Odes to Greek Mythos

Psyche - Cupid’s mortal lover.

Nightly you could sort the covers.

I be satisfied like normal husbands.

In the mornings I want more than comfort.

Love is torture.

Yours is cuming.

Erato - muse of lyrical poetry

Air ought to fuse to the ears of those who notice me.

Arrow pens sent to best a swords defenses low as speech.

Tones reach to my sensitives, bent in suggestive scenes.

Sexually demented plentiful beneficial friends to see.

Apollo god of poetry

Y’all don’t know I wrote this in my sleep.

Clio - muse of history

Winged creature different teaching from whichever view you’re given to see her.

Think of time lines, a web of weave, a tapestry, a wave that must come crashing deep.

Calliope muse of epic poetry -

Ally Homer and the ode to sea.

Odd that we call it Odyssey.

Resting, time tested, not lost in a thought just long invested in mental quests to answer questions.

A trumpet so you get the message.

Invented every text with unique intention.

Aurora, goddess of the dawn; carry me off like Cephalus.

Get the head, like that’s what heaven is.

Drop me into the mess that I invented.

Lock the dead in rest lest I call my ex again.

(You’re not supposed to eat rabbit. Still life goes on.)

Tragedy of Metamorphosis.

There once lived a nymph named Syrinx.

She was a beautiful as daybreak and stayed near the riverbank.

Along cake that famous Satyr.

Pan, like many a man before saw her and began advancing towards.

She ran.

And when she was cornered and begging for help a magician said “I can”.

She drank from his hands and metamorphosis sang her to sleep.

Free to never leave home or so she’d hope, oh that nymph Syrinx.

She’d go into the river and sink.

Drink drink drink.

Pan arrived as she turned into a pantheon of reeds.

Pan picked her still, and bound her hands and feet.

Pan was in a band ya see, yet his hands weren’t built for the strings.

So he plucked that Nymph Syrinx out of the river by the sea.

Fashioned her reeds into his flute, and played the most beautiful sound that could be.

Soon he was surrounded by dancing nymphs, their first duet was called, “More Flies with Honey”

Dana moon goddess and nymph to a satyr.

And who stranger to be odd if not maiden.

Great the steps she made to stay her.

To stay a stray dog without a cage or.

Making a rapist look like a danger.

At least in the painting.

The basement of monsters was yawning. Grandma beat us through it like she saw it.

Pauses. So many monsters in the way.

Made sure my cousins got beyond em.

Learned the way to get on heaven’s gate.

Grandma prayed in wait.

Turned as if to say, “Y’all okay?”

And in grace we made our way.

I’ll return some day.