Dark Lady Poetry - Sarah Springer




Sarah Springer 



Your Adonis-front, what walls

did it mask?

I ask what

has my Narcissus hid?


In your testament I found

self; a lie

aligned with

a vague and clandestine truth.


Lovingly, I was cloaked

in your wit;

it fit in

my buttonhole, green petals.


But those coverings faded

in brightness

amiss in

their weakening paper paste.


So I cleave to Ireland

as brutal,

futile as

England destroys its gilt art.


Salome wanted your head

silver plate,

latent thing!

You lay in Paris instead.


But the wallpaper held fast

a battle

that had all

the pain, and little glory.



Olympic Harvest



Battalions of wind forge forward,
Charge through sleeping trees.
Their cold gusty spears conspire
To conquer the summer breeze.

They sigh of total destruction
And demolish their chosen foe, 
Reenacting the battle
That happened many years ago.

When Persephone was as Helen,
And the gods took up the fight,
The crusade, not just to aid her,
Was to champion warmth of light.
His army prepared and ready,
Hades arranged his campaign
While, breastplate gleaming gold,
Athena spoke in clear refrain,

“In the name of Zeus the Mighty,
leave be your hostage wife.
Return her to Demeter’s breast
And free the world its strife.”

The death-king did not budge;
His bride had made her pact.
Olympussaw no other choice
for the Hand of Zeus must react.

That war-wail that was sounded
Touched Greece with dread severe.
It singed the hearth girl’s supper
And pierced the plowman’s ear.




Their armor glowed and glistened,
While Artemis guided their flight.
The chariots and horses rumbled,
Dueling with Phoebus’s might.

The swords of Hades were strong,
The tang of blood rent the air.
But both sides had volition
Guiding blades in this affair.

Despite the bloodshed full 
Both sides yielded the war
Raised the conch to end it
And grieved the dying gore.

Hades would share his queen
With Demeter, fair and mild.
The mortals would have warmth 
After winter with winds wild.

So when those gales blow frigid
And snows freeze the candle flame,
Remember that struggle of lore
As you look for one to blame.

Leaves fall silent to the ground,
A mass of orange and red;
Recall that endless battlefield
And revere the ones who bled.
Springtime is to be fought for
As time marches wearily on.
It is only beauty of charming youth
That outshines even the sun.

For it is not man’s place to challenge
The gods; they have their plans.
They change alliance with a whim
And leave fate out of our hands.






Their comrades have fallen

While these cleave to failing posts

As death marches on.



Inch by Inch


I will take this house and

Inch by inch

Kick in the cobwebbed walls

Inch by inch

Strip the faded filthy carpet

Inch by inch

Beat the broken bathroom tiles


(Those notes you left on them

describing your little Rorschach test)

I will take this house and

Inch by inch

Rend the funereal green drapes

Inch by inch

Splinter the moldy floor

Inch by inch

Smash the pristine Blue Willow


(The only thing you ever

bothered to love more than yourself)


I will take this house and

Inch by inch

Yank out the rusted plumbing

Inch by inch

Annihilate the green furniture

Inch by inch

Slice the idyllic dusty foxhunts

(Though I feel a connection

Between those bugling men and you) 


I will take your hand and

Inch by inch

Sever your promises

Inch by inch

Eradicate your composure

Inch by inch

Remind you that you have failed


(And you did such a beautiful job)


  Sarah Springer is a full-time college student and is also employed full-time at an international non-profit. Currently, she is composing and publishing a collection of short stories, editing a science fiction series, and portraying Ruth in the college's performance of Lanford Wilson'sBook of Days.