Janet Stoyel
In the beginning, from a universe of primordial darkness, beyond the edge of time,
She was drawn as a phantom, called into being, a spectre made flesh by a power
Of stupendous complexity and perception, It - She, was designed to be the first
A proto-type, an original creation of premeditated perfection
Destined to walk elysian fields of gold into a future of a world without end
The Mother creature from whom all who walked in her footsteps would descend.
Everything in the garden was perfect, a gift of creation exactly as intended
Grass; leaf, flower, fruiting tree, insects, vertebrae growing profusely in full majesty.
A being of pearlescent skin entrapping skies of darkling light, dreamy, glittering naked garb
Black tresses curling, capturing heaven’s star kissed sheen, tumbled down a curvaceous spine
Darkness made light; she was as picture perfect as the riotous garden she inhabited.
But this picture painting a thousand words, contained an inherent hidden duplicity
Not enough to stand and stare, an immoral mind was domiciled there
A fallacious commandment inserted within - hiding traits of invisible supremacy
Morphing beauty with cunning, wit and guile, a creature of mind-blowing complexity
A female created, an amalgamate being, a She, given life in the Garden of Eden.
Proudly, fully aware from the dust she arose, secure in her intellect and beauty
A battle light glint, starlight trapped in her eyes, proclaiming her a siren
While dominant quirks subtly confined, quiescently awaited cognition
Not the compliant, meek female intended to be a companion for the other
Responsively soft, an assurance to please, in covenant guaranteed by The Maker.
Nonchalantly loitering beneath a tree, a superior consort distantly perused her
He grumbled, sweet-talked, plead with her gently, to lie down and do her duty
The dominance gene, waiting unseen, hastened to her careless bidding
No reclining back in the dust for her, despite orders, sly coercion, and scolding
Resistant, recalcitrant, his rage overpowering, arrogance seeping from his ego.
He could not accept it, her constant refusal, challenges to the grandeur of Male
Man judged her inferior, no ultimate being, a body assembled to answer obligations
Because she was Woman, subservient, a menial, put in the garden for his gratification
She should not have liberty, independence or logic, obvious command faults were made
Yet she was his equal, blessed with intelligence, not born for man’s sexual exploitation.
She escaped from the garden, the tyranny of that man, constant carping, and criticisms unkind
Over the wall lay liberating freedom, no male there to tell her she was ugly, unworthy
No man to hold her forever in bondage, once free she was primal - more than an equal
Exploring core values, her perfect imperfections, alone to make choices, dictums of her own
A slice of the darkness latent within her, balanced the reasoning achieved true accord.
She was the first one, a stygian darkness creation, produced from a blueprint with flaws
The mistake that declared her an unsuitable consort - a female creature with a will of her own
Trickled down through millennia in unbroken genetics, warrior females, no man could control
Progeny of the first one, proud, noble, upstanding not disparaged as succubus or terror incarnate
Her name it was Lilith, dusky legendary female, identified with darkness, scarcely morally divergent.
Millions of women, females unnumbered, across entire continents, standing their ground
Fighting misogyny; persecution, and cruelty, reinforcing their birth right as females with brains
Drawing on experience, building on knowledge, undermining authorities fabricated by men
Resistance compulsory, knowing without remembering, persistent matriarchal responsibilities
A pure female gift, descended past into present, a glory to woman yet a sin to the other
An equitable continuity of the indomitable spirit of …. She Who Came First …. Lilith.
She was waiting.
Just before dawn the Grim Reaper came calling armed with a wicked curved scythe
A summons from death manifested, an irrevocable endmost appointment to depart life
One rattling breath in the hush of days dawning, the King’s final battle was lost
Frail life was withdrawing, sickened shell of a body, leaving a limp body, emptied
As the first rays of blessed sunlight kissed the tips on the Mountains of Mona.
The Druids gathered by the dozen, narrated epic stories in Celtic glades of the ancient legends
Elucidating knowledge, sing-song tales of great prowess, rhythmic magicks of his being
The King of Iceni, departed to meet his maker – no male heir apparent at the head of his bed
Secure in the provision his Will would be honoured, executed faithfully, fairly by Rome
Alone without protection a wife and two daughter who keened at his passing - mourning.
Widow Queen Boadicea she was most comely, below her waistline lay curled tawny hair
A statuesque druid beauty; imposing, indomitable, acoustic voice, a penetrating stare
Colourful raiment of warfare, loom woven from fleeces, Celtic brooch on her shoulder
Adorning a cloak, weighty torc made from soft gold - symbol embellished encircling her throat
Patterns of status - power swirled blue graffiti - splendour covering arms and hands
Curlicue runes ritualistically depicting her lineage in woad blue- a personal crown
An imposing figure - Treacherous Lioness they named her – hated by authorities in Rome.
The kingdom was annexed, Rome subdued any Briton, chieftains murderously plundered
The grieving widow humiliated; debased, beaten, raped - left to die in the filth of the dying
Mercenaries hunted Princesses, killed two pretty daughters - defiled in unimaginable ways
A mandatory obliteration: kill, crush - wipe out of existence, history no relevance,
Write no records or tallies, nor chronicles for scribing, erroneous to collect any names.
The Queen Warrior Mother returned faster; stronger, angry, she picked up her iron-tipped spear
Maiden bodyguard alongside, mounted her war chariot - scythe-trammelled murderous wheels
A vow made at death’s door, while awaiting life’s ebbing, retribution was coming to Rome
She assembled vast armies, raised swarms of rebellions, overpowered the invaders
With spear, knife and long-bow, taught Rome bloody red lessons of strategy and warfare.
Legions of Centurions were massacred consistently, streets paved in bad blood and gore
Emperor Caesar caught fast in a quandary, issuing edits, ruling from the sanctuary of Rome
Should Rome flee from the woman, marching dust raised to heaven, grim retreat from her savagery
Or stand fast; dispatch her, get rid instantaneously, banish her from annals – as if she never existed
Roman soldiers rallied; mercenaries, death-squads - swords, shields, daggers ruthlessly quelling the rebels
Fevered male domination, killing poetry in motion - nothing living left standing - all deceased
No martyr’s grave for the woman, her body eviscerated; dismembered; burnt - scattered
Astounding battle tactics, legend in the making Rome could not permit her to lie where she fell
A shameful victory against women, children, and villagers – disgraced foreign champions
Nothing to gloat of no penned tales in Rome’s chronicles, no battle wounds of glory
To show for a triumph, yet we Briton’s remember Queen Boadicea - brave warrior female
Who donned arms for freedom, against oppressive domination - a cause costing her heart.
Transcribed her name reads Victorious and that’s right and proper
On Victoria Embankment near the Pier of Westminster, a visionary sculpture,
Of realistic expression, a bronze replication of Queen Boadicea, Warrior, Mother
A position of honour facing Westminster Palace and Sovereign Parliament,
Ironically, she is immortalised deep in the heart of razed Roman Londinium.
Inspiration for The Eternal Feminine who follow in her footsteps
The Queen of Briton’s Iceni – Boadicea, Boudicca, Boudica.
She was waiting.
Through the ages the ancient river had burbled down the rill, blue, green, yellow, pink, purple
Dye effluent a colour infusion, dictating, matching, governing moods of a water nymph
Home encircled; murmuring sea, babbling brook, sedate canals, inexorable rain
She was inextricably linked to the ebb; flow, clarity, quality of the element – Water
Her being delighted; a captivated soul nourished by the continual presence of the wet.
External, internal torment, cool flowing water conferred blessings on a bruised, battered heart
Volcanic red fury, transmuted hot temper; banked down, smouldering, eager to erupt
Lies in the making, intrigue in nights darkness, befuddled naivety, bloody flowering – PAIN
Hurt by deception, the physicality of surrender dreading months of grim reflection to come
Tarnished, trapped in a maelstrom not of her making, ashamed when aware of the zygote within
Beguiled; drugged, beaten, raped by a male who asserted his brand of perverted whispered love.
Morals dictated she marry, it could not be other, be his for all time, to love, honour, obey.
Environment gone, taken out of her element, no succour from water - a concrete jungle replacement
Mimicking rock she grew hard, impenetrable feelings, emotions - metamorphosed a heart into stone
Yet often a sly glance; vocal tone, a small head shake, her cool pliant resistance
Set him off on a bender of death-like proportions, manifested a monster hell-bent on destruction
Small fingers were bent – as twisted as pipe-cleaners …. Hurt
Thin arms were shattered – bent at strange angles …. Damaged
Hazel eyes became swollen - black as a panda …. Horror
White teeth were dislodged- as piano keys missing …. PAIN
Pert nose was broken - smashed like a pumpkin …. UNUTTERABLE PAIN
A baby still growing, drawing sustenance from a broken girl.
No escape from the hell-land, an arid dead dessert, - no lifegiving water to soothe a sick girl
Except over the wall – there lay freedom; wetlands, water meadows, escape from this cruel man
Once and for all, she would no longer be ugly, bullied or broken, she would become herself
A woman: a mother, a parent, - not living a life courting death under a despotic individual
She would stop it – no, not suicide, no longer a vulnerable female, crystal diamonds her tears
Concrete decisions: plans brooded at midnight, hatched scenarios in the pitch black of night
Driven to the brink of no reason, a virago bloomed into existence - a she-devil emerged into light.
Spitting; scratching, arguing, don’t touch me – I’m not yours, indomitable responses, battling for freedom
For her health, well-being, paper skin and sanity, a struggle for two lives – a girl baby to birth
The ferocious mouthy harridan no longer pleased him; he’d find a new love – get gone
No more subjugation; injuries, threats, or slavery, no more bowing her head to the man
She came into herself, took all that was owed her, one soft dawn over the wall she fled.
Hard lessons; guiding principles of a thriving young Mother, cherishing a daughter of her own
Knowledge interchangeable throughout time indivisible myriad kindred strong women
From past into present Lilith’s smidgen of darkness, invisible, latent within
Stretching thru eons - awaiting light to touchpaper, remembering Queen Boadicea
Protective matriarch fighting - for a future of self-aware females; equality, children - freedom
To make choices, companions, life-styles, to embrace female equality anticipated from the beginning
Lessons learnt from past into present to manifest as …. Indomitable. Unconquerable. Women.
She is waiting.
Janet Stoyel is a Material Aficionado holding advanced qualifications in Textiles. She developed CO2 Photon Laser & Ultrasound technology as environmentally responsible systems for the creation of ecologically-sound decorative materials. Janet established: The Cloth Clinic in 1994, to test, prove and sell designer materials & products. She has specific interests in Historical Materials & Modern Technical Textiles and appreciates exploring the genetics associated with fibre and thread from past into present. Janet resides in the South West of the U.K, where she is happy to construct & manipulate materials and pursue her new passion for writing.
Credit: Warmtail on Adobe Stock
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