Tag: History

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

The Measure of Lachesis

The Royal Octopus

I take the thread once Clotho weaves,
Still warm with breath, still laced with leaves.
I stretch it out between my palms,
To sense its tides, its storms, its calms.

No mortal sees the marks I feel,
The subtle weight, the quiet steel.
Some threads are thin, yet burn with fire,
Some thick, but lost in dark desire.

I do not judge, I do not steer,
But still, I see what draws me near.
A soldier’s spark, a lover’s thread,
A poet’s path through tears unsaid.

The length is not for me to make,
But I can see what roads it takes.
The twists of fate, the branching ways,
The turning nights, the hollow days.

They call me silence, call me fate,
But I am patient, I will wait.
For all must pass through hands like mine—
The time must stretch before the line.

And when I lay it down at last,
The weight of futures, present, past,
I leave it gently, like a song,
To her who ends what we prolong.

©️2025

Poetry

A Dance with Death

The Royal Octopus

A poem about time, friendship, and the one chase we never win.

A young man walked on midnight’s breath,
And struck a deal with Lady Death.
She wore a veil of raven thread,
And smiled, “Not yet. But soon,” she said.

He craved the years, the wine, the flame,
To taste the world, to carve his name.
“I’ll give you time,” said she with grace,
“But someday, love, I’ll take my place.”

He danced through wars and fell through love,
Outran the stars and gods above.
Each time he tripped or neared his end,
She’d whisper soft: “Not yet, my friend.”

She toyed with him, a ghostly muse,
With hollow steps in worn-out shoes.
She’d touch his shoulder, draw in close—
Then vanish like a fleeting ghost.

She aged him slow with every chase,
Etched crow’s feet deep upon his face.
In every mirror, shadows stirred,
Her silence louder than a word.

He laughed at first, defied her game,
But years grew cold and none remained.
One twilight, tired beneath the stars,
He met her eyes, and dropped his guard.

“I’ve run,” he said, “and still you came.”
She knelt beside him, spoke his name.
“No shame in rest, in letting go—
You made the most of what you stole.”

And hand in hand, they crossed the hill,
Two friends, at last, both calm and still.
For Death, who waits and gently keeps,
Had come not cruel, but kind—to reap.

©️2025

Poetry

More than Six.

The Royal Octopus

I was his first, his chosen queen,
A Spanish rose, both proud and keen.
Through war and peace, I stood so tall,
Yet bore no son to heed his call.
He cast me off, declared me naught,
But I held firm in what I taught.
A wife, a queen, till my last breath,
No king could steal my soul in death.

A whisper, a shadow, a spark in his eye,
I rose like the sun, I soared to the sky.
Crowned in love, in fate entwined,
Yet fear and envy were close behind.
They called me traitor, a witch, a whore—
A queen with no son is a queen no more.
With trembling grace, I met the sword,
And in my death, I was adored.

I was the quiet, the gentle, the pale,
The one whose love would never fail.
A son I bore, his greatest prize,
Yet paid the price with my own life.
No scandal, whispers, nor disgrace—
Only a memory, a fleeting face.
But if love lasts, then here I stay,
Forever in his heart’s display.

A picture painted, a deal was made,
Yet love was lost before it stayed.
Not fair enough, nor soft, nor sweet,
But wise enough to know defeat.
I left a wife, yet lived as free—
A sister, a friend, content to be.
Better divorced than dead, I say,
And in my peace, I won the day.

Too young, too wild, too full of glee,
Yet what was I but a pawn to be?
A dance, a kiss, a secret sin,
A reckless heart trapped deep within.
I played at love, I lost at last,
My fate sealed quick, my joy was past.
They took my head, but hear my cry—
A girl should live before she dies.

I lived, I learned, I read, I wrote,
I soothed the wounds that time had wrought.
A widow twice before his bed,
And lived to love when he was dead.
A scholar, tutor, wise and free,
A woman more than wife to be.
I fought for faith, for learning’s right,
My words still burn with steady light.

We were more than brides and queens,
More than shadows in his scenes.
We lived, we loved, we stood, we fell,
Yet each of us has tales to tell.
Not Henry’s story, not his alone—
But six bright stars with light our own.

©️ 2025

Poetry

Loki

The Royal Octopus

Beneath the sky of shifting gray,
Where twilight dances, night meets day,
There spins a tale of guile and flame,
A trickster’s art, a whisper’s name.

Loki, born of frost and fire,
Weaver of schemes, unquenched desire,
With honeyed tongue and quickened mind,
He bends the fate of gods and time.

He walks the line ’twixt jest and spite,
A thief of truth, a shadowed light.
With silver lies and cunning art,
He sows discord in every heart.

A serpent sly, a fox’s grin,
His chaos spreads where he has been.
Yet in his tricks, a lesson lies—
To see the truth through veiled disguise.

For though his deeds may shatter peace,
And sow confusion without cease,
His clever hands reshape the way,
A spark that births another day.

Oh, Loki, wily, sharp, and sly,
A fire that flickers, never dies.
Your cunning path, both curse and boon,
A dance beneath the shifting moon.

2025 ©️

Poetry

The Silent Killer

The Royal Octopus

Beneath the sky, so vast, so blue,
She whispers vengeance, cold and true.
No armies march, no cannons roar,
Her quiet fury settles the score.

The rivers rise, a creeping flood,
Turning streets to paths of mud.
The winds, they howl, with spiteful grace,
Tearing apart the human trace.

Her forests burn, a crimson pyre,
Fed by greed and mankind’s fire.
The earth she shakes, her anger deep,
A tremor wakes where cities sleep.

The oceans swell, their waves take hold,
Swallowing shores both young and old.
The ice retreats, her final plea,
As waters drown humanity.

No words she speaks, no threats she cries,
Her silence shames the loudest lies.
For every tree and every stone,
She claims what man would call his own.

We took her gifts, we scarred her face,
We mocked her patience, stole her grace.
Now she’s a shadow, cold and grim,
Her quiet vengeance grows within.

Beware the calm, the lulling peace,
For it’s her rage that will never cease.
A mother scorned, her justice clear—
She’s the silent killer we ought to fear.

2025 ©️

Poetry

Scylla’s Lesson

The Royal Octopus

Upon the cliffs where shadows cling,
A creature waits, a cursed thing.
Her many heads, her gnashing teeth,
But sorrow hidden far beneath.

Once a maiden of grace and light,
Her beauty gleamed, her spirit bright.
But envy’s spell and cruel deceit
Turned flesh to bone, and joy to grief.

Now sailors scream, their faces pale,
As she emerges, fierce and frail.
They see the beast, the savage guise,
But not the tears within her eyes.

She strikes to live, not to destroy,
Her hunger void of wrath or joy.
Yet no tales told of her despair,
Just demon in her lair.

If only they could hear her plea,
“Would you not fight, if you were me?
Condemned to hunger, trapped in strife,
What choice remains, except for life?

This world is quick to name and blame,
To bind the lost in chains of shame.
But monsters, too, we bear a heart,
A shattered whole, a fractured part.

So pause before you cast your stone;
The fiercest fight is fought alone.
In every shadow, light may hide—
Look deeper in, see past the tide.”

2025 ©️

Poetry

The Patient Queen

The Royal Octopus

Upon the cliffs where salt winds wail,
Penelope weaves her endless tale.
Threads of gold and sorrow entwine,
Each stitch a prayer, a sacred sign.

Her heart a lyre, strung tight with grief,
Each day a moment, each night a thief.
Yet steadfast stands her patient gaze,
Through shadowed nights and endless days.

The suitors swarm, a ravenous tide,
Greed and ambition their only guide.
They feast, they laugh, they drink her wine,
Blind to the cunning of the queen’s design.

For in her chamber, cloaked in thought,
A secret challenge she has wrought:
The bow of Odysseus, mighty and true,
A test no mortal could ever undo.

“Let he who strings this weapon of kings,
Be he the man fate’s favor brings.
And through twelve axes cast his dart,
Claim my hand, and win my heart.”

Her voice is calm, her resolve like stone,
Though love for one man fills her alone.
She bides her time, she guards her name,
A queen of patience, a master of flame.

Beyond the sea, her hero roams,
Through storm and sorrow, through distant domes.
Yet in her heart, his image burns bright,
A beacon of hope through the darkest night.

O noble queen, your strength endures,
A legend wrought of trials and lures.
For love and wit shall pierce the veil,
And bring Odysseus home to Ithaca’s tale.

2025 ©️

Poetry

The Wooden Deception

The Royal Octopus

Beneath Troy’s golden skies, so high,
The city stood, its walls defied.
For ten long years, the Greeks had fought,
But victory’s hand could not be caught.

Then cunning stirred in Odysseus’ mind,
A scheme both daring and unkind.
A horse of wood, colossal, vast,
A gift, a ruse, a shadow cast.

The Greeks feigned flight, their ships withdrew,
Their sails obscured in morning’s hue.
The Trojans cheered, their foes now gone,
And rolled the horse through gates at dawn.

“Behold,” they cried, “a prize of war,
A token left upon our shore!”
With song and dance, the night grew deep,
While death within began to creep.

For hidden in that hollow frame,
The Greeks concealed their vengeful flame.
As silence fell, their trap awoke,
And Troy was doomed with every stroke.

The gates unbarred, the city burned,
The fates of men and gods had turned.
A single ploy, a whispered lie,
And Troy fell ‘neath the starry sky.

Oh, mortal pride, so quick to trust,
So swift to fall, to fade, to dust.
The horse remains, a tale of lore,
A warning carved in myth and war.

2024 ©️

Poetry

A Circular Warning

The Royal Octopus

Beneath the moon’s soft silver glow,
Where mushrooms in a circle grow,
The fairy folk do dance and play,
Through starry night ’til break of day.

Their whispers drift upon the breeze,
Through ancient oaks and willow trees.
But heed this warning, mortal kin:
Beware the circle; don’t step in.

For those who cross the mystic ring
May hear the fey begin to sing.
A haunting tune, both sweet and sly,
Will steal your soul before you sigh.

Their laughter’s light, their forms are fair,
But tread too close and they’ll ensnare.
For fairies guard their sacred space,
And do not pardon human grace.

So leave their rings to moss and dew,
And let the fey their rites renew.
Respect the bounds of their domain,
Or risk the loss of heart and brain.

For those who scorn the fairy laws
Shall suffer fates with chilling claws.
A life bewitched, a path askew—
All this, and more, may fall on you.

So mind your step when woods are deep,
And leave the fey their secrets to keep.
For those who honor, they may bless,
But trespassers meet no kindness.

2024 ©️