For one month Odysseus toiled and
Built up the house that stood so great before,
Clearing away the cobwebs that had been.
Twenty years since truly being a home,
Twenty years since being filled with laughter
That was more than lust of insolent men.
And so Odysseus sent for his son
That they may set out on an angling jaunt.
Whilst they were making their way in the deep,
A strange singing filled the air and they were
Surrounded by fog as thick as the stew
Telemachus’ mother often prepared.
Out of the mist strode a Nereid with skin
The color of the purest of milk creams.
Silky hair fell in lush amber waves down
Her flawlessly curved back, flowing smoothly
Such as the Nile river in the wind.
And she said unto them, “Friends, do not be
Frightened, for I shall bear you no harm. You
Who have come from years of fear and anguish,
I now call to bear a terrible task.
There is a great daemon in these waters,
An archfiend who calls herself Lamia.
She eats any children who dare descend in
Waters where she lurks hidden in shadow.
She snatches at the ankles of the young
Like a solicitous epistle grasps
At the heartstrings of those who read it. She
Is a sickness that has no remedy,
A war with no end. She is the dark thought
One cannot be rid of. She is pure death.
Please, great Odysseus, vanquish this thing
Haunting every step of the innocent.
I give to you this costume that one may
Receive the breath of life underwater. ”

Upon agreeing to the colossal
Undertaking, Odysseus and his
Progeny initiated their search
Across the marine for the beast behind
The mask of trepidation. However,
‘Twas not long until Lamia herself
Appeared to them and made to devour
Telemachus himself, for he was a
Young man, young enough to vex her temper.
This thing that had risen out of the depths,
She had a beautiful face matched closely
Only by Venus herself. But beneath
The splendor is that of an animal
With the scaled, winding tail of an immense
Serpent and talons ending her long hands.
She apprehended the son of our great
Hero in a clawed fist and began to
Raise him to her massive gaping gullet.
Before the harm was done, Odysseus
Seized a sarsen from a near formation
And heaved it at Lamia’s beautiful
Head. The boulder succeeded in breaking
All of her shining teeth, preventing her
From consuming Telemachus. She
Fulminated for a moment, and then
Hastily withdrew to her cavernous
Space.
           Odysseus followed, retrieving
A bronze sword from a shipwreck he passed in
His haste. Brandishing his weapon fiercely,
He charged. Managing to scarcely avoid
Lamia’s lashing tail and slashing claws,
He climbed to the base of her neck and plunged
The sword into the soft flesh that was there.
He tore the blade back and forth, severing
The pronounced head from her ghastly body.

After slaughtering the daemon, the two
Swam for shore, Telemachus breathing by
Way of keeping hold of his father’s suit.
Once at the surface of the sea, they were
Met once again by Amatheia,
The Nereid who’d charged them with the duty,
Who rewarded Odysseus with a
Magic bag that could hold any item,
Size or shape, and never got heavy, no
Matter its load. When given, it held 100,000
Drachma, a great deal of money for them.

After thanking her freely and being
Thanked in return, the men were magicked back
To their home on Ithaca, where remained
Penelope, wife to Odysseus.
They lived quite happily off the money
Gifted graciously to them, and were graced
By the great Gods forevermore for the
Grim duties performed by Odysseus.

Whirlpool of whirling quaint
Inequality brewing in the
Winepress of smithereens
Fragile polity.
Voices of weariness cried
Out from the wasteyard of
Waste for succour,
Pointing fingers of
Recrimination towards
The abyss of drouth ,
Entangled in conflicts
Of interest.

Winds of improvised emblem
Bearing hunchback of
Woes,
Raising hands from the
Drowning deep sea
For rescue like
A dejected beautiful
Vigaro in a
Turbulent ocean of quarrel
With her spouse.

Whereas reddish fluids of life
Runs across the same veins
And arteries of haves
And haves-not but
Cottage of interests
Hoisting avalanche of
Rainbow-coloured flags
Standing aloof on the
Pole of misrule,
Demarcating their interests.

No accommodation for wants
In the corridor of affluence.
Wants on a trade mission
With wealthy but caged in
The confinement of wealth.

Winds of inequality blew
Whirler of wants into
The marrow of the
Haves-not.
Rains of inequality passing
Through a lockage of lack
Into the improvised,
Doling-out poverty to
Gain the control of
Wealth.

Alas! Blindness sees inner
Vision of darkness from
The households of political
      lamia.
Alas! Deafness hears
Discordant vague voices
Of failure from the forest
      of frustration.
Alas! Dumbness speaks
Language of gnomes out
Of the vale of forgotten
      treasures.
Alas! A four year tenancy
      turning into decades
      of challenges.

But we shall revive our hope
      and raise our voices
            tomorrow.

What sort of divination is this?
Immediately paralyzed by a feathery kiss.
The magnetism between us was always so strong,
But now I'm tortured awaiting you to arrive erelong.

You cast your wand, chant triple syllable spell
You filled my void, something you'd always done well

Now something has changed

This is far more intense
I find that I have lost every single defense

Tender Wizard, Loving Warlock, I am begging thee
Do not ever set me free.
Whatever potion, illusion, or spell this is
I am forever in need of you, my Adonis

For withdrawal seems fatal on both ends
The future now on you depends
For I do not want to leave my trance
This allurement was never a happenstance

Forever I see you with love veiled eyes
Vulnerable to even the slightest demise.

Tonight, I feel lucky like I got Lamia at my side
Twilight will see justice and wrath meet
From virulence who could truly hide?
Tonight I ride in under the rain,
like under thin skin pushing blade
Anguish within replete in collecting like a memory
In time fully bleeding and reaping
A time limit on sun and moonlight
Tonight I ride in delivery
of thousands
hurting
for pain in payment

My mother was not right since the longest I recall
with the sickness to which you bound her, enthralled
For the daughters and the sons and for guardians who once
enjoyed their unity, who well beside themselves with grief
won't ever pray for harm

Tonight I ride lucky, Lamia,
as I collide

In a sort of way I was like her pen.
Whenever she needed a place to vent I was there.
In the times when truth was hard to bare. The world a bit colder.
Is when she stained me with her hands. A place she felt most comfortable.
She'd wake out of a dead sleep, to tell me all of her dreams.
The things that kept her up at night. Her fears, her aspirations. 
She inspired me as well.
To give as much as I could.
Knowing her to be all I could depend.
Generous in the way I laid beneath her words.
I remained humble. Replacing my top with every syllable she spoke.
learning to speak in the times she didn't know which word felt best. 
Shutting the world out for moments longer.
In times I wasn't my best. She never minded the ink on her hands.
The moments that became hesitant. Large blotches of ink clogged in a moment of weakness.
The silence of a moment where silence spoke volume.
Closed pen top. The inadequacy of being used until nothing was left.

This was how I viewed the world until she opened me up.
Often times I'd dangle from her front pocket. Kept warm by her side.
Away from all the other things she'd carry in her bag.
In all honesty I loved every story she'd tell.
Shedding light on her perspective of life.

To leave the old me somewhere on a desk
I felt at home living and breathing, nestled between her fingers.
At neither time did we feel we'd run out of ink.
Scribbling her pain, her pleasure 
With my fingers.
And I, curled up in a blanket until the sun rose in her eyes

The screech-owl in the wasted tree,
Who blights the branch and smites the leaves,
She wails that she was once like you and me!
Hey Lamia, hey love of mine,
Whose banshee moaning boils the night,
I won’t listen, for I know that Lilith lies!

Oh, naked beasts, oh variegated lives!
Whose ribs You cracked,
Whose love You lacked,
For whom You cast two wives!
Oh, hungry man, that bites his keeper’s hand!
You mixed his tears,
Instilled his fears,
And taught him “Lilith lies.”

I fled before you were brought forth
And spread, you race of sons of ******!
Oh children, you are mine, and I am yours!
Un-furred, un-feathered, and dull-toothed,
How the Almighty forsook you!
So sick and weak, you all can barely move!

Oh, teeth and bones, Oh heaven-wide applause!
Come Oneiroi,
Support ‘tcha boi,
The ape without no claws!
Oh, sticks and stones, oh desperation’s knives!
Come Seraphim,
Sing us a hymn,
Remind us Lilith lies!

“She lies, she lies,” you cry “she lies,”
But I have wings, and claws, and eyes
That pierce the dark, and to all schemes I’m wise!
Yes, I obtained these claws of gold
That keep me safe and fed and whole!
You can’t condemn what hasn’t got a soul!

Oh, life from mud, oh mare who bucked the stud!
Who sits on beds,
Perched at the heads
To drink the dreaming’s blood!
Oh, owl’s eyes, oh man’s dread realized!
Come talk at length,
And show your strength,
And show us how you lie!

Aphrodite, Xochiquetzal, Vénus, Ishtar, Astarté !
Oxum, Inanna, Erzulie Freda
Mes muses en Kâlî polycéphale réunies,
Venez vous ébattre et débattre avec moi !

Et vêtez le masque des savantes hétaïres,
Des nagaravadhu, des femmes matadore
Des tayu, des ahuianime, des harots
Et autres courtisanes de lumière,
Rhétoriciennes scandaleuses d'antan,
Pour m'initier à l'Intime quintessence
Des mystères de vos fils Kama, Eros, Cupidon.

J'ai choisi pour vous, les Immortelles,
La tenue mortelle des Métèques :

Entre Shamhat, la Joyeuse sumérienne
Amrapali , Vasantasena,
Basaui, Kulika, les tantriques
Shinano, Sakura et Bunsui
Diotime, prêtresse Mantinéote
Aspasie, la belle Milésienne,
Omphale, la Lydienne qui domina Hercule,
Lasthénéia, Nicarété, les grandes maquerelles,
Phryné, de son vrai nom Mnésarétè, la demoiselle,
La pudibonde muse de Praxitèle,
Puis encore Thargélia, qui devint reine
Impéria qui vécut en beauté pendant vingt-six ans et douze jours
Veronica, Lamia, Nééra,
Laïs qui vous dédia son miroir,
Toutes érudites catins de haute volée,
Porte-paroles d'Eros,
Indomptables et puissantes concubines
D'amour et d'intelligence,
Je ne peux décider
Avec qui convoler au Banquet des Sophistes ?
Certaines m'enflamment la chair
D'autres l'esprit et l 'âme
Et pour toutes cependant sans exception
Je bande d'égale vigueur.
"Amour, ont assuré ces maîtresses
Au disciple fervent que je suis,
N 'est ni divin ni humain
Ni beau ni laid
Ni bon ni méchant
Amour est un démon, un sorcier
Un magicien, un entremetteur...

Si j 'en crois ces rhétoriciennes,
Honorer l 'Amour
C'est désirer le Beau, assouvir
L 'impérissable désir d'immortalité.
On aime car on engendre
On aime car on féconde
On aime car on se reproduit
Pour les siècles des siècles.
Et c'est Ilithyie qui nous accouche
et nous délivre de la mortalité par la conception et l'enfantement.
Le Beau est éternel
Ce n'est pas un Beau physique
Mais métaphysique
Qu 'il nous faut reproduire
Par des joutes sensuelles
Pour tendre vers l 'immortalité.

Fécondez-moi donc et en honorant la courtisane,
La Métèque, qui vibre sous chacun de vos masques
J 'honore l 'Amour à travers vous,
Mes Etrangères,
Peu importe si mon amour est socratique,
Aristotélicien, platonique ou épicurien
Pour peu que j 'accouche de mes pensées lubriques.
Et si je meurs en couches
Qu'on me célèbre à travers tous vos panthéons
Comme le plus valeureux des guerriers !

❁

the skylark summons the dead to rise as you watch with cloudy, wishful eyes

our sisterhood survives throughout the dark
they will never silence our voices
when we call to the tune, the world rejoices

wild child, living in a fantasy
wild child, the myth lives on within you
wild child, you create your own dreams
wild child, enchant them
do what you do

the white cat knocks over the lamp with a smile
a sea of tears flows from your eyes as deep as the Nile
a mirage is in sight, a vision it seems
the fabric of your sadness is ripped at the seams
we weave a spell together, fashioned stitch by stitch
you look to me and laugh, mischievous like a witch

our sisterhood still lives on through the dark as we wait for the time to leave our mark
they will never silence our voice
when the world calls our tune we will rejoice

fuera puera, vivens in autem fantasia
fuera puera, quod fabula vitae on intra vos
furea puera, vos creo tuus agnosco somniums
fuera puera
lamia
facio qualis vos facio

I don't like computers .
You must be specific to get them
to work with you.

I prefer people,
the vaguest smile, the subtlest compliment
can make them fall in love with you.

Manipulation is an art
when done very well, like I do,
disastrous when seen. A risky business.

Those boys don't love me,
this computer doesn't know me,
but they obey me.

I suppose I am a sort of God
I could control their fate
on a temporary basis,

some kind of Satan.
Lamia
or a Pope.