Siren's Call

Come little traveler into my open arms
Feel the smooth embrace of love entranced
Drift through your shallow waters of doubt
Escape the chains of thought and reason
Slip past the dreadful day of man, listen to me alone
Come little traveler hear my song, a lullaby
His leathered paw does clutch your arm
As you gently pull away, escape his bonds for me
Forget his troubled eyes and voice, his golden doll
You’ve long forgot the delights of love
A pampered way has escaped your icy heart
Swim in silk sheets of luxury, indulge in fine wines
Sup to your most, as a princess should dine
My gold is for your hands to spin
Come little traveler and forget his forgotten promises
For I am your siren tonight.

Polyphemus' Loss

Speak now of the man who sailed far and wide
Lost long in passion and in Calypso’s sweetened kiss
Tell of his tales and glory and fortune as if he were a hero
Let us ignore the forgotten people, the sufferers from his rage
That unbridled shock which even Zeus did quick discard
He who forced upon innocents his miseries and ways of hospitality
A crafty fox who used his vicious wit to prey upon my pretty stock
And a gorged belly to sup my wine and dine upon my precious cheese
Judge me reader, for all you think I’m worth, but you do not feel my agony
Bitter encompassing darkness which forbids any hopeful light, for
With a merciless blow he shoved into mine eye that which took my sight
Nobody, that is his rightful name for everything of which he stands is fraud
A wolf in slaughtered sheep’s skin masquerading in a sculpted glory by Athena
I do not shame my defeat, nor do I look upon this snake with an ivy eyes
The truest misery that I shall bear comes from his presence in mine home
For with that presence he ripped from me my grandest ram, and only true companion
A creature so docile and loving he brightened every storm with unwavering love
In my callused hands I shall not hold my pride and joy nor shall I feel pleasure
But Odysseus and his crew, their rotten stench of humanity still plagues my home
Such a foul odor, no decree of gods or empowered soap can rid me of it
Lo, how Poseidon does avenge his son, but does not speak to a belittled sheepherder
The gods favor Odysseus the scheming scoundrel, for his fate was put before me
A lowly Cyclops.