She Arose



She, born not of his rib


Not by temple decree, nor governance of man

She arose

In glorious day, and frigid night

Resplendent with delight

She arose

Between your legs, and over your sleeping form

She arose

Like the night wind, and the howling sea

By degrees, and labeled in insanity

She arose

Against the ether

Against the tide

Bound, gagged, and barbarically plied

She arose

By halter, goad and whip

And into every nightmare slipped

She arose

By dead of night, by winsome


By your every last delight

She arose.


La Fée


©  Odyne La Fée 2018

Caught My Eye

man heaving rope

It’s so very hard to look away

when a man’s masculinity is on display, at play;

a thousand times a day

holding me in sway, until upon him I prey.

Or until another one has me undone,

unsprung, my sharp tongue unwrung.

And suddenly I’m once again chasing the frictions,

of my predilections.

And the inflictions of my indomitable conflictions

have got me dreaming, and scheming,

about a strong man that needs a good reaming;

until mad with desire he finds he’s finally creaming

that seething.

But don’t forget… it’s me that’s still teething.

So soon I’ll find another one, that fits like a glove

all the fantasies I’ve yet to dream of, conceive of.

Could this one be real love,

with his perfect eyes, and tender thighs?  A variety of sighs

he’d realize, if only he’d give in, to my particular brand of sin.

Or until another one’s caught my eye, as he passes on by,

and with a wink, and a slink, and suddenly I can’t think.

And so I follow, and tell him I’ll swallow

all his pretty lies,

with my inglorious cries.

La Fée


©  Odyne La Fée 2018

Rage No. 1


Tell me, where has all your rage gone?

Theirs plays out like cheap Internet porn

24/7, for all the world to see.

Yet, we are not so different, them from we.

And that shelf-life on their propaganda - well,

it's worn itself thin.

So, tell me... where's all your rage been?

I laugh now because I know.

I laugh now because weren't we instructed to never let it show?

Yet driven deep into hiding, it festered within.

Such a sad and pathetic and unnurtured thing...

not at all the champion ring

of a father's dreams.

But funny things these dark, dank-little holes...

a spark is all it takes before

the whole thing blows.


La Fée


©  Odyne La Fée 2018