To Dionysos

I call to Dionysos, great god of the vine,
son of thundering Zeus and headstrong Semele,
loving husband of warm-hearted Ariadne.
From the east you came, old before the ancients,
throughout the elder world were you beloved;
in Naxos and Boitia were you celebrated,
in temples and in the savage wilderness,
the fleet-footed maenads running in your wake.
The sweetest, strongest wine is ever your drink;
the mind's release, the body's loosening, your gift.
O Dionysos; thyrsus-shaker, ivy-crowned
god, we see you in the shadows, we see you on
the edges, we see you in the haze of ecstasy,
where we know the truth of passion, where we find
the essence of our being. Bacchus, I call to you!

To Ariadne

I call to Ariadne, daughter of noble Minos
and shining Pasiphae, grandchild of bright Helios,
beloved bride of ivy-wreathed Dionysos
who bore you to Olympos and made you his wife,
by Zeus' hand deathless and forevermore young,
to stand in the company of the blessed gods.
On ancient Crete were you born, Ariadne,
there did you take your first breath; on Naxos' shore
did you begin your true existence at Bacchus' side;
with him were you honored with feasts and processions,
with him did you join the dance of maenad and satyr.
In days still older, Ariadne, days so bygone
their stories shift like sand in the surf, in those days too
were you lauded, did you receive gifts of sweet honey.
Ariadne, full-hearted and wise, I call to you.

To Ares

I call to Ares, strong one, swift one, clever one,
god of the impulse, god of the moment,
god of the hunch and the quick reaction,
god of the battle, god of the fight. Ares,
son of thundering Zeus and dark-eyed Hera,
few were your temples, few were your shrines, for those
who held you dearest had a grave need indeed
for your favor--the field of battle was your temple,
the blood of the slain a final offering.
From the north you came, O bold-spirited Ares;
in far-flung Thrace you made your home,
the Spartans and the men of Macedon revered you.
Ares, granter of courage, granter of strength,
granter of the will to endure, friend of the wronged
and of the vengeful, O Ares, I call to you.