Poetry

The Sisters, Three.

The Royal Octopus

Three sisters sit by candle’s gleam,
Weaving lives from tangled dream.
Their fingers dance, both swift and slow,
As threads of fate begin to grow.

Clotho spins the silken line,
Her spindle hums, both fierce and fine.
In her hands, beginnings lie,
Moments born and minutes nigh.

Lachesis counts with measured grace,
Deciding each thread’s length and pace.
With steady hand, she marks the span,
The gift of time to every man.

Atropos waits with silver shears,
To cut the cord of days and years.
Her final snip, so cold and keen,
The line undone, the space between.

Three sisters hold the world’s design,
The spark of life, the swift decline.
In darkness deep and candle’s glow,
They weave the tale we’ll never know.

2024 ©️

Poetry

Scylla

The Royal Octopus

In a sea-stone cradle Scylla lay,
Once nymph of grace, now cast away.
Transformed by envy, wrath, and curse,
Her beauty gone, her fate much worse.

Where tides swirl dark and waters foam,
She guards her cliffs, her ghastly home.
Six heads rise from her twisted spine,
Each hungry maw a gaping sign.

Sailors quake and ships go still,
At sight of Scylla, fierce and chill.
Her howls echo through the deep,
Lulling hope and daring sleep.

Once she danced with lilies fair,
Now coils of terror braid her hair.
She mourns her past with every breath,
Bound forever to bring death.

But when the waves grow calm and low,
And silver tides in moonlight glow,
Perhaps, just once, in midnight’s veil,
She dreams of being whole and pale.

And yet the fates are never kind,
Her curse, like chains, in salt entwined.
Scylla waits in shadows’ lair,
A memory lost, a lingering snare.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Muses

The Royal Octopus

In hills where whispers weave the air,
Nine muses dwell, both bright and fair.
Each muse, a flame, an ageless spark,
Guiding hands through shadows dark.

Calliope lifts her voice on high,
Epic tales beneath the sky.
War and peace she deftly spins,
In every heart her story begins.

Clio, keeper of the past,
Scrolls of time she holds steadfast.
With ancient ink, in script so fine,
She writes the echoes that define.

Euterpe’s song, both sweet and clear,
Flows like rivers, draws us near.
Flutes sing softly, waters glide,
In her melody, worlds collide.

Thalia smiles, a playful guise,
Comedy gleams within her eyes.
With laughter light and mirth to lend,
She spins the jests that never end.

Melpomene, in sorrow’s grace,
Tears and masks she does embrace.
Tragic hearts and tales unfold,
In her shadow, stories told.

Terpsichore, in dance’s thrall,
Moves with grace, a rhythmic call.
Feet that glide, and arms that sway,
She brings life to night and day.

Erato chants of love so sweet,
In tender words her worlds do meet.
Soft and fervent, near and far,
Guided by her, hearts unbar.

Polyhymnia, solemn, still,
Sacred hymns her whispers fill.
Prayers and rites in reverent tone,
She sings to gods and gods alone.

Urania, stargazer bright,
Maps the heavens, tracks their flight.
With cosmic thought and wonder’s fire,
She draws the lines that dreams inspire.

Together they rise, voices entwined,
In song and dance, in verse and mind.
The muses guide, inspire, and play—
A timeless chorus, night and day.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Siren’s Song

The Royal Octopus

Upon the waves, they sing so sweet,
A haunting hymn, a call discreet.
With voices woven soft and deep,
They stir the sea, they steal the sleep.

Their words like honey, thick and slow,
Beneath the moon’s seductive glow,
Draw men from decks to ocean’s rim,
To chase that song on chance or whim.

They promise love, a soft embrace,
In waters deep, a dreamlike place.
The sailors gaze, their minds undone,
To kiss the tide, to sink as one.

And so they drift, forsaking shore,
Entangled souls forevermore.
For sirens’ songs, both sweet and wild,
Bewitch the heart and leave it riled.

They sing of warmth, they sing of home,
In liquid depths, where lost men roam,
Their voices echo, far and near,
The sirens’ song—a song of fear.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Theogony

The Royal Octopus

In darkness vast, where silence lay,
The cosmos churned in disarray.
Chaos reigned, the formless might,
A timeless void, devoid of light.

From Chaos’ womb came Earth, the bold,
Gaia, mother, fierce and old.
She swelled with mountains, streams, and trees,
A world from void, a breath, a breeze.

Next came Tartarus, dark and deep,
Where secrets dark and shadows sleep.
And Eros too, love’s spark, was born,
The binding force of dusk and dawn.

Gaia then with starry Sky,
Uranus, her mate on high,
Brought forth the Titans, fierce and grand,
Born from Earth’s creative hand.

Cronus, youngest, sly and proud,
In darkness forged a plan avowed—
To rend his father’s rule apart,
A savage claim, a ruthless heart.

The blood of Uranus, cast to sea,
Gave birth to more divinity:
The Furies, fierce, with eyes afire,
And Aphrodite, soft desire.

Yet Cronus ruled with iron fist,
Each child of his, condemned, dismissed.
Till Rhea bore a cunning son,
Zeus, the storm, the fated one.

In secret raised, with thunder’s might,
He claimed his birthright in the night.
With siblings freed, a war began,
Olympians rose to forge their plan.

With lightning, storm, and Titan’s fall,
The heavens shook, the earth’s enthral.
Olympus claimed, a realm divine,
As gods rose up in holy line.

Thus born were they, the Olympian throng,
The gods of myth, in story and song.
From Chaos’ depths to mountain’s throne,
Their might and rule forever known.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Hidden Love

The Royal Octopus

In twilight’s hush, where shadows blend,
There danced a tale without an end:
Of Psyche, pure, with mortal breath,
And Eros, god of love and death.

She, a maiden mortal-bound,
With beauty rare and fate profound,
Caught the envy of gods above,
Yet knew not yet the depths of love.

Eros came, unseen by light,
A winged god masked by night,
He dared not show his face to see
What love in secret they might be.

With whispered touch and hidden hand,
He led her through a dream-wrought land,
Each night beside her, silent, true,
Yet always veiled from mortal view.

“Do not ask, and do not see,
For in the dark, we’re truly free.”
Yet Psyche’s heart, with questions pressed,
Longed to see her love confessed.

One fateful night, a candle’s glow,
Revealed the face she dared not know,
A god’s own gaze, both fierce and sweet,
And love lay broken at their feet.

The spell was cast; he slipped away,
As dawn dissolved their love to gray.
She wandered lands, crossed heaven’s gate,
For one last chance to mend their fate.

Through trials harsh and shadows steep,
Where gods would laugh and mortals weep,
Her courage shone—a light, a fire,
Born of pain and pure desire.

Till finally, through mercy’s grace,
She met her love in timeless space,
And as a goddess born anew,
She claimed a love both deep and true.

Eros and Psyche, star-bound flight,
Two souls entwined, in day and night,
Through mortal toil and godly scheme,
They found in each their truest dream.

2024 ©️

Poetry

The Ugly Butterfly

The Royal Octopus

In a garden full of buzzing bees,
Lived a butterfly who felt unease.
Her wings were tattered, brown, and gray,
While others danced in bright array.

She watched them flutter in the air,
With colors bright beyond compare.
“Why am I ugly, small, and plain?
I don’t belong,” she’d often claim.

The roses bloomed in shades so bright,
While she would hide away from sight.
The sun would shine, the birds would sing,
But she was sad about her wings.

One day she asked the ladybug,
“Why can’t I feel a joyful hug?
The others sparkle, bright and free,
But none of that is meant for me.”

The ladybug said with a smile,
“You’ll see your beauty in a while.
For sometimes what you think is small,
Becomes the greatest gift of all.”

The butterfly sighed and flew away,
Still wishing for her brighter day.
She landed near a shady tree,
Where an old wise owl said, “Come, see!”

“Look closely at your wings, dear one,
Your beauty’s hidden from the sun.
You’re not a butterfly, oh no—
But something grander soon will show.”

She wondered what the owl could mean,
Her wings were dull, not red or green.
But as the moon began to rise,
She felt a change before her eyes.

Her wings grew wider, soft as silk,
With patterns lovely, smooth as milk.
She wasn’t plain; she wasn’t small—
She’d become a moth, grandest of all!

With moonlit wings that shone so bright,
She soared into the starry night.
She wasn’t ugly, now she knew—
Her beauty was for nighttime’s view.

The stars all twinkled as she flew,
Her heart now filled with joy and too—
She learned that beauty comes in ways
That shine in night or brightened days.

So if you feel you’re not enough,
Remember that the world is tough.
But just like her, you’ll soon break free,
And find the wings you’re meant to be.

2024 ©️

Poetry

Love Defined

The Royal Octopus

The sun and moon, a timeless pair,
A dance of light beyond compare.
By day, he rises, golden bright,
Casting warmth and chasing night.

She waits in shadows, silver glow,
With secrets only night can know.
In quiet grace, she takes her turn,
While he, in longing, watches, yearns.

They reach, they touch, but never meet,
Bound by fate’s eternal beat.
Across the sky, they chase and play,
In twilight’s blush and dawn’s soft gray.

Yet every dusk and dawn’s embrace
Is where they share a fleeting space,
A moment where their love is shown—
Two halves of light, yet all alone.

Forever bound, apart, entwined,
The sun and moon, are love defined.

2024 ©️

Poetry

Death’s Final Embrace

The Royal Octopus

She met him cloaked in night’s deep shade,
A whisper wrapped in dark cascade.
Her voice a plea, a soft lament,
“Grant me time that’s not yet spent.

“I’ve songs unsung, and fields to sow,
Dreams unspun, and hearts to know.
Hold back the tide, just for a breath—
Leave me longer yet, dear Death.”

He answered low, as shadows bind,
In tones that shivered leaf and rind,
“All things must end, both flesh and flame;
Life’s spark and glow are much the same.

“The stars, too, burn and fade away,
And rivers cease their winding sway.
The oak that towers, proud and high,
Must bow to earth, as all things die.”

She bowed her head, her hope unwound,
Her voice a murmur, soft and sound.
“Then lead me well,” she breathed, resigned,
“For I shall go, as all must bind.”

And Death, with sorrowed, timeless grace,
Held her hand in cold embrace.
“For every soul, a night will fall—
Yet in that dark, I hold them all.”

2024 ©️

Poetry

Salem’s Whisper..

The Royal Octopus

In Salem town where shadows crept,
And fear in whispered voices swept,
The cold winds carries cries of blame,
As innocence was scorched in flame.

The women wept, their hearts ablaze,
Trapped in the dark, accusing gaze.
For secrets told in midnight’s hour,
Were twisted into deadly power.

A finger pointed, whispers grew,
What once was friend became untrue.
And bound by lies, they met their fate,
Victims of a twisted hate.

With gallows raised against the sky,
The righteous claimed their right to lie.
Innocence and truth undone,
When fear and fury beat as one.

Now Salem sleeps, with haunted past,
Its voices hushed, its shadows cast.
Yet still the echoes coldly fall,
A warning whispered to us all.

2024 ©️