under a too-smothering Demeter. It's not a love story where Hades is some valiant hero who rescues an innocent maiden and through his love empowers her to be her truest self. It does not demonise Demeter, who has forever lost her daughter, it does not demonise Hades, who took that daughter away.

Instead, Mother Love is, perhaps, the truest interpretation of the themes of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter that I've seen, down to the structure of the anthology mimicking the hymn's narrative structure. It is the story of a mother who loses her daughter, of the grief that ensues as she worries for her, of her being pitied and given empty words instead of help finding her, of her trying to soothe herself by filling the void with new children that are not her own. It is the story of a daughter who loses her way, who went seeking flowers and was unwittingly caught in the machinations of those in higher positions of power than her, of the kingdom she is promised and refuses, of the changes she goes through in this new, strange world without her consent and how those changes will define her the rest of her life. It is the story of a lonely king overrun with ennui who wants companionship but never asks, of he who tries in vain to tempt with wealth and land and must ultimately yield to the love of a mother. Not even the lord of the dread Underworld can escape that all-consuming mother's love and this was a theme found all over greek mythology and their literature, and it is also the theme that has been unfortunately and miserably lost as we've told and retold the tale of Hades and Persephone time and time again.

Please, please read this work, and if you enjoy it, do consider picking up an actual copy of the anthology. There is so much to be gained from speaking of the Demeter/Hades/Persephone myth as one of nuance and devoid of the unnecessary moralisations and accusations that we habitually foist onto cultural figures and heroes in an attempt to validate our opinions and interpretations to our peers. In my compilation, I did leave out three poems: Breakfast of Champions, Blue Days, Nature's Itinerary, mainly because I did not think they were relevant -- but I'm always open to requests for those poems to be added to the doc if anybody gets curious. Below I've also attached a few of my favourite short poems from this anthology so people can get an idea for the content that is included in the doc.

@gotstabbedbyapen who requested a way to read these poems but could not find them, I sincerely hope you enjoy them <3

[redactedresearch]

i wonder about the modern retellings of persephone's abduction and how it reflects society's (children of all ages) views of their mothers

[anotherclassicpretence]

Eurydice- Look Back at Me

I was laid to rest by a bitter sting, Yet it was in a field of nectar that I awoke, For I knew then the love that made you sing, When that Goddess smiled at me and spoke.

Words of welcome too lovely to hear, A sight too divine for earth or heaven- Truly has she shined her brightest here, Outstripped all those wonders seven.

Beauty, my love, beyond even your song, Elegance that thrilled with every step and glance, She gently took my hand and skipped along, The Fields were lit up by her joyous dance.

The days in Asphodel are cursed to be listless, A collection of mundane days to eternity, But she came so often us wanderers to bless, Her gentle joy never faded from me.

I love you more than all the world, Orpheus, But now that world is left behind, And though I will never forget us, There is a new passion erupting in my mind.

It is a love beyond return's desire, A love that will never seek to take, Only plunge headlong into the fire, And leave fiery beauty in its wake.

Today, she comes to me, awash with charm, And tells me you have bargained for my life, "Come!" She says, and takes me into her arms, "Orpheus has claimed you, his beloved wife."

Return to earth, and be with you again?

Rest on the grass as you play with my hair? Oh, but what is this shot of pain, This refusal to leave Hades' deathly air?

Goddess of spring, you have made me yours, This divine love of mine reigns supreme, And though my earthly passion forever endures, My past life is now little more than a dream.

But go I must, for it must be my fate- A second passion cut off in its prime, Will you embrace me again after the wait, When I return for the final time?

Yet, the condition- is it then true? Oh, give me not hope- it cannot be! My memory will always worship you- But Orpheus, look back, look back at me!

[spiritdreamt]

brain blasting about louise glück persephone poems. if you even care

[chuuyrr]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ 𓆩 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 ‧₊ 𓆪 fallen angel! dazai osamu , f! angel! reader . . .

dazai osamu descends from heaven's heights, burdened by his own demons and desires. amidst his descent, he encounters you, a beacon of purity. regardless of his dark past and the weight of his transgressions, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to your innocence and light, and so the fallen grapples with the ultimate sacrifice, to fall from grace for the chance at true love.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ on-going, slow updates . . .

𝐂𝐖(𝐬) ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ angels! au, religious themes: inspired by éloa (1824), a poem about a f! angel falling for a "stranger", which is also inspired by the hades and persephone myth, mostly sfw, only one chapter will contain nsfw and it can be skipped

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ i can fix him (no really i can), but daddy i love him, guilty as sin?, false god by taylor swift

‧₊ ࿐ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 .ᐟ

𝐢. 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋, 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

sfw. in which he sought to reclaim his lost light, and like a moth to a flame, he found it in you, an angel of light

𝐢𝐢. 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍, 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

nsfw. amidst tangled bedsheets, you yearn for his love and grace, echoing their own longing for acceptance.

this chapter can be skipped .ᐟ

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑, 𝐈'𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

sfw. despite all, he chooses you, and you choose him too, even it means to fall again just to take you with him

𝐀.𝐍. ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ this is my official submission for @kentopedia's "love through the ages" collab event. it was supposed to be a oneshot fic only for fallen angel! dazai osamu, but i just recently decided to turn it into series fic .ᐟ