The Drs. Zeus

When the 9 daughters of Zeus
taught at the Colossal Muse School,
Erato instructed them how to make notes
rather than take them,
even as New Age Melete taught them
how to shut up & listen.
Husky-voiced Calliope taught them
how to be long-winded,
even as Clio tended to repeat herself.
Euterpe paired with Aoede,
Euterpe speaking when she should sing,
& Aoede singing when she should speak.
Worshipful Polyhymnia tried to muddy
the separation of Church & State.
Melpomene just became a dramedy queen.
Starstruck Terpsichore danced with the stars
while stargazer Urania danced under the “real stars.”
Thalia tried her best to turn it all into a farce,
but Mneme was the master teacher,
for she taught them all
how to remember it all.

Wings

wings

Once upon a time in Nantucket,
there were two brothers—
Joe, the Jacob,
Brian, the Esau;
borne of a mother
who was like a distant star,
and a father who was simply lost in space,
careworn down by time.

There were two goddesses,
Helen with her cello
and Cassandra called Casey—
Helen, who found her way,
Casey, losing herself along it.
The day would come each would
go the way of one of the brothers,
but only Joe and Helen would endure.

There was the artful Mechanic,
the merry Widow,
the unlucky Immigrant,
the female Flyer—
like little charms on an island necklace,
but only two would stay,
for two would go.

In the fantasy world known as Tom Nevers field,
there was the lone David,
known as Sandpiper Air,
and Aeromass—
the seven air devils run by Goliath.

And it was during that time,
not so long before the towers fell,
when airports were the first stop to fun times elsewhere—
the last stop before that place that was like no other—
that this fairy tale was encapsulated,
so that nothing ugly could touch it.

And it was in Nantucket
that the Pilot and the Cellist,
through loves won for a time,
through others lost forever,
lived happily ever after.

http://mentalfloss.com/article/63525/13-things-you-might-not-know-about-wings

Micropoetry Monday: Our Beautiful South

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At the beach, her husband stands
on the sandbar,
the gulf breeze drowning out his words—
a postcard-perfect tableau of
1000 words of relaxation—
of just being.

She was iced tea,
he was hot with lemon & cream.
She was a Southern belle,
he was an Englishman from Cornell.

Piety Jones, poetess by choice,
cotton-picker by chance,
who wore the sun in her hair,
& the sky in her eyes,
liked to say she picked the clouds
from the heavens that
Athena wove into the
pillows of dreams.

When Yankee ingenuity
met Southern hospitality,
they turned their weaknesses into strengths,
birthing a glad nation.

It’s hot as hell boiling over.
The gardenias come out like a siren,
tempting with their sweet perfume,
the azaleas show up without care,
& the magnolias pop out like
fat, white mushrooms in the twilight-dark.