in the green weald, I was trick-or-treating
I came upon some Wiccan chicks meeting
they gave me candy
it tasted dandy
but I found the bliss to be too fleeting

they said, “now, Sheela you can savor
if you feel you’re man enough to brave Her
in yonder hollow
She’s poised to swallow
you merely need to sign this waiver”

I was oh, so excited
I was dancing a reel and a jiggy
as I sped down the trail
on my way to nail Sheela na Gig-ee

now, the wee ones find me most appealing
I’ve had young Pygmy wimmins squealing
had midgets moaning
some gnome girl groaning
a Lilliputian priestess kneeling

see, though it’s size most guys are flaunting
my average apple has never left Eve wanting
as for Her daughters
I’ve snaked their waters
some say, their garden I’m still haunting

as a rule, chicks could make
a right satisfying meal of the figgy
the insatiable exception
was this Sheila called Sheela na Gig-ee

I made my way up to Her altar
I prayed my fella wouldn’t falter
I asked for blessing, began caressing
She anointed me with oyster dressing
and then the walls closed in around me
Her mammoth lips, they up and downed me
She stripped me naked, said, “Hey, let’s make it,
you’ll never find a place more sacred”

I thought I’d seen most every wonder
I never thought to look for one down under
and goodness gracious! Her place was spacious
(Her expectations most fallacious)
I was in about as deep as one can get
and then She asked me, “is it in yet?”
I couldn’t jive Her, we didn’t jibe
Her volvo was just too big for my driver

when my raised mast sailed past their islands
the Sirens observed a moment of silence
my dinghy one fifth
the stuff of Greek myth
their lips were sealed like virgin hymens

but when Odysseus made the same trip
and those same birds eyed his massive flagship
they sang some shanties
they shed their panties
they tempted him with their steamed clam dip

sure, and he was the first to get
Circe to squeal like a piggy
but even his girth proved worthless
when he tried to pork Sheela na Gig-ee

after sex, you might feel…
well, you might really feel like a ciggie
but you’d best watch your ashes
if you’re still inside Sheela na Gig-ee

©2006 Robert ‘Rafiki’ Reiser

…and speaking of a ‘tertium quid’ did she rock that third ‘thing’? Yes, she did.

after sharing his lemon, my first mate laid odds
against me growing to favor the fruit of the Goddess
it’s true, the Fates had me a long age adrift
but I found your lush isle and did bare my Greek gift
for six blissful years we did breakfast in bed
I think I might actually have been overfed
for the time came when my spermies started to snooze
and not long after, Hermes delivered the news

but I miss you Calypso
I miss the warmth of Your kiss so
I swear, the memory still burns in my heart
our tongues did the tango
Your yin did my yango
but destiny yanked them apart

still I can taste you, Calypso
and those nectarine lips, oh
You laid a spread, I just followed my hunch
You were saucier than Circe
and if Zeus yet had mercy
He’d have me back at Your table by lunch

I fancied a life with some warmth I’d have won
but the climate’s grown cold beneath this Ithican son
yet one suitor denies me my impassioned reprise
strung and pluck, I but play second lyre to Christ
the same drama unfolding nigh every night
a vessel full of semen left high and dry
to a pantheon of gods I’ve most humbly appealed
but it seems that my fate’s been hermetically sealed

but I wanna thank you Calypso
You really raised my midship so
Your wind was favorable right from the start
but all the while it was blowing
I had no way of knowing
it would be the last time I’d pour out my art

so, come and take me Calypso
oh, to be held dear and gripped so
I’m growing senseless from pounding my fist
this wine-dark sea that’s between us
it just leaves poor Polyphemus
with not much reason at all to exist

“I’ll fulfill all your wildest desires,” You purred
and, unlike those damned sirens, You made good on Your word
every day You made certain my myth got enlarged
and the ol’ Trojan warrior got honorably discharged

I’ll call Your Isle ‘home’ Calypso
let Homer say I was whipped so
he knows but half the odyssey I’ve endured
my logic is simple Calypso
You are a nymph, facto ipso
with You, the deck’s daily swabbing is assured

Well, you can have me now, Calypso
come have Your way with Your hips, oh
living without You, well,
I might as well be dead
my ever bedroom-eyed weaver
oh, why did I ever leave You?
I must have been out of my head

©2004 Robert ‘Rafiki’ Reiser

LLwR: venire facias (vuh-nī’rē fey’shuh) 1. you must make come (summon): “Venire facias! the stern nurse barked at the shy donor.”

alas, Fate has found me
there is no escape from the walls that surround me
I don’t know the hour
what’s left of my reason, the shadows devour
just lying in limbo
when, suddenly, Luna appears in my window

it’s heavenly, gazing
I study of the shape of Her face, ever phasing
our eyes have a meeting
and, to my surprise, I feel my heart beating
oh, what are the chances
this Goddess might reach out to me as She dances?

by physical law
I am compelled to abide
but there’s an attraction
that simply can’t be denied
in keeping Her distance
She might as well be a star
guess I’ll have to be happy
with worshipping Her from afar

I make a confession
so struck by Her movement, I’m moved to expression
I rightly revere Her
my lyrical praise is naught but a mirror
Her interest, it kindles
and, as She draws nearer, the darkness, it dwindles

with radiant fingers
She touches my brow and quietly lingers
Her seed has been planted
Her ivory aura just has me enchanted
I reap what She’s sowing
a swell of emotion, ebbing and flowing

She finally shows quarter
but I fear that our time has grown ever so shorter
had only Bliss found me
I might have had gossamer wings all around me
a crescent remaining
Her orbit is drifting, my sentience is waning
a quick, silver sliver
a sprinkle of moondust, oblivion delivered…

my eyes may be closed
but I can tell Luna’s full
it may be I’m sleeping
but I can still feel Her pull
this ‘resting in peace’ thing
it’s just as bad as it seems
but if the myth holds true,
I may yet taste Her lips in my dreams

©2009 Robert ‘Rafiki’ Reiser

LLwR: lingua franca (lĭng’gwuh frāng’kuh) 1. French tongue: “Unable to speak a word of English, she let her lingua franca do the talking.”

Learn Latin with Rafiki (LLwR): cum laude (kŭm lô’dē) 1. with praise: “She was so proficient, he showered her cum laude.”

Learn Latin with Rafiki (LLwR): annus bisextus (ān’əs bī-sěks-təs) 1. Leap year: “Every annus bisextus, Zeus would try something different.”

the little rooster’s soul, it ailed
trothed as he was, his ‘doodle’ failed
his mornin’ mantra didn’t flow
the couped-up cock just couldn’t crow
a grounded bird with buried head
most free-range chicks mistook for dead
his mid-life funk affected all
‘cause the Sun Goddess didn’t get
her wake-up call

‘twas in this hour dark and dire
the gods, they grasped the cock’s desire
empathy had they for his sitch
but no clue how to scratch his itch
they understood the why and when;
“his quill needs dipping now and then”
they’d just have to hook up the rooster right
with some goddess who’d be willing
to shed more than light

“Kanayama’s mettle isn’t all that warm
She won’t exhibit the lodestones in their raw form
Her iron will, it will not waver
Tatsuta truly has one fine veneer
but She’ll only let Her golden gown fall once a year
a brief affair, too cool to savor
Benzai-ten’s last two hands are locked in prayer
She’s oh, so occupied, t’is but Her soul She’ll bare
exposing Her puritan flesh for naught but Her saviour
Fuji, She is sometimes known to flash,
but it would be rare to see Her air more than Her hot, white ash
who’ll do the little rooster a little favor?”

“how about luscious Uzume?
She can get our little feathered friend to sing
She’ll be such a breath of fresh air
it will really get his little weathervane to swing
She’ll do a little dance
then She might do a little bit of song
but five hundred yen says She won’t keep
those little silk panties on for very long”

“She’ll take the job despite the size
She’ll get that downcast cock to rise
She’ll treat him to her very best
very soon we’ll all be feasting on white thigh and breast”

Uzume sang the silkworm ode
She urged the rooster to unload
stroked his pecker once or twice
thawed his calloused claws of ice
his paltry little soul, he searched
for what seemed years, the bird, he perched
below, a red hot chakra burned
as his spitted giblets slowly turned

he came out of his pious trance
She squirmed inside Her tantric pants
pulled and peeled Her sushi fruit
the fowl, he up and followed suit
they got down on all twos and fours
they buffed and shined Her bamboo floors
despite the mythic thorns, he chose
to pluck that sweet, pink Tokyo rose

Her cockle, did his noodle do
when dawn cracked, he felt good as new
his raucus crowing woke the dead
and the Sun Goddess, finally She got out of bed

©2005 Robert Reiser

my name is Uther, and I’m on a quest
I’m ten leagues from Tintagel, headin’ due west
be there by midnight, if the stars all align
but what awaits me, I cannot divine
maybe I’ll find myself a fountain of youth
perhaps I’ll only steal a moment of truth
but either way, my destination’s the same
it’s in the arms of the Lady Igraine

with this dear Lady, I’ve become most obsessed
I seek a triste because my wrist needs a rest
out on the moors, fighting Saxons and Picts
don’t get around to meeting too many chicks
maybe the remedy for these Middle Age blues
is ridin’ bareback in another man’s shoes
hey, uniting England, that’s always been my campaign
it’s time I’m united with the Lady Igraine

I dreamed that she and I were lovers before
Fate brought us hither from a far distant shore
She made a promise at the circle of stones
with a circular motion of Her pelvic bones
by Merlin’s beard, our souls are two of a kind
but in this life, turns out Her body aint mine
tomorrow, she might take some Christian vow
where does that leave me now?

by Merlin’s beard, we’re twain, we’re two of a kind
I say, it just aint right that this woman’s not mine!
I know tomorrow she will go the Christian way
but she’s still pagan today…

My name is Uther and I’m on a quest
and, by the Goddess, my blade has been blessed
my lance is stiff, it’s holding the course
get in my way, I’ll knock you right off your horse
I just won’t stop until Justice is dealt
if I gotta bite my way through a chastity belt
in Cornwall’s bed the Red Dragon will reign
my head’ll be crowned by Lady Igraine

I’ve often wondered where the Summerland lies
looks like it’s just north of those lily-white thighs
confess tomorrow, should some guilt still remain
lay with me now and love me Igraine

©2008 Robert Reiser