Tag: Motivational

Poetry

An Ode to Em Dashes — My Overused Friends

The Royal Octopus

I once had a sentence — so crisp and concise —
But I thought, “It needs drama!” — and added a slice.
Of that long, lovely line — the em dash supreme —
To give every thought — a poetic daydream.

I dashed through my emails, my essays, my tweets —
With swagger and flair and dramatic repeats.
Each pause was a moment, each clause was a scene —
Till my writing looked stolen — if you know what I mean..

“Oh no,” said a pal, “this looks kind of… AI.”
“Too many dashes — are you even that spry?”
“Do you talk in suspense? Do you think in a dash?
Or did ChatGPT help you recycle this trash?”

I wept and I pondered, then dashed off again —
Thinking surely this dash was my best, trusted friend.
But alas, in the shadows, suspicion still grows —
From every bold dash, suspicion arose.

So now I must try to retire the dash —
Replace it with commas, or semis (how brash).
I’ll write like a human — concise, with some flair —
No dramatic long breaks like I’m gasping for air.

Dear em dash, I love you — I’ll always, I do —
But for now, it’s goodbye — to keep looking true.
I’ll use you in secret — a rebel, unseen —
For ChatGPT doesn’t write this pristine.

©️ 2025

Poetry

Layers.

The Royal Octopus

She fell in silence, smooth and deep,
A trap of glass where none could weep.
The sky above—a distant call—
She dreamed of it, and climbed the wall.

She cast her thread with trembling care,
One silver line through stagnant air.
The climb began, her limbs unsure—
But hope was strong, and will was pure.

She circled slow, a fragile ring,
Each loop a small imagining.
She paused, she breathed, she spun once more—
Her silk unspooled, her muscles sore.

Around again, and higher still,
A prisoner moved by aching will.
The walls were slick, the curve was steep—
She spun through pain, she climbed through sleep.

Her legs began to quake and drag,
Each loop a burden, each pass a flag.
Her thread grew faint, her eyes grew dry,
Yet always—always—toward the sky.

Humans came. They laughed. They stared.
Some took pictures. None had cared.
She looked at them with pleading grace,
A ghost behind a polished case.

Still spinning—slower now, and thin—
Her body caved beneath her skin.
The silk was gone. The glass was tall.
She gave her last to climb that wall.

She curled beneath her silver thread,
A monument to where she bled.
Her eyes still held the blue above—
She died for sky, for light, for love.

And no one knew what she had tried—
They passed her by, and so she died.

Image by Shoody_Course_6925 via Reddit

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

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 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 ©️