"Will you be my Elven queen?
For months, I've thought of nothing
But loving you alone
And kissing lips I've touched but once
And calling them my own."
"I'm yours," she wept. "'Tis naught I want
Than love you all your life
And nothing that I'd rather do
Than be King Jared's wife."
Can we drop lower in the spectrum for movies that inspired me? Yes. Yes we can. Here's something inspired by the largely forgettable The Bride. I'm proud to say my unending streak of rapists never getting the girl was not broken, by the way. Though this is one time he isn't killed.
The Creator
I made her—yes, I made her,
Made life as if I'm God,
Took lifeless flesh I disinterred
From corpses 'neath the sod,
Then sewed and grafted, smoothed and formed.
I made that perfect shell—
Then waited, waited 'til it stormed,
Those thunderclouds from Hell.
I'd waited, oh so patiently,
For her, some other's bride,
And yet I yearned so horribly
For her, my greatest pride.
How could I give my treasure
To this beast with heart of stone?
Why give this ape such pleasure
That I wanted for my own?
The monster was my creature,
Strange abortion of my skill.
I'd formed those fiendish features
With a foolish act of will.
Then, why compound that folly
With perfection, oh so rare,
And give him, so unworthy,
What I wanted none to share?
The monster could not have her,
Though I told him not a word,
Just let him wait and wonder
For I felt success assured.
The storm that night was very fierce
More frightening than before;
With lightning was the body pierced,
Too much, then even more.
And still the body came alive.
Its eyes blinked in surprise,
Then, when the monster did arrive,
Sheer terror filled her eyes.
I took her then, my precious doll,
Away. He was enraged!
And tore apart the granite hall
Where months he had been caged.
His fury and the furied night
Then set the lab afire,
So, with my maiden, I took flight
And fled the monster's ire.
A fool I was, a fool to think
He perished in the blaze,
Or drownéd in the murky drink,
Or choked on smoky haze.
That thing of Hell, it could not die,
And leave me to my peace.
Why curse me with its living lie,
Not bless with its decease?
I made him! Why impose
The bloody fiend of Hell on me?
I tore him from cold Death's repose—
Why can't he let me be?
And yet, I did not know he lived
So went on with my plans;
With knowledge only I could give,
She'd equal any man.
I wanted that, equivalence
In heart and soul and mind,
Though beauty, touched in reverence,
Would form the final bind.
I taught her, firmly teaching,
How to act and how to think,
How to stretch her mind with reaching,
How to travel to the brink
Of genius with the knowledge
Born of logic, math and science,
Of hist'ry, harsh and savage . . .
And I taught her self-reliance
While she gazed in adoration
At her mentor, teacher, me.
Oh, I cherished that affection
But I couldn't let her see.
I protected. I was waiting
Last of all to teach her love;
When she'd earned my highest rating,
Then I'd grasp that silken glove.
I wanted her! I needed her!
But held myself in rein.
I helped her genius to mature,
My soul in patient pain.
At night, I'd gaze upon her bed
With her so calm, asleep,
And bend to touch that glossy head
Or feel that velvet cheek,
Perhaps to kiss those wine-red lips
That seemed to call my name,
Or feel those limp white hands with grips
To drag me on to shame . . .
But always I resisted,
Gentle tempting, gentle call
And waited 'til she wished it,
When she begged me teach her all—
When she was more than everything
Than any man had known,
This perfect woman I would bring
And make her mine, my own.
But, 'til such time, I'd wait
And gaze in torture as she sleeps.
I didn't know it grew too late,
That close the monster creeps.
At last, she neared perfection,
But, alas, I was betrayed,
For a roué stole affection
Though 'twas just her form he craved.
But I was not a fool in this
And rushed to stop the deed,
Then halted them before their kiss
Had planted deeper seed.
I saw I'd almost missed my chance
To teach my lady love . . .
To hold her in that magic dance . . .
To grasp that silken glove.
Alas, the task was not of ease
For she was filled with ire
At me for stopping he that teased
That fiercesome virgin fire.
I tried to turn it on myself,
But she vowed only hate.
She spurned my love, my mind, my wealth;
She spurned my role as mate!
How could she, my creation,
Spurn the love as such as I?
Imagine my frustration
When I saw my maiden cry
O'er someone who cared not one whit
While I had loved so dear—
I moved the world as I saw fit
For her—had that a peer?
I made her, made her all she was
From flesh to perfect mind—
Now surely I had right and cause
To feel that she was mine.
Perhaps she had to feel the love,
The need I'd kept so long,
To feel that precious wonder of
Two arms, both firm and strong.
For beauty, I was beautiful,
My features firm, well-bred,
And every bone spoke classical
From legs to fine-boned head.
I kissed her as I'd wanted to
So many nights before.
I knew the time to wait was through;
I dragged her to the floor.
She fought, at first, but as I knew,
She'd recognize her heart,
And, for a moment, it was true,
I felt that passion start.
Alas, 'twas but a moment, for,
Just as her heart I found,
That monstrous creature crashed the door
And dragged her from the ground.
My maid, who had once screamed in fear
At this, clung to its hand.
Her look of loathing like a spear,
A pain I could not stand.
He left and took my precious doll,
Ungrateful of my care.
Now, of her, I know not at all—
How does my lovely fare?
She must regret her wretched choice
In that, the m
indless beast
Who has no mind and barely voice,
Who only lives to feast.
Did I instruct that precious mind
To live with such a thing?
What joys did that girl hope to find
Inside his copper ring?
I'm certain, now, she dreams of me . . .
Oh, God, I dream of her!
I hope she finds sweet freedom's key
For long, I can't endure.
I love her so. I love her.
I need her to be mine,
For all is pale, unclean, impure
And lost in dreams of wine.
I can't really call this original since variations of this story are pretty common. But I can't cite a singular source either. It's more like the story is built on a collection of many of them.
The Sea-maid
A seagull glides above a wave
Then takes another tack,
The wave like those of liquid gold
That curled along her back
And misted 'round her Dresden face
Like wisps of honey silk,
And caressed with light a shoulder fair
With skin as white as milk.
Her eyes of the celestial blue,
The blue of sky's midday,
So beautiful—so bright with tears . . .
They haunt him still today.
The lips so softly coral pink
And cheeks with seashell blush
And teeth of Neptune's finest pearls
That glowed so white, so lush.
The sea was calling out to him
And he rushed to obey,
Not worried much about the maid
Who cried for him that day.
He said he'd soon return and looked
Once more to warm his week,
And looked at china lashed by gold—
A tear poised on her cheek.
The days crept by—a week—then more.
She haunted, now, the beach
And prayed for what, with every day,
Seemed further out of reach.
Then, someone came to tell the ghost
That lived upon the shore
The ship he rode was swallowed whole
And he she loved, no more.
"How could you steal my lover, Sea,
You thief, you greedy witch?
Why do you take my treasure
When already you're so rich?
Why do you steal the only thing,
The one thing loved by me?"
She crossed the barren beach to cast
Herself into the sea.
The sea left but one to return
When dead she'd long since been,
With seasalt crusted in his beard
And body gaunt and thin.
He knew the maid who shed those tears,
Who cried to see him go,
That she'd not cry to see him live—
That she would never know.
Now, he wanders out to sea
And sees the seagull flee—
Gold and white like she he knew
And lost to hungry Sea.
He doesn't see the azure waves
Or know birds flee this place
For, in his mind, his eyes are filled
With her sweet weeping face.
Her hair whips by her fragile face
As she rises from the swell
With cheeks warmed with the sunset's glow,
And eyes a sapphire spell.
The azure waves are like her eyes—
The sea and maid are peers;
The sea-blue eyes are filled with brine. . .
The sea is full of tears.
Myths
I loved Greek mythology and, particularly when I was in high school, I wrote tons of poetry based on legends. Most were Greek mythology but there were a few other old stories I dusted off and put to rhyme. 'Cause that's how I roll. The first one, "Eurydice" (which I mispronounced as I'd never heard it spoken) was second place winner, if I recall correctly, in the Ashland Oregon Poetry Contest under my name back then, Stephanie Beck. I might have even won some money.
Eurydice
Many nights I strum the lyre string
And the sound is soft and sweet.
Many travel still to hear me
For it makes torn souls complete.
But, to one soul, it means nothing;
Only tears can it impart.
No elixir of my music
Can repair my rendered heart.
The years seem eons, ages,
Since I traveled, young and free,
When the songs my harp would whisper
Would bring everyone to me.
Women young and soldiers aged
Came to hear my siren lyre,
Came to lose themselves in music,
Dulcet sounds of sweet desire.
And the voice that my harp sang with,
I could match with voice my own.
Orpheus, the master minstrel,
Come and hear his golden tone!
Come and hear the sunshine singing
In the wonder of his throat!
Come hear Apollo's rival
Play his nectar-scented note!
I had played for many women.
I had played for many men.
They had gathered all around me
In the courtyard or the glen,
But a face I found familiar
I would see each time I played,
And it listened there, in rapture,
To the music that I made.
Then, one day, when I had finished,
And the face, it turned to flee,
But I captured its sweet wearer
For her eyes had captured me.
Molten blue and filled with sunlight
Were the pair of liquid eyes
And they filled her face with beauty,
Eyes so young yet very wise.
The girl the face belonged to
Was so sweet, so wondrous fair,
From her feet, so lithe and lightsome,
To her iridescent hair,
From her long and tapered fingers
To her smoothly slender hips,
From her long and luscious lashes
To her cushioned crimson lips.
I asked her if she loved me,
And her eyes grew wondrous bright.
"Oh, how can I but love you
When your music brings me light?
To love, why that is simple,
And, for me, an easy task.
Do I love you? Am I breathing?
Darling, you need never ask."
I heard that voice, so soft and gentle,
Sweet as songs I'd often played,
And I knew my heart was stolen,
Taken by this gentle maid.
"What's your name, my precious beauty?
Will you come and be my wife?
Can you be what I've been seeking?
Can it be you are my life?"
"Eurydice," she whispered
And my heart took off in flight.
She was mine, this dainty maiden,
Bathing me in radiant light.
Melody within her name called,
Gave my voice its lyric wings.
Breezes played across my harp-strings:
"Eurydice," they'd sing.
So, we married. So, we wedded,
Bound in union, firm and tight,
And I watched her step down gaily,
With her walk, so soft and light,
When, from a hidden pile of rubble,
Noxious viper reared to strike,
Struck with its unreasoned fury,
Killed her with its fangéd pike!
O! My voice cried out in anguish,
In a note, so woeful fair.
"Call her back!" my heart sobbed to me,
"Lure her back from Hades' lair!"
So I
sang a sweet entreaty,
Begged returning to my call.
Rocks and trees, they traveled to me—
But she didn't move at all.
Music sung with special fervor
As I sang so wretchedly.
Streams would break through banks at beck'ning;
They would come to answer me.
Lyre-strings played expressest anguish.
Both, we pleaded for my wife.
Everything that heard came to me . . .
But we could not give her life!
I could not endure my sorrow.
Music could not soothe my grief.
All I saw was her, my angel,
Falling like an autumn leaf.
I must get her back, I realized.
There was nothing here for me.
What was there to make life magic?
Without her, what could there be?
So I journeyed to the Darkness,
Soothing guardians with my lyre,
And, at last, I found dread Hades,
Darkest land of vengeful fire.
Sang my song and touched the Dark God
While his Queen's eyes filled with tears.
"Come!" I sang, "My own sweet darling,
Come to join me! Dry my tears!"
Hades bid me journey from them
With my wife a step behind,
But I had no reassurance;
Of my love, I travelled blind.
If I turned back for a moment,
Back to Hades she would fly.
Never could I journey back there;
Never would she see the sky.
Back I longed to turn my gaze
For I could not hear her step.
Why, at breathing, was she silent
And, at walking, so adept?
Always, she had been so quiet.
Was she there? I longed to know!
But I kept my eyes cast forward
Searching for the daylight's glow.
All at once, the dazzling beauty:
In the sun I strode with glee,
Turning back to clasp my cherished,
Beckoning my love to me.
But, alas, she stood in darkness;
As I reached, she slipped away.
Molten eyes she turned in leaving.
"Fare thee well. . . " I heard her say.
Back again I surged to get her—
I could not live with this fate,
But in vain were all my prayers
As I hammered on the gate.
Gods do not give second chances.
I had squandered my full scope
And was doomed to world of living
Without love and without hope.
Now, I wander without reason—
Where I am I do not care.
Still I play to charm the creatures,
Empty sounds with her not there.
Every note reminds me of her;
Every song her face revives.
Ah, the music brings her vision,
But it can't make her alive.
Listen, listen to my music!
Healing it can still impart,
But the solace it can give you
Cannot touch my rendered heart.
Every heartbeat brings me anguish;
Pain increases with each breath.
Music cannot cure my heartbreak.
All surcease will come with death.
The Siren
Musings of a Nascent Poet Page 8