Tag: Greeks

Greek, Poetry

Medusa

The Royal Octopus

I once was a maiden, quiet and sweet,
With sunlight that danced at my mortal feet.
A girl of the earth, no goddess, no throne,
But beauty can curse when the gods make it known.

The sea god approached with a predator’s eye,
And none heard my pleading, or answered my cry.
Athena looked on with a heart turned to stone,
And punished the victim for crimes not her own.

She coiled my hair into serpents that hissed,
She turned every gaze to a fatal mist.
Banished, I wandered to caverns of shade,
And there in the darkness, my refuge was made.

My sisters stood firm, unbroken, unbowed,
They guarded my silence, they cursed the proud.
Their love was a beacon, a spark in my night,
Yet whispers of ‘monster’ soon shadowed that light.

Perseus came with a coward’s disguise,
With gifts from the gods and fear in his eyes.
He struck while I slumbered, no honour, no word,
And over my body, the heavens stirred.

They called him a hero, they praised him with song,
Yet none saw the evil, or named it as wrong.
For I was a girl, abused and betrayed,
A warning in marble, a myth they remade.

So call me a monster, but know I was true,
A victim of gods and the cruelty they brew.
And still my sisters, in sorrow, remain,
To mourn the sweet girl who died in her pain.

Perseus and the Gorgon, by Laurent Marqueste

2025 ©️

Greek, Poetry

Hera

The Royal Octopus

They call her wrathful, cold, unkind,
A jealous heart, a vengeful mind.
But look again, beneath the crown—
A woman worn, a goddess bound.

She is the vow, the wedding flame,
The whispered prayer in lover’s name.
The guardian of bond and bride,
Yet left alone, denied her pride.

Zeus, the king, with roving eyes,
Seeks out the earth and splits the skies,
Lays with nymphs in secret glades,
While Hera watches love betray.

She cannot strike the thunder’s core,
So wrath becomes her shield of war.
Leto, Io, Semele—
Were they not touched unwillingly?

She curses them, but would you not,
If love was theft, and faith forgot?
If every glance your husband gave
Became another soul to save?

A crown of thorns disguised as gold,
A tale of loyalty untold.
She is not cruel without a cause,
She bleeds behind Olympus’ laws.

They say she struck with bitter fire—
Yet scorn was all she could acquire.
She bore the weight, she held the throne,
And faced the storm, and stood alone.

So judge her not for what she did,
But ask what you would do, if hid
Behind the veil of queen and wife
Was just a woman, wrecked by strife.

© 2025

Greek, Poetry

Zeus

The Royal Octopus

Upon Olympus, carved from storm,
He sits where tempests take their form.
A sceptre held in sky-born hand,
He rules the gods, commands the land.

His voice is thunder, vast and raw,
The wind itself bends to his law.
With flashing eye and brow of flame,
He calls the lightning by its name.

He gave the world its shape, its fire,
He struck down Titans in his ire.
Yet still, beneath that kingly grace,
Lurks pride and lust time can’t erase.

No vow too sacred, none too small,
He breaks and binds at every call.
He loves with hunger, leaves with ease,
He whispers sweet, then dooms with breeze.

The skies obey, the earth will quake,
When Zeus decides what he shall take.
And still we lift our eyes in prayer,
To sky’s cold throne, though none sit there.

For kings may fall and temples rot,
But Zeus, it seems, has been forgot.
Or has he? When storms begin to roar,
We wonder if he walks once more.

© 2025

Greek, Poetry

The Twelve

The Royal Octopus

They reign above on thrones of light,
Each god a power, each gift a right.
Immortal hands that bless or break,
They give with love, or take for sake.

Zeus, the storm-king, fierce and proud,
Speaks justice loud, then veils in cloud.
He throws his lightning, cracks the sky,
Yet turns his gaze when mortals die.

And Hera, queen with steely grace,
Wears loyalty like veiled disgrace.
She guards the vows that gods betray,
And scorches all who lose their way.

Poseidon, brother, sea-born brute,
With trident raised and wrath acute.
He calms the tides with whispered prayer,
Then drowns the sailors unaware.

Demeter, robed in golden grain,
Will bless the soil or starve the plain.
She grieves her loss and makes us pay,
In withered field and cold decay.

Then Aphrodite, born from foam,
With lips that build or break a home.
She brings desire, she stirs the flame—
But love to her is just a game.

Yet Ares waits, a snarling cry,
Where blood and kisses meet and die.
They dance through war, they burn through peace,
And never let their hunger cease.

Athena, wisdom’s shining spear,
A patron fierce, a judge austere.
She guards the just, the brave, the bold—
Yet cursed the ones who broke the mould.

Hermes glides with wingèd feet,
A smiling thief, a guide, a cheat.
He speaks in riddles, sings in lies,
And barters truth in clever guise.

Hephaestus, bent with molten art,
Creates the thrones they tear apart.
He builds their splendour, bears their slight,
And sleeps alone, far from the light.

Artemis of the silver bow,
Protects the wild and strikes her foe.
She walks the woods, untouched, unseen,
A huntress cloaked in starlit sheen.

Her brother, bright Apollo’s flame,
Plays golden notes in glory’s name.
He heals, he blinds, he brings the sun—
But always burns when day is done.

And Dionysus, last and young,
With ivy crown and wine-soaked tongue.
He laughs through tears, he breaks through walls,
And leads the mad in moonlit halls.

So praise them well, with fear and song—
Their wrath is swift, their grace is long.
But know this truth beneath your breath:
The gods bring wonder… and your death.

© 2025