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	Kudos to the winners of our Fall, 2012, Odes to Olympians contest, honoring the goddess Aphrodite (Venus)! Ryan Crouch won the contest for adults with his poem, Of Cyprus, while Lisa Burgoa won the under-18 competition with her poem, Vulcan Plucking Petals. Honorable mentions in the adult category are: Pattie Flint, Liz Hufford, Jen Wang, Neroli Cottam, Dawn McGuire, Angela Fabunan and Jean Chapman Snow. Honorable mentions for the under-18 category are: Aysha Rehman, Vivek Shah, Emily Allbright, Sean Watkins, Caitlin Rose, Helen Chen, and Michael Forlenza. Scroll down to read these fine poems celebrating the goddess of love. * If you like prose: Why not buy and read our books? Or give them to friends and loved ones for Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa or even Saturnalia? Jocasta tells the story of Oedipus but from the point of view of his mother-wife (and has been chosen by some high schools as a companion read to Sophocles – but don’t let that put you off!). The Niobe trilogy, Children of Tantalus, The Road to Thebes and Arrows of Artemis mixes myth and archaeology to give the story of an ancient mass murder – and is a great read for those who have finished Percy Jackson and want more challenging time with the Greek myths. The books are available both electronically and in paper …AND YOUR PURCHASE HELPS SUPPORT THESE CONTESTS.	The Tapestry of Bronze is a series of novels set in Bronze Age Greece. There’s no need to read our books to enter the contests, but if you like mythology, or historical fiction, or simply reading exciting stories, we think you’ll enjoy them! You may be interested in visiting other parts of our website: Our Books (in English) Jocasta Children of Tantalus The Road to Thebes Arrows of Artemis Antigone and Creon Bιβλία στα ελληνκα - Our Books (in Greek) Odes to Olympians Contest Current: Winners of Past Contests: Zeus Hera Poseidon Demeter Hermes Athena Apollo Artemis Ares
Ryan Crouch First Prize Winner – Adult Category “Of Cyprus” She was not always Of caught breaths and men’s strained eyes And whistles in the distant wind. Of "be my lady, be my dear" Because Cyprus is humble. Its shores crafted the shell of her back. The sea foam fused into her dripping hair. She was simple (in her own eyes). She was just humming peacefully (to herself) When gazes encircled and entrapped her. They knew only of lustful starvation. But Hephaestus would Keep His Bride, Would Keep Her Trapped inside desire and regret. His fire only evaporated her being. She became tempting steam in the spray, Nothing to herself but alluring to Every heavy pulse, crafting every exhalation into "I love you" even if She questioned whether Love was Alive At All. * First Prize Winner – Under 18 Category Lisa Burgoa Vulcan Plucking Petals She loves me- since she rose, encumbered by ebbing ocean lace, swelling the seas (and swelling heads and hearts ever since). Invoking in me, her stooped, crooked boy, delicate as a house of cards, the abashed blushes of a rosy-fingered dawn, the lecherous yearnings of a writhing flame. But she departs quick as a quiver on Eros' bow, intoxicating, beckoning, stirring hunger of a crouched animal in some poor, sorry sap before soaking their bones in a lover's brine. And for all her philandering, she recoils from my touch lest I leave a sooty-fingered print on her heart as I tinker, tinker the key to her padlock. But it's too late. The candle's snuffed. She loves me not. Honorable Mentions Adult Category Pattie Flint “Timeless Sex Symbol” It wasn't Aphrodite's fault she was beautiful; they blew on the dirty pale sea-foam that looked like lace handkerchiefs, as if they were all so many birthday candles, and you, you stepped out in that tight white dress; standing over the metal street grate of Mount Olympus. And the whole world paused and said so softly, "Wow." But they tried to tame you, to chain you to the anvil with a marriage yoke because caged birds don't sing, and they'd rather pluck the rose than admire it from afar. You reminded them too much of the beautiful things they couldn't keep. So they blamed you for all their problems. You distraction, you harlot, you whore, and it made you angry. but they loved it all the more when your eyebrows furrowed like two pure lines of snow on a glass coffee table, right before you sang the national anthem. And they cried tears of grief while they smiled, because the image of you, reclined on that sofa with the asp to your fair wrist was as beautiful as it was so very, very sad. If anything is true, heed this old saying: hate is only born out of spurned love, and baby, they hated you. * Liz Hufford “Aphrodite's Wingman” Guys always go for Aphrodite, no matter what they've heard no matter what they've seen every night for eons. She's the porch light of Olympus. I'm her wingman (not that she needs help), but she does enjoy an audience, breezing through swarms of men who spin in her wake. All get burned. Some limp away, bereft of wives, children, reputations. Still all they can do is talk about her. Never once do they call her unfaithful, fickle, jealous. No, they ask what they did wrong. Castration's in her blood. Each thought he was the one, every night for eons. They cry into their beer and talk to me. I get the leftovers, Apre Dite. * Jen Wang “Patron Goddess of the So-called Shallow Sluts” We mold ourselves after her, One who rose from the sea Irresistible to men and gods. She brings swans Out of ugly ducklings, And we, in turn, With faces that could Unleash an armada Arouse war out of love. (It’s not our fault: She does enjoy his company.) Some say our glamour And multiple consorts Hide our insecurity, But we’re proud Like our goddess Of our ability to love (And lust) freely And our golden proportions That we work hard to maintain In a quest for immortality. You may think it’s all for naught, But it is her form, Not one of the Nine, That inspires artists. * Neroli Cottam APHRODITE SPEAKS I glory in the perfect form, flawless, curving, youthful tones. And yet there is beauty in the aged too, blurred, of harder song and swell, that reminds me of my birthing home, of ancient tides and salt, seethed foam. I delight in trees of leafy green gowned through spring and summer long, and yet the trunk that bears the crown is old and gnarled, half underground. It harks in me of light and dark, for of them both, I am a part. First love, first fruits, nurture and desire, inspire my gifts, my ardent creeds. Yet the reasons for deflowering are the seeds. Life, death, rebirth, unalterable these. Think of the rose, its faultless bloom, yet underneath it bides the thorn. Of such contrasts I belong. Through wrathful blasts of war and gentle, pipes of peace, I court my wares and song. Exquisite pleasures all I own, requisite portions for my bed, my food endures, ensnares, ensures, lithesome lovers, richly fed. I will champion star-crossed lovers, sometimes set them impossible endeavours. I dwell in palaces of virtue and palaces of pleasure, but the lovely forms of my many daughters Are the jewels that I treasure. * Dawn McGuire “Love in the Skilled Nursing Unit” Whacked with a bat in Dolores Park for his wallet, Ari can't make new memories. All day he lives in Then, except when his wife of three decades stands in the doorway. In her dun-colored mu-mu andThrift-Co shoes with room for her hammertoes, she is Aphrodite. He whoops and sighs when he sees her, pours sweat, then freezes in the geri-chair. His astonished face is pale as dune grass. Then suddenly he’s mute, his tongue broken by beauty. That's when I'd give my temporal lobe, my hippocampus whole, for his cheap blue gown; to be in Her presence once again, by whom we are made, inflamed, destroyed— to belong to the Goddess, once more to be raised to aerial ash again and again. * Angela Fabunan “Side A, Side B” Twenty euros to see me. Good money, for being only half-naked, and mangled. From my nonexistent arms, an absence powerful enough to draw crowds. I was a living pearl, but never mind old, perfect beauty. Two stumps and everyone surrounds, as when cars stop to see the wreckage in grotesque admiration. One man on his knees, in prayer. Another kisses my toes—I am a god, after all. Art students transfigure my body into lines. I am theirs as much as I am mine. To them, I am the non-existent past. * Jean Chapman Snow SATURN-RULED VENUS The astrologer smiles at my Venus in Capricorn. A sensual Earth sign, she remarks. Floating in my mind I see Botticelli’s new-born Venus Anadyomene, ocean splashing about her bare pink toes, eyes still dreaming, virginal skin corseted in– a brown tweed business suit? Venus winks, at me. “Yeah, it scratches, but I was freezing on this damn cockle shell.” Honorable Mentions – Under 18 Category Aysha Rehman “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a goddess scorned” Are you the goddess of love? If it is you, then you must also reign over that place where lost souls wander— The domain of loss and heartbreak. Shedding a tear for Echo as she laments what can never be, But you still do nothing as Narcissus wastes away by the pond. Do you do it for want of cruelty? Perhaps. To love is to subject one to a special kind of agony— The breathlessness, the falter of the heartbeat, the gentle tremble of the hand. What a dreadfully powerful curse, to be transfixed by the heady scent of love. You wield it as a weapon—and a marvelous weapon it is, indeed. Incomparable to the wise woman’s spear or the lady archer’s bow. As soon as you whisper into the ear of the naïve young man who holds the apple, war is inevitable. Blood is smeared across the halls of Troy, and it because of you. You are, after all, the mistress of War itself. Hades may claim the souls of the dead, but as the soldier lays dying upon the sand, It is his sweet love who awaits him at home whom he calls for, And, with his last breath, it is her soul that you claim to wander upon the shores of heartbreak. All is fair in love and war, they say. Do they not see the woman grieving over her beloved? Do they not see the father mourning his son? War may have caused it, but it is the merciless sting of love that wounds the heart. The pain of love lost is revealed as poison coursing through the veins of the ever-mourning, Suddenly they catch themselves wishing, Wishing that their love had never existed, so that they would be spared this pain. This is your harshest blow, your most spiteful joke, to finally reveal to man that it was alwaysa poison, Always constricting, holding, in willful submission. A source of counterfeit joy that inevitably leads to loss. You should have quietly bowed out, but the knife had to be twisted within the wound, You had to lift the veil and have man recognize the nature of his once happy folly. You are the cruelest goddess of all. * Vivek Shah Hymns to Aphrodite From foaming crests, thou swept ashore To rule our hearts forever-more Thou cast these hooks in purple night And snare our minds from what is right Thou holdeth sway in all the realms From earthy forests graced with elm And sprawling cities of mortal men Inspiring both sword and pen Thou rule as well the storming seas With ocean waves like azure trees Where passion dwells untame and free Arousing lovers endlessly And even thence to heaven high Thou make the stars to sing and sigh And tempt the nymphs with gentle breeze And force the gods upon their knees Ocean eyes and virgin form With amber locks and presence warm With supple hips and bosom wide With tapered waist and tender thighs Thy strength is born as lust alone Those free from it are scarcely known Oh mother of the archer sweet So few are there who bear his heat Thou sport with many, free of shame Yet wedded to that god of flames Capricious in thy lusty whims Thou roam about with nimble limbs We sacrifice to favor thee Aphrodite, descend to me * Emily Albright Ode to Aphrodite Born of Titan’s pain, And so love gives grief. Born of foam, insubstantial and frail, And so love can fade away. Have you no shame? O, Goddess of love, With fidelity short as your temper, What gifts do you give That cause no suffering? You talk of love, but embody jealousy. And passion robs men of senses. O my child, you see so little Of my powers’ golden hues, and of me. I, born of Titan’s blood, And so love runs warmly through the veins. I, born of foam, light as air, And so love lightens the heart with gladness. I give my gifts to all, a blessing for the world, For who is so undeserving that they will not be offered love? You talk of my shame, and it is true. Love steals away logic, but gives joy in return. This is my gift to you, and to your kind. My power can bring chaos, true, But without love, all is dark. For how else could we temper hate? * Sean Watkins Swan The sun glowed white Like the foam of the sea Reflecting off the opaque blue water A swan settled on the water Its crystal eye looked as if It were crafted by Hephaestus Its ivory feathers, Ruffled by the rolling wind, Glowed in the bright light Its beauty, Natures bribe to Paris, Was unmatched Its loving embrace, The warm radiance of the swan Against the obscure water She, In all her beauty, Spread her wings * Caitlin Rose “She Is Love” love is kind she with the angel's face glitter trailing in her wake the dove sings as she walks by gentle Aphrodite, for love she sighs born from the ocean's foam gifted to the lord of the forge the not-so-secret trysts with war with the ecstasy of love she soars love is cruel her winged son flies with fateful arrows both gods and mortals taste love's terrors to the goddess's whims are we subjected to bask in perfection or suffer in rejection she was fairest to Paris, a promise was made thus Helen was torn from her husband Cupid and Psyche flew on love's wings but sweet Aphrodite got her revenge love is kind love is cruel so is she * Belle Kinder “The Miracle of Birth” She spit out the sea foam and salty froth, Carelessly wiping her red lips with the back of her Pale, soft hand, And hauled herself out of the ocean, Her muscles groaning. “They will romanticize this…” She thought to herself. Flopping down onto the shore, Her limbs squelching, Oiled by oceanic backwash. She picked up a scallop shell, Breathing hard and blinking salt from her Wide, clear eyes, And crushed it between her Long, lithe fingers. She rose, her body trembling. Joints cracked. And all across the Earth, A terrible force was unleashed * Helen Chen “The guilt of Aphrodite” You appear, ethereal, your shimmering robe flowing behind you Descending from the golden dawn Eyeing the remains of our city Once magnificent, now enveloped in a flame A look of remorse unfolding across your flawless face The burning city of Troy below you The Glorious Olympus above Tears fall free Memories rush back Of war, of love, of grief Of Troy The widows of Troy Do they not cry out to you tonight? Pining away, their husbands’memories still fresh Wounds that cut deep into their hearts Do you not feel regret? Do you not feel any pain? The humans are playthings, so unimportant You are untouchable, but touched by sorrow and loss “Forgive me” you whisper softly Your voice a distant bell But it is too late, the past cannot be changed Who knew that as the Goddess of love You killed love, too * Michael Forlenza “Aphrodite Amaranthine” Daughter of Sky, who stands elegant, Borne of Sea, who foams persistent, Is Aphrodite Zephyr in the sky And Tide in the sea (The wind an ode to thee, Aphrodite) She hasn’t the need to fear The hammer of Hephaestus Nor the spear of Ares Nor the arrow of Eros For She is the sky above, limiting, And the ground below, urging, The foolish lover Over She is the Object and Muse of the poets plenty She is the Strings, Who tug and tug and drive man Mad Forever enticing This entity eternal Yet merciless is the pulchritude For when there is love Strife must surely follow And all the men virile Turn to naught but feral When beholden With Perfection with Beauty, Love, She, Aphrodite Visit the winning poems of other Odes to Olympians contests! Winning Odes to Zeus Winning Odes to Hera Winning Odes to Poseidon Winning Odes to Demeter Winning Odes to Hermes Winning Odes to Athena Winning Odes to Apollo Winning Odes to Artemis Winning Odes to Ares Concerned that you don't know enough about the Olympians to write poems about them? You can explore these websites: Parada's Greek Mythology Link: A tremendously detailed resource Theoi Greek Mythology: Exploring Classical mythology in Literature and Art Timeless Myths: Greek myths and others as well Several have wondered: who are we and why do we do this? What exactly is this “Tapestry of Bronze?” First, our names are Victoria Grossack & Alice Underwood. We sponsor this contest because we want to encourage excellence and creativity. We’re using the same method used by the Greeks back in Classical Athens: competition. Instead of olive wreaths, we offer money and certificates for prizes. We especially want to encourage the under-18 because we want to support educators and students in our own small way. The idea occurred to us – most appropriately! – when we were visiting the ruins of ancient Olympia in Greece. Second, the Tapestry of Bronze is a series of interlocking novels. They are set in the Bronze Age of Greece – several generations before the Trojan War. This was known to many as the “Golden Age of Heroes,” but to us they seem to be made of bronze and not gold. Our series is a tapestry, because the books tie together, but one book may focus on one character while another focuses on another. Each book can be enjoyed separately, or the books can be enjoyed together. As we state above, it is NOT necessary to purchase or to read our novels in order to enter the contests. However, purchasing the novels helps to support these contests. Not sure if you’ll like the books? Then electronically download a sample at Amazon. Clicking on the covers below will take you to that company’s website. Return to Home for Tapestry of Bronze Do you wish to contact us? Write to us at “tapestryofbronze” at “yahoo.com”		Pronunciation Guide Maps (Thebes, Pisa/Olympia, Eastern Mediterranean) The Stories Behind the Stories Acknowledgements, Thanks, Bibliography and Links About the Authors Buying our books helps support this and future contests! Newly released: A real page-turner . . . a wonderfully nuanced novel that repays previous knowledge of its subject matter - but never requires it -- Historical Fiction Review An absorbing, quasi-historical portrait of ancient Greece ... well-balanced update that maintains the original's mythic suspense. -- Kirkus, May 2005 A world...as compelling as Tolkien's but more rooted in actual history...in the spirit of Graves's I, Claudius. --Bob Mielke, Professor of English, Truman State University, The Copperfield Review The most amazing part of the series is how the authors retell the myths in such a way as to work for modern audiences.... definitely worth reading by fans of fiction and Greek mythology. --NS Gill, About.com, Ancient History Very strongly recommended. - Steve Donoghue, Historical Novels Review Online