Athenapallas's Blog

May 21, 2010


Filed under: Athena's musings — athenapallas @ 2:00 pm
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How is it that a short ageing man, his black t-shirt bulging over his far too tight belt,

his sparse hair limply falling over his face, his bristly cheeks undisguised, 

can engage the attention of a 21st century Aphrodite.

Tall and oh so slim, extravagant streaked hair  casually held in place with an unseen clip behind her head revealing the the face of a goddess, exquisite neck and shoulders smooth and creamy as alabaster, breasts hidded discreetly under a ribbed and scooped white top, her long body and legs underneath a floral skirt that swished alluringly as she walked between the tables in her soft grey leather boots.

Across the room an older woman, her greying hair cut short to disguise its texture, her large breasts covered by a cleverly draped black cardigan, was talking earnestly to  a modern Adonis.

He was not tall, but perfectly formed with skin that if she were to touch it would feel like the soft skin of her grandson. His dark eyes under darker eyebrows creased above a shortened Grecian nose,  his wet black hair carelessly caressed as he spoke. His red shirt was starting to open  in her presence and if she dared to look down she would have noticed the bulge in his, oh so tight, denim leggins.

He saw the older and the younger woman in her face. He saw her straight fair hair reaching all the way to her waist, the curve of her perfect breasts and her strong body standing firmly on shaped legs.  He saw her desire and her joy dancing with his energy as she talked with him. He wondered if she could ever believe in their coupling unmarred by stereotype and expectation……

He looked across the room at the pearly Aphrodite and smiled at her.

She smiled back as she gave the ageing Adonis his bill.

April 16, 2010

Ancient Virtue or How a Bikie Taught Me a Hard Lesson

Filed under: Athena's musings — athenapallas @ 6:04 pm
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I have been searching for ancient beauty and virtue where ever I find myself and yet the essence of it eludes me.  I was leaving Temple of Zeus in despair  when I saw a chariot, with a silver helmet casually hanging on its post. Then  he was standing beside me, his face and stature like a Renaissance copy of one of our ancient sculptures. I thought  I knew this young man well, and many a nymph and goddess had recognised his beauty and talent.It was only in this moment that I knew who he truly was-  a  modern Adonis- conceived and born in love but raised in turmoil, he’d wandered the planet questioning and searching in the nether regions between Elysium and Erebus.

I’d been on journeys of my own through the decades since my own famous temple was built and a city was named after me. And in this time I’d lost him. I didn’t know him as a man or as a god. To me he was mine and mine alone and I was the one to counsel him and tell him what to do.. Now it was his turn:

‘Stop your ragings and your musings and listen to me, show me the respect that I show you.

Do not take advantage of my devotion to you because of who you are and what you have done for me.’

These stern words hurt me and pricked my pride.

Athena, the Warrior Goddess, the daughter of the mighty Zeus, Athena who was supposed to have the best of her father’s wisdom. I wanted to rage around the Universe and tell all its gods, beings and spirits how unfair it was.

I stood there with tears springing from my eyes and I knew he was right.

I needed to recognise his power, to see him clearly as he really was, the man I had raised and championed,

and who was not only my protege but so much more. A wise and compassionate man, a  god to be reckoned with, respected and consulted.

Ancient beauty and virtue,  I have found you at last.

April 15, 2010

Adonis is not in Delphi but on the corner of my street.

Filed under: Athena's musings — athenapallas @ 9:13 am
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In my most recent mortal manifestation as an unobtrusive,

pleasant looking woman of middle years,

I was walking my dog along the track to Parramatta  filled with noisy chariots,

 A man was suddenly beside me,

in a blur I noticed only his spreading body,

his curly fair hair and a face that was marred by whatever ailed him.

He slurred at me: ‘Are you taking the dog for a walk or is he taking you?’

As he asked this cliched rhetorical question,he lunged at me managing to poke the soft part of  my chest 

 with his outstretched index finger.Hardly a brutal attack but his leery physical contact was most unwelcome.

I moved away as he tried to grab my arm. A kick to his belly, so swift it was invisible to the naked eye,had him doubling in pain on the ground.

‘What’s wrong? ‘ I asked innocently.

‘My ulcer’s giving me hell today,’ he answered. A wave of my hand had him standing up.

‘Ah that’s better.’ He looked at me and I stared back until he lowered his eyes and shuffled away.

Where was my nostalgic compassion of yesterday? Fortunately it returned later in my walk.

I was nearing home passing the local Asian shop at the corner of my street.

 On impulse I entered. The cook was inside the kitchen. I eyed the menu and noticed a Burmese curry. The cook emerged to take my order. Dark hair and skin, round face and fine features, and one eye. One eye, that is, that could look at you. This eye was alive and intelligent. The other eye struggled to keep in synch with its mate.

He smiled at me and spoke politely as he took my order.

As he did the damaged eye disapeared into its socket while the other lengthened and twinkled at me.

Waiting for my Burmese curry with my dog sitting quietly beside me, I wondered what his good eye had witnessed back home in his benighted country. 

Then I saw him standing on a hillside watching his village burning.He was a handsome youth with beautiful black eyes then filled with tears. Later I saw him again. His  gouged eye hidden behind a makeshift  blood stained bandage, while his other eye told the story of his torture.

He was calling me to the counter. ‘Your curry is ready.’  My dog and I went over to get it.

 ‘He’s a good dog,  he follows you everywhere,’ he said smiling again and nodded in approval.

 I smiled back at this Burmese Adonis and  turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes.

April 14, 2010


Filed under: Athena's musings — athenapallas @ 12:13 am
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I was back  swimming at Bronte,  my helmet, aegis and spear

safely stashed away and there was no sign of the Adonis

who had hovered so beautifully before me the last time I was here.

An ageing Adonis so thin he looked like a giant stick insect

slowly descended the steps into the pool,

his eyes masked with tiny round black glasses.

He fell thankfully into the water and looked back at two near naked shapely nymphs who were behind him squealing about the cold.

‘It’s wonderful,’ he said in a shaky voice. And so was he.

For I saw him as he used to be. Champion runner,  mighty oracle, someone whose opinion was once sought.

Now the water is his only friend, and as he stood in the sun before he submerged himself 

I had a glimpse of the god he once was.

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