Elusive Athena Posted a Video

becks28nz:

Hiddleston : Thor 2 With Action Figures!

Candle in the Wind - my Michael Jackson tribute

Goodbye Peter Pan

Though I never knew you in life

Your soul reached out to me

And millions more in need.

Brought up in the spotlight

In a haze of sweat and pain

A swallow in a family cage

Locked in with a golden chain

***

And it seemed to me, you lived your life

Like a candle in the wind

Eclipsing all the others, though the rain set in

Although the curtain’s fallen now

Your voice will echo still

Although your candle flickered out

Your legend never will.

 ***

Flashing, spinning lights

Moonwalking across the stage

The public loved your voice, your moves

But fame was the price you paid

As your dream evolved

You were surrounded by false rumours; lies

And parasites who fed from you

 ***

And it seemed to me, you lived your life

Like a candle in the wind

Hiding from the stormclouds, when the rain set in.

An adult with a child’s eyes, for all your poise and skill

But though your candle flickered out

Your legend never will.

 ***

They lied to break your pride.

The man of many faces

Now has nowhere to hide.

Tortured in your soul

All you gave was love, innocent and frail       

They threw it back at you

Reflected through a twisted veil

 ***

Goodbye Peter Pan,

Though I never knew you in life, you are a part of me

Although your dream has passed.

Goodbye Peter Pan,

The children of the world, we bless your memory

We hope that you’ve found peace at last

 ***

And it seemed to me, you lived your life

Like a candle in the wind

Blazing, as the sunset of your life set in

But time never will defeat

The man it came to kill

For though your candle was snuffed out

Your legend never will.

****

By Laura Athena, with thanks to Elton John’s “Candle in the Wind”

Elusive Athena Posted a Photo

truckdrivingphilosopher:

mystery-ana:

Red ArcherModel: Katya SevernayaPhoto: Anya Sergeeva (me) 

Edward Burne-Jones would have painted this woman! Beautiful
(she looks like someone I know!)

Oh he would have, wouldn’t he? She looks just like one of his mysterious, elusive women, with the hidden, untold depths within her eyes. And thank you! I wish I looked like that…

truckdrivingphilosopher:

mystery-ana:

Red Archer

Model: Katya Severnaya
Photo: Anya Sergeeva (me) 

Edward Burne-Jones would have painted this woman! Beautiful

(she looks like someone I know!)

Oh he would have, wouldn’t he? She looks just like one of his mysterious, elusive women, with the hidden, untold depths within her eyes. And thank you! I wish I looked like that…

A while ago, on the spur of sudden inspiration, I wrote a haiku to express the startlingly beautiful spectacle of a silvery-branched deciduous tree spreading like a gleaming mist or coral fan in front of a larger evergreen fig. Today I wrote a few more, discovering the incredible suggestive power of three lined, syllable-conserving poems. Each of the haikus are different interpretations of the exact same image - the two trees described above. Yet how different each emotion evoked by each poem!
***
Water-colour web;
Wet on wet, grey into green:
Whose brush, whose artistry?
***

Bleached and silvered fronds
Of air-touched coral, mingling
With dark earth’s kelp.
***

Someone drew a veil
Of shimmering silver grey
Round our green lady.
***

Innocent mortal 
Sees the unconcealing fig
Display modesty.
***

The bare boughed plane links
Greying twigs with verdant figs;
Girl and crone link hands.

Elusive Athena Posted a Photo

Petition to Aesclipus failed,
The invalid wandered for a time within her mind,
Railing at the Fates for their injustice;
Sorrow racked and shuddering.
Mind circling on the endless possibilities
Of a long life, and misused opportunities.
And the teeth of Cerberus,
Cold Hades and the coming restless mist.
A long time spent thus, sobbing in a curl
Of brittle bones and fragile spine,
Fearful of crying too hard; crying too loud,
For worn and weakened lungs protest. 
And stern gods frown.
Until upon her jutting vertebrae
A gentle brush of wings - the faintest kiss
Of warmth and springtime’s mirth; ephemeral
The butterfly alighted, and the patient turned,
Stilling her sobs, so not to fright it with convulsions.
Gently - a twig-thin bridge for tiny feet,
Over the shoulder, brought around -
And the sick girl looked and smiled upon
The fluttering thing in her cupped hands,
Vibrant with colours; soon to dim and die, yet unafraid.
The frail hands trembled like the beating wings,
Loth to let hope take flight.

Petition to Aesclipus failed,

The invalid wandered for a time within her mind,

Railing at the Fates for their injustice;

Sorrow racked and shuddering.

Mind circling on the endless possibilities

Of a long life, and misused opportunities.

And the teeth of Cerberus,

Cold Hades and the coming restless mist.

A long time spent thus, sobbing in a curl

Of brittle bones and fragile spine,

Fearful of crying too hard; crying too loud,

For worn and weakened lungs protest. 

And stern gods frown.

Until upon her jutting vertebrae

A gentle brush of wings - the faintest kiss

Of warmth and springtime’s mirth; ephemeral

The butterfly alighted, and the patient turned,

Stilling her sobs, so not to fright it with convulsions.

Gently - a twig-thin bridge for tiny feet,

Over the shoulder, brought around -

And the sick girl looked and smiled upon

The fluttering thing in her cupped hands,

Vibrant with colours; soon to dim and die, yet unafraid.

The frail hands trembled like the beating wings,

Loth to let hope take flight.

Ode to a Bush-Magpie (Stanza I)

My heart wakes, and the purest brightness bathes my day,

As though in water aureate

I’d plunged, and risen in a spray

Of joyful drops; elation’s scintillate.

My soul aches not to understand,

But hearkens tranced within the aria:

A ragg’d, pi-feathered piper of the trees,

In some still-dreaming stand

Of eucalypt and nectared banksia,

Singest of sunlight in full-throated ease.

Elusive Athena Posted a Photo

A cloven tree was thought to have magical curing powers in the medieval times - people believed that passing a sick child through the space between the trees would cure them of weakness and sickness. Although that belief has faded into superstition and the amophous cloud of “folklore”, the trees still retain, for me, some eldritch power. I fancy they are somehow links to other worlds - to the worlds of ancient legend and to fantasy. And to step through would be, as it was for the Pevensies in Narnia, to step into another, stranger and more perilous world.

A cloven tree was thought to have magical curing powers in the medieval times - people believed that passing a sick child through the space between the trees would cure them of weakness and sickness. Although that belief has faded into superstition and the amophous cloud of “folklore”, the trees still retain, for me, some eldritch power. I fancy they are somehow links to other worlds - to the worlds of ancient legend and to fantasy. And to step through would be, as it was for the Pevensies in Narnia, to step into another, stranger and more perilous world.

Elusive Athena Posted a Video

caseylalonde:

venula:

Misty Hydrangea

Meet me here.

This reminds me of somewhere in one of Cecilia Dart-Thornton’s novels. Misty globes of hydrangeas glowing like lanterns beneath the identical straight-shadow trunks of a forest that stretches infinite in the azure haze.

Elusive Athena Posted a Photo

I love finding out words that perfectly describee some of my most potent feelings. I experience selcouth things all the time, but I never knew how to name them, until now.

I love finding out words that perfectly describee some of my most potent feelings. I experience selcouth things all the time, but I never knew how to name them, until now.

Elusive Athena Posted a Video

A beautiful place // original | edit

The cerulean purity of the eldritch city is clear and cold as truth, but though the water glassing the streets to ankle-depth is freezing and pristine, the feet of the wraith are insubstantial and feel no pain. A sense of wonder strikes her mind at the city’s vast silences and space, and she feels an upsurge of wanderlust; longing to explore the streets and boulevards forever… But she cannot stir, for she has forgotten how, and from the ectoplasmic eyelids drops a human tear, sending a ripple along the mirror-smooth streets she cannot tread.