Pilgrims lost their way and wept, hearts broken
at the plundered tomb of their slain goddess.
Forests withered; deserts grew. Clouds stood still
for summons from a silent rain goddess.
Did you tremble before rocket engines
that ended your long lunar reign, goddess?
The old arthritic masters paint you vain,
so I near missed you dressed so plain, goddess.
Myths tell of deities for all things of
sky and sea. Come fly, oh airplane goddess.
Gasoline, butane, ethylene, your names
burn bright, oh my fiery propane goddess.
I’ll sing the verse, the chorus, chant. I’ll keep
the lonely beat for your refrain, goddess.
—
Another goddess poem that kind of references this one, this one, this one, this one, and this one. I wonder if the other two goddesses will get their own poems some day.
I first posted the couplets on Twitter. I’ve been doing that with some of my old ghazals too and seeing how (or if) they work as tweets.
James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.
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