Biodroid Wench Sings = a poem to find if a tale will work

Soft silver and gold threads
amid the pale strands of silk
that formed the webs woven
by the lesser forms before
to hide the Mazetowns
from questing probes
as they passed.

But after we landed safely
(oh, that is a damned joke)
those webs changed a bit
mesmerizing our minds with patterns
that lured us inside
amid narrow alleys
for our rape.

The cables plunging into flesh
seeking nodes of nerves so raw
they exploded our very resistance
with one orgasm rolling  around
over and over again
wave after wave
So damned good.

Changes began even that moment
though few showed until later on
when our flesh took metallic hues
and the insect DNA
manifested on us
changing our forms.

Minds met minds in sex
then via these lovely damned antennae
formed from our very protective gear
as it bonded fast
becoming our skin
and our bones.

Now we stalk the weak
amid the alleys as Mazetowns form
everywhere, luring them in like us
some we consume raw
others we infect
while making love.

My eyes are manifold now
as we all become one purpose,
seeking quick reproduction and this bliss
never tasted by metal
until folding us
within its embrace.

Revison Idea adding the Naughty to the Ninja-Nuns

I just realized, the Nuns ain't been very "Naughty" yet....does this get it closer? As a composite of the three poems?


In the smoke filled waiting room
where they lounge in only wimples
the Ninja-Nuns play card games
for souls and favors and cosmetics
being banned from any other clothing
by their vows of Nudity taken
in service to Gods better unknown.

Some laze about on soft couches
tickling their sisters' more delicate flesh
others practice the finer martial points
of their Ninja skills over drinks
and some just read trashy novels
about romance and sex in dark corners
squirming in wicked ways until summoned.

This is the Purgatory of Punishment
where rulers are of fissile materials
unless one counts the fusable yardsticks
leaningover by locked exit doors
waiting for the convent bells to ring
signalling the need of their attention
to some knuckles or rounded bottoms.

One great gate leads to Heaven
and opens only when another joins
the ranks and scattered waiting masses
through failing to be all pure
and thus are sentenced for redemption
working to redeem any faith's sinners
creating glowing craters on evildoers' hands.

Another portal is made of brass
still glowing from the fires beyond
and sits ajar quite often indeed
as the sisters sneak into Hell
and enjoy the pleasures of flesh
or cash in chips of souls
won at their wicked gambling tables.

Many others exist to various places
be it Valhalla, Hel, Sheol, Gehenna
and even one to true Purgatory
and a last door to Earth
where most of their work is
and all wish to return to
for life or redemption of others.

All tense up as messengers pass
from the afterlifes to the office
where their Abbess cuts dispatch orders
when not cheating at Mahjong
while seeking sinners to punish
amid the electrons of the web
via her "Ethereal" Net connection port.

Cigars, pipes, cigarettes and huka stems
the lasses trade about while waiting
to teach others that only they
can be "Naughty" all the time
and chastise any who dare try
to match their debaucheries on Earth
and disturb their feast of sin.

(30Apr2012 - Dyfedd Rex) - part of a continuing series, perhaps.

Naughty, Naked, Nuclear Ninja-Nuns! - A poem inspired by a conversation with others

In the darkness the Evil thrived
Hiding amid the clouds of confusion
Raising all Hell over minor issues
Playing havoc with our internal politics
Until the Gods of Last Resort
Unleash their instruments of Sanity Redemption
(or perhaps Tools of Sanity Breaking).

Dancing across the posts amid electrons
Race Naughty, Naked, Nuclear Ninja-Nuns
With those deadly green atomic rulers
crafted with wily intentions for this
the tactical smiting of all asshats
who disrupt the flow of conversations
as dictated by Political Crotchety Fascist.

They leap and bound with joy
happy to be free to punish all
blazing measuring sticks just verdant blurs
as they seek knuckles to rap
or butts to swiftly smack hard
until once more chained amid clouds
behind our teary eyes and shame.

Winds of change will always blow
but deep inside we all harbor
demons in whimples and nothing else
to prance about with whistling sticks
all from stray words dropped here
that stir strange images within minds
made of slime and other media.
(28Apr2012 - Dyfedd Rex)

Thanks to those who stuck these images into my head! Terri, Elysa and anyone else who tolerates me on the Authors Helping Authors group on Facebook.
But they can only take credit for the images, not the slime that came out of my head via fingers and keyboard... blame me for any psychological or psychic damages incurred.