Tag: Independence

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 ©️

Poetry

Persephone

The Royal Octopus

In meadows vast, where sunlight played,
Among the blooms, the maiden strayed.
Her laughter rang, her feet were bare,
Her golden locks caught in the air.

But from the earth, a shadow rose,
A chariot dark where fire glows.
Hades, lord of the ashen plain,
Came swift to break her life in twain.

A scream, a struggle, petals torn,
The sky wept grief, the world forlorn.
Down to the depths, through veils of night,
She vanished, stolen from the light.

The Underworld, a realm of stone,
A hollow place, cold and alone.
Yet in its heart, a throne stood tall,
A seat of power beneath it all.

At first she wept; she cursed his name,
Bound by a fate that none could tame.
The pomegranate’s ruby stain,
Sealed her bond to his domain.

But as the days in shadow passed,
Her sorrow waned, her fear unmasked.
The silent dead bent to her will,
And in her chest stirred something still.

For she was more than harvest’s child,
More than a girl with spirit wild.
She saw in darkness hidden grace,
A strength to rule, a queen’s embrace.

No longer captive, she would reign,
With iron hand and tender vein.
Beside the king, her power grew,
A goddess born in realms anew.

And when spring called her to the skies,
To mother’s arms and azure ties,
She left behind a kingdom vast,
A part of her forever cast.

For in her heart, two worlds now meet,
A dual soul, both fierce and sweet.
Above, she blooms; below, she’s fire—
A queen fulfilled, her own desire.

2024 ©️

Poetry

Hymn to Dionysus

The Royal Octopus

O Dionysus, wild and free,
God of wine, of revelry,
With ivy crown and leopard’s grace,
You roam through night, in hidden place.

Your cup pours deep, both sweet and red,
A draught for gods, a dance for dead.
Your laughter shakes the mountain’s spine,
As mortals lose themselves in wine.

You, of the vine, the ecstasy,
The edge of joy, of mystery.
In shadowed woods, the Maenads cry,
Where boundaries fade and mortals fly.

Breaker of chains, you lead the way,
Where madness and bliss entwine and play.
Oh god who loves the wild and lost,
Who teaches joy at any cost.

O Dionysus, fierce and kind,
The muse of flesh, of heart, of mind.
We raise a glass, and sing to thee,
God of wine, of revelry.

©️ 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

The Baba Yaga

The Royal Octopus

In the woods where shadows creep,
Where twisted trees in silence sleep,
Lives Baba Yaga, wild and wise,
With ancient fire behind her eyes.

Her hut on legs walks through the gloom,
A place of both fortune and doom.
The lost and helpless seek her door,
Hoping for gifts, but she gives more.

“Come in, come in,” her raspy call,
“To those who need, I give my all.
But understand, no spell is free,
You’ll earn your fate, as it must be.”

A girl once came with teary plea,
“Save me from my misery.”
Baba Yaga stirred her brew,
“Then tell me first, what can you do?”

The girl cried out, “I’m weak, I’m small,
I cannot work, I cannot crawl.”
The witch just laughed, her eyes aglow,
“Then you are not prepared to grow.”

She vanished then without a trace,
Leaving the girl to face her place.
But others came, their spirits strong,
Seeking where their hands belong.

A farmer begged for fertile lands,
He brought his plow, his calloused hands.
“Good,” Yaga said, “You’ve come with toil—
Now plant your dreams into the soil.”

A craftsman sought to find his way,
He worked through night, he worked by day.
“Ah,” she said, “You’ll earn your keep,
For those who build, shall never weep.”

So Baba Yaga’s lessons clear,
To those who work, you need not fear.
The witch rewards the self-made path,
Her wisdom hides behind no wrath.

For those who help themselves with pride,
Find Baba Yaga on their side.

2024 ©️