Dreaded1

Atop the sodden sand the Scorpion sat, Waiting undisturbed for time to pass When suddenly came swiftly snaking by The serpent sometimes known by name as Asp, With skin that shone like silver in the sun And eyes that seemed to glow as old stained glass. The cadence of cicadas in the wood beyond the lake, A battle hymn so ghastly grim for them did seem to make. The morning air was dense and muscle tensed When there the mighty melee did ensue. The poison pair assumed a steeling stance, Each seeking to, his enemy, subdue. The serpent struck and must have missed his mark, For then his fearless foe fought to pursue. The potent poison present whe

Behind a cumulus veil She bats a shy eye downward, The twinkle there foretelling forbidden fruits That lie beyond the cloudy curtain; A wry grin, a glaring grimace, Possibilities seem endless Where mystery mars the honest truth. A northwind blows and peels away the shroud To disclose yet another. The cirrus cloak is thin But conceals her nature, Revealing the reluctant radiance of the female form. Her vestal visage casts coy glances Across a thousand worlds To a thousand pairs of eyes Too far away to touch.

Leo, Lord of lions, Saunters forth from his cage Letting loose a right raucous roar As he steps up to claim the center stage. His keeper responds with whipcracks To quell that regal rage. The beast remains Prideful. Stately He stands silent, Sullen but hardly tamed. The wreath of fire before him glows Like the golden-orange tuft of his mane. He takes a practiced pounce into The hanging hoop of flame, And emerges Flawless.

The flash of scarlet banner seemed As grey to Taurus’ simple eye, And the chant the spectators screamed Was as a thunderous reply. The time to face the beast was nigh. He drew a sword in his defense, As courage lied in short supply. A moment hung in mid-suspense And raging bull took to offense. “This stubborn man refused to die,” This to himself the brave bull thought. And with a hefty heaving sigh He gave the man what he so sought, A scar to prove that he once fought As did Orion long before. He too has reaped what he has wrought. And to the crowd’s still rolling roar So ended there the matador.

Curious crabling scuttles ashore By light of the fresh-risen moon, A ripe sort of fruit no gull could ignore Nor ever would find here so soon. Old mother-gull has taught well her son To fill the gaping hunger with his jaws, While mother-crab knows battle’s won Inside the gap between her claws. Diving down to claim the fresh meal The gull gives squawk as if to knell. What tasty treats would he reveal While rending open Cancer’s shell? The turning of tides is a blessing As crabling is swept out to sea Leaving the avian guessing What a fine sort of feast he would be.

Up and down the babbling brook A pair of playful Pisces ran. One the downstream path he took. The other upstream swiftly swam. The first fish said, "But this way's home." The second, "Hear and understand," "Where you retreat there I shall roam" "To distant destinies unplanned." "If you must then go your own way," "For truth I'm quite content with mine." "That land from whence I've gone astray," "I'll there my soul and self resign." And so they played, but never left, For truly neither could decline, And leave his brother so bereft Of company and peace of mind.

My menu is a mirror And my breakfast in a bottle. My life is lived in terror And my foot has pressed the throttle. I look upon my brother As he stares at his reflection And he doesn't even bother To acknowledge my rejection. And yet we stumble to the notion; May we use our own discretion? We will scramble up a potion And devour our inception. I seek to satiate the notion That I'm trapped within the shade Of that delicate devotion In the games we always played. "But we're tired of games," we said, Concerned of messages we send. Of all the things that we have prayed We are the living end. So brother take my hand unto The da

Most handsome prince of Troy was he And idled, tending flocks of sheep; That boy by name of Ganymede Had fallen on the mountain steep Into a dreary dreamless sleep Within the shade of old oak trees. So as the gods peered from on high The one called Zeus did seek to ask If he would join them in the sky To there fulfill his holy task Of filling flaggon, flute, and flask Until the end of days be nigh. For verily young Ganymede Did possess a certain skill And merrily performed the deed Of bearing cups of wine to fill. And in the face of Zeus' will He knew he could not hope to plead. There the eagle did descend To bear him hence

Alone behind these vitreous lenses I view the world before me painted in light and wonder If I'm holding the brush Or does some unseen artist place each edge and hue with purpose. Do I see what I mean or what I'm meant to see? Either way I'm looking, though I know not what for. The clouds roll by to color the sky something other than blue, Each puff or wisp reminding me of shapes I've seen before, Some tinged with shadows of a storm on the horizon Others tinted pink by the slowly setting sun. I reflect upon a pool of rainwater gathered at my feet. One by one the drops coalesced into a perfect mirror That fades drop by drop into th

"Return to the Land of the Lotos-Eaters" I have no words to say what here I've seen, For words so oft confuse the story's tail. I have but thoughts to think here what I mean, Yes, thoughts will lift the mystery and veil. Odyssey, I and mine: Wander wet on wooden holy wonder, Endless sky and ocean lie before. Lightning struck and rolled in holy thunder, Ride the foam-filled waves unto the shore. Heave and ho and lift and let the oar, Noon and moon and languid air be damned. Must we wander thirsty evermore? Swifter now to better praise the sand. If you value freedom make for land. Sunsetting valley-mountain now appears, A fertile isle here