The Villagers Were Terrified Of The Forest,

The villagers were terrified of the forest,

And all that lied within.

This fear was only ever chorused,

Over a little too much gin.

One,

Trees who told the oldest tales,

Who had driven many mad without fail.

Two,

Water, radiating oh, so bright,

Making cinders of any onlooker’s eyes.

Three,

Grass, soft to the touch,

How it’d lead to your eternal slumber,

And turn you into dust.

Four,

Pine-needled path,

Inhale it,

Which…way was…out…of the forest?

Five,

Acorns, white as a cloud in a crystal sky,

Boiled and leached.

Treats, seemingly sweet,

Before they have you buckling at your feet.

The forest welcomed the local village,

And all whom lied within.

As they say,

There is some truth to every story,

Much to the human-craving forest’s chagrin.

- (d.n.k)

on love that consumes

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Hunters of Artemis

Artemis,

Goddess of the Moon,

Cast your arrow,

Guide me with it’s brilliant light.

Show me the pathway,

To become stronger.

To become one of your apex hunters,

And not the prey in this game we call life.

Teach me the way of the wild,

Tell me how to use flint and steel to spark fire.

Point out the berries,

Those ones with the kiss of death,

And point out the ones that will return the steadiness of my breath.

Open my eyes,

Let me see how I can be truly self-sufficient,

How I can rely on nobody but myself and my surrounding environment.

Please,

Goddess,

Allow me to pledge my loyalty to you,

As a woman casted into exile,

I didn't have anybody's help.

So allow me the chance to prove myself,

And join the Hunters of Artemis.

We gathered around the table, talon to talon. We gobbled our prayers.

“Thank you for the meals we eat, thank you for the humans that sing, thank you Poultry Lord for everything.”

We dug in. Dishes of seed were passed around all the way from Great Aunt Linda to Little Benny. Nectar pitchers were drained to the last drop by the adults, water pitchers by the children. Sweet maize and green beans decorated everyone’s plates.

For the main course, there was a human baked in tin foil. It was seasoned with herbs to perfection.

I personally enjoyed a juicy piece of calf. My wife tore apart a thigh. The children had their fun snapping the pinky bones in half.

Once the human was picked clean, Great-Great Grandma Patricia croaked aloud, “And don’t you remember when we used to be the ones on their plates?”

Everyone, including myself, chuckled and chortled in unison.

Man’s Greatest Fear

The God of the Sea,

Attracted to beauty is he.

His trident,

Encrusted with shimmering pearls.

The locks of his hair,

Braided with the finest of jewels.

The kingdom he built,

Is a radiant sight to see.

The deceptiveness of colorful anemones.

Schools of fish who dance and part with fluid ease.

The temples carved of gold and marble,

Are strong and study against the water’s breeze.

Hidden inside,

Who knows what could possibly be?

Poseidon grows bored of the picturesque scenery before him,

After all,

He’s known it for all of eternity.

Perhaps on land,

Someplace can be found more captivating.

So onto land Poseidon strolls,

Through mountain ridges,

Deserts,

Lake sides,

And past hills that roll.

The God the Sea has yet to find,

A place more beautiful than his home.

He finds himself within a forest,

With trees whose trunks stretch taller than the Titans.

Perhaps all the way to Olympus.

Poseidon was to be on his way,

Defeated from these last few disappointing days.

Until he heard a song,

A melody sung oh so sweet,

That he began to creep.

Along the vines,

His heart began to beat.

Pass the thorns,

That nipped warningly at his feet.

Over a thrashing river,

That calmed with a wave of his hand.

Before Poseidon,

Was a clearing,

With grass greener than green.

In its center was a temple, solid, stone gray.

The color of Athena.

From within it,

Came the voice,

So enchanting was it,

That he had little choice,

Poseidon soon had concealed himself,

Within the trees.

From the temple,

Emerged a maiden.

Whose beauty put Aphrodite’s to shame,

Whose beauty and song lit Poseidon’s heart aflame!

Her marvelous song ceased,

When her inquisitive eyes laid upon the spot where the man remained unseen.

Hesitantly,

The maiden stepped forward.

Poseidon simply couldn’t believe,

How the curls that cascaded down her back,

Framed her porcelain face perfectly.

How her eyes, a startling blue,

Contrasted with the rose petal hue,

Of her lips.

In was in that moment,

That moment,

Poseidon knew that this,

This maiden was made to be his.

And so that night,

He slithered into the temple.

Whilst the maiden was asleep,

Poseidon couldn’t keep,

His eyes nor hands from roaming,

From curve of her hips,

To those rose petal lips,

Which didn’t willingly grace his own.

Poseidon was not only a king,

But a God!

How dare this maiden tell him no?

Her pleas,

Her screams,

To the gods went unheard,

The man had done the unforgivable.

As a priestess of Athena,

The maiden’s chastity was integral.

Her life and soul had been torn apart,

By the man,

Who now went to Zeus,

The man sought to make her his by marriage.

Athena had arrived,

To her temple,

Defiled by Posideon.

The poor maiden trembled before her goddess.

“I cannot undo the horrible crimes,

Committed by he who wields the triton,

But I can prevent you from forcefully having to rule along beside him.

With snakes for hair,

And eye contact,

Every man who sees you will turn to stone.

This includes the one who wouldn’t accept,

That your answer was no.

With your very touch,

The weapons of man,

Will wither to the floor.

Dear Medusa,

You’ll strike more fear in man’s heart, than any man has ever known.”

The God of Fire

The air was electrifying,

Up here in Mount Olympus,

Hera had supposedly birthed a boy,

And it was a time for celebration!

Dionysus brought his fine wine,

Apollo strummed his lyre,

Thalia sang a song so contagiously upbeat,

That even Ares couldn’t help the tapping of his feet.

It was a joyous occasion indeed!

For whom the party was for,

Had yet to be seen.

Where was Zeus, Hera,

And their newest offspring?

Off in the distance,

One could hear a newborn’s crying.

Hera and Zeus agreed that the child was imperfect.

That in regards to their other children,

He was by far the ugliest,

Borderline grotesque.

His parents,

Hera and Zeus,

Casted him out.

Had thrown him down,

The very steps of Olympus.

But immortals cannot perish.

Where he lay,

Sprawled upon the steps,

He could see the flaming sun.

He stretched the tips of his fingertips,

And soon a chunk of it became his own.

He placed it upon the marble staircase,

Hands unscorched,

He molded it into a blanket,

One to keep him safe and warm.

The newest son of Olympus,

Was by no means a piece of art,

But he himself was an exceptional sculptor.

Of decor,

Of masonry,

Of temples,

Of whatever one’s heart could desire.

This child would soon be renowned as Hephaestus,

The one and only,

God of Fire.