Milo Electric

The poets of the Dragon Common Room have a BIG ANNOUNCEMENT coming up. 

In the meantime, we have been training for our next big adventure, a fairy story about alchemy and a dragon to be written in Spenserian stanzas

Think The Faerie Queene meets Roger Bacon’s New Atlantis

With spice. 

And electricity. 

All themes which came together recently when Milo learned to walk barefoot on the grass...

Like Moses in the presence of the Lord, 
ex-gay, he shed his shoes on holy ground.
He flexed his toes and raised his arms, adored 
by minions watching on his Telegram.
Electrified by pixels in the cloud
the ions of his body shed their charge,
and all the negativity around
his holy dance was suddenly discharged,
while angels watched from heaven, now by joy enlarged.

He walked at night while barefoot on the green; 
a swish of robe, Bermudas, orange, glowed,
and spinning like a runway model seen 
on catwalks where designers often show, 
he soaked up earth’s electric ion flow. 
The ingenue wore symbols of Christ’s grace, 
and she explained the way to make calm grow; 
but Milo looked a tad bit out of place, 
while stepping lightly with a slightly prancing gait.

Out on the grass upon his tippy toes,
degaussing his charged body with a dance,
our hero ionized by earth’s ‘lectros,
decided his new hair-do, in a prance.
His disarrayed, distressed, if wayside glance,
inhales nat’ral, provided, God’s fresh air.
His fingers reached out for the great expanse!
Attentions, always, on him, no compare, 
like his repeat, repentant, gay is gone, prayer!

The Fairy man cast off the shoes and socks,
flesh taking root in dust from which it’s made.
His toes gliding across the grass and rocks,
no longer prancing, now his gait’s a wade.
As body and the earth do ions trade,
the spell of Fae’s been broken, he can feel
the ayr of Fae’s been punctured by a blade
of nature’s grass and not Cain’s wicked steel,
feet made of clay, but Damasced iron in his will.

A merry (but not gay) distinguished man,
he walked along a quiet grassy knoll
in lounge apparel, fit American.
Upon the grass there sweetly trod the troll. 
No soles of Nike demons’ shoes (he swol),
alone the Nike is our Christ and Khan.
There Moses stripped dusty leather sole;
there Christians fall before the brazen One,
must bare their feet and ground their soul before the Son.

Now, aren’t you curious what our next big poem is going to be about?!

Stanza credits: 1 RFB 2 KC 3 Mel 4 Daniel 5 Kilts

For our previous poems, visit the Dragon Common Room.


  1. Amazing and hilarious. One note of literary criticism: you can have a tad, or you can have a bit, but you can't have a tad bit.

  2. Stevo, you might be over doing the literary critique a tad bit. I rather enjoy the bit about tad.

  3. "Ex gay", meaning ex homosexual? Is that an actual thing? I had been assured by all the best sociologists, psychologists, therapists etal that there can be no such thing.


    1. Wrong crowd. Try those who care for souls! (And, yes, it is a thing—Milo is starting a clinic to help others get there, too.)

    2. Robert,
      Only Milo and God know. Each person must answer this question for themselves in the light of Christ. Regardless of the name, Milo was very troubled. Distress is a good thing if it brings us closer to the suffering Jesus and enables us to sympathize with others.


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