posted on February 10, 2014 at 7:52 am
sate her one way or another

sate her one way or another

In the cloven moonlight in the dell in a grove

Where holy Ash and grape doth grow

A rendezvous oh a marvellous faun approaches!

A dandy fellow with horns newly burnished

He slips like a dancer through shadow and sylvan paths

He laughs a strange laugh like a tiny trapped river

Rippling over stones in dappled drabbled bed

The girl is a dryad some kind of tree creature

Summer drunk and unclothed by her bower close by

The leaves that cleave to trees seize every squeeze

The girl touches his face and space separates and waits

The very moss they lay on a day on greenest velvet it seems

The drink is strong it belongs in a potent potion

The air is balmy the forest looks calmly on not far from Ocean

The Olympian gods slumber on inner number of clouds

They shower blessings and flowers in the hours between noon and moon

The faun satiated initiated his snooze while evening oozed

The drowsy dryad dreamed she had lied to her tree

Tied to a mortal she caught all her branches and let them go

Tripped over a mountain a giant avalanches the snow

There  if not nowhere

The sacred river Alph must surely flow

In cloven moonlight in the dell in a grove

Where holy Ash and grape doth grow


9 Responses to “satyr and bacchante”

  1. avatar
    Cath | 10 February 2014 at 9:04 am #

    Paint the Giant, (please, pretty please). My grandparents used to warn us off going to play at a local castle by telling tales of a giant who lived near by. You could do a whole series of these, inspired quadtitch, triple titch, multiverse of visual verse.

    I can see the Giant, he is a tooth rotted, overweight foul breathed, bulging eyed, disheveled growth and clothed, survivor of a time before.
    Magical portal this one, to the enchanted worlds:)

  2. avatar
    Kohl Ette | 10 February 2014 at 9:16 am #

    The previous day
    she had thought she was alone
    lonely as a crowd as she thought
    she heard him sing one day.
    During the chatter of the party
    she secretly toyed with some
    potential poetry
    ‘You wanted milk coffee
    I wanted chamomile
    you wanted energy
    I wanted mellow
    We were both thirsty
    but for different things
    only we could provide’ …
    yet among the throng
    of others and nature
    she was in tune with
    something slightly greater
    and tho the ground felt
    hard beneath downy grass
    making her bones feel old
    she took home with her
    some bottled brightness
    filtered through trees
    and lay down
    on a bed less than perfect
    but perfectly adequate for then
    and when she woke
    as if from deep massage
    she felt the brush of his touch
    and floated comfortably numb
    upon a cloud upon clover
    upon cloud
    upon pristine foam
    upon bubbles
    from popped
    fresh seaweed beads
    upon air
    upon sea
    upon zephyr.

  3. avatar
    Steven Krut | 10 February 2014 at 10:38 am #

    Oh, wow! That’s a fantastic painting. And a splendid poem to go with it. Really great.

  4. avatar
    Anonymous | 10 February 2014 at 11:28 pm #

    There was ‘perchance’ the other day and ‘doth’ today – will it be ‘forsooth’ tomorrow?!

  5. avatar
    MauiLinda | 11 February 2014 at 11:39 am #

    Niiiice poem. I felt the experience. Special.

  6. avatar
    mem | 21 February 2014 at 6:47 pm #

    Coming up for air == how did I miss this one == what about sk the muralist? travel the country painting murals from home to home == what does your kilbey living room look live? == how about the hive of ant-men living on andromeda 3…

  7. avatar
    M E M | 21 February 2014 at 7:04 pm #

    wow == how did i miss this one? i’m just coming-up for air i guess == next time i’ll find sk the muralist traveling the country sides == painting murals home to home in exchange for bread == i want my livingroom painted with the murals of the hive mind of the ant men from andromeda 3 == what does your sk interior design look like..?

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