For Paul Brookes’ Special Ekphrastic Challenge, Day Twenty-Three, a response to all three works below.
Fates and Fables
Legs, curves, the apple-breasts that tempt—
lascivious wretch, beneath contempt,
she wants to seduce, she’s wanton and witch,
and she makes you itch and twitch–
of course, she’s weak, it’s never you,
but somehow, she is powerful, too—
there’s no logic, and it’s not fair
she can curse bodies, make rank the air
she must be bound and constrained,
kept guarded, restrained,
from knowledge–her poor mind
is feeble, and you’re only being kind,
because she’s the root of all evil,
cursed for eternity, the cause of upheavals.
You hate yourself–you can’t stay chaste,
it’s her fault you taste
her lips and smell her scent. You cry to the crowd
they seethe and shout,
You raise your symbols–cross, star, flag, book, fruit—
and they scatter, rampage, burn, hang, bomb, shoot.
The mob does not think at all,
they simply heed your strident call
in ferocious fury, they are the judges,
there is no jury
of her peers–
for far too many years. . .
Perhaps a day comes, of peaceful blue
calm colors and serene hues,
perhaps it comes, or perhaps it’s a fable,
perhaps we find the way, perhaps someday, we’re able.