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palladia Nov 2014
did you, even now, hope
to shut your eyes to so huge a crime,
my treacherous one, to think you could
stilly withdraw from my kingdom?
did our love not once hold you?
our ardent vows? or even I, Dido,
preparing to succumb barbaric death?
how could you, callous you!,
take wing to prepare your fleet in winter
—i’m sure to run aground—
when Boreas thrashes against the heavens?
but, if you weren’t pursuing unfamiliar soil
or incited to father a distant nation,
if ancient Ilium sturdily grimed through the war,
would you keep piercing the
wave-washed oceans in your armada?
why do you elude me; is it
because i have acceded irreality?
am i worthless, now?—i implore you!
by these tears, and your troth,
by our wedding vows, and this oath
before ***** we began:
if i deserve anything good from you,
or if you think, i was good enough
for you; pity this household
decaying before us! it was once yours, too.
and if my prayers are still yours,
gut them from my mind!
for now the Libyans and Numidians
hate me! dear Tyre is virulent!
as my honour and once-righteous
stature has vanished, just as i was
about to touch my constellated infamy.
for what destiny, my foreign one,
do you set me aside; ever-knowing
my imminent death?
seeing that only your name endures
from this union, why do i bother to keep living?
am i waiting for my brother, Pygmalion,
to destroy my Carthage’s walls, or a
Gætulian Iarbus to make me his concubine?
if only you gave me a son,
a little Æneas to play in my courts,
a boy to remind me of you;
only then, perhaps,
would i not be so utterly
violated, and
quis fallere possit amantem?
who can delude a lover?
a modern reworking of Vergil's Æneid IV.305-330 from the original Latin

I've been wanting to do a translation of the Æneid for a while now; this is the beginning. I've studied that book more than even Latin teachers have - I am versed! - but now, I guess I need to put my spin on things. It was late March 2014 when I was depressed with my life again (It happens a lot, but it helps me feel & understand what others go through). I put myself in Dido's shoes and tried to feel as she would when Æneas just got up and started leaving…your life was pulled out from under you and there's nowhere to go. She was angry and heartbroken. Book 4 is my favourite, and this oration Dido spoke to Æneas somehow landed on my mind and I translated according to my feelings.

I was singing Björk's "Sonnets/Unrealities XI"…and I thought, e.e.cummings's words and Björk's musical representation fit perfectly into Dido's frame of reference. "It may not always be so, and I say, that if your lips, which I have loved, should touch another's..." It's just as if Dido is singing these words from the underworld, after she couldn't take the pain of not having Æneas with her & committed suicide. Dido's looking at Lavinia in Æneas’s arms, and it's killing her more, even though she's already dead. "If this should be, I say, if this should be. You, Æneas, of my heart, send me a little word, that I may go to Lavinia and take her hand, saying, accept all happiness from me." The fates have spoken and there's nothing left for Dido to do but to roam the lost lands with Sychaeus.
palladia Oct 2014
if i could kiss
your honeyed-deathless eyes
every second of my life
my darling sweet Juventius
thirty thousands times would not suffice!
my lips continuing forever…
never would i feel
in love, replete

let us tarry
in the fruit-loaded fields
of our honeyed-rich basiation;
a kiss is not a kiss
any less sweet
than yours,
my love

we may kiss
until our death in
studium-full adorations;
but with my lips continuing forever,
even so, i shall never feel
in love, replete
Roughly based off Catullus's forty-eighth poem
palladia Jun 2014
Aphrodite of the Immortals
on magmatic throne aloft
ruse rummager God’s daughter
shield not my fury or pang of demur
my spirit’s empress eternal

desired goddess, appear
seal rank in the corps of my heart
from gilded kingdoms above
fling thyself to this tenebrous earth
atmospheric reentry – to me

jovial thy ****** bequeathed
known by heart, my splits and seams
my bedraped innocence and tears
to spill my trusty soul secure:
why is thy countenance amiss?
who has entranced thou in her arms?
whose caresses does thou shake?

venerated queen so valiant
dilate my love, dwindle my pain
free up my heart to love all embracive
comrade goddess, be mine
be thou, my ally
A modern day reworking of Sappho's glorious "Hymn to Aphrodite"
palladia May 2014
[northern hemisphere: on a beach above the 50th latitude at the end of winter]

(Winter-export), the beach frosted by fingers of polar constellations. It’s too cold to walk without huddling, but we do it nonetheless, because we only have one more night together. Your frothy hydro-rhythm spears into pith, irradiance; I breathe again, deeply. (Thick lips; quick still-hunt.) I rivet fronds of dependence into the seams of your boreal palms, never planning to return the floating colony of barnacles I promised I’d throw back; you, never planning to catch the sun bored through salt spray, clasping crisp foreheads, stitching on glistered lips and froze-shut lashes. And on a day when you didn’t rise early enough, I was left out in the water until my chest was steeped deep in ice over the thought of losing you. (Glimmering isle); my hair disheveled in sea-foam. Annular light. You pushed me in, and I relented. My isotherm sent chthonically. But you, in your legendary mantle, adapted my eyes to see the light hidden deep within your belt; such pinks and fuchsias I have never seen before, suddenly inverted. At absolute velocity, I cut my foot on sea-glass, bleeding blueshift, aligning to the colours of the zenith. You take me back to the starry house and we struggle with your parallax, a nadir inseminated on the celestial pole. (Parsecs quaking.) You whisper, I’ll heal you. I’ll heal you, only if you let me. Only if… you let me…  Over and over and over until it’s as mundane as the crashing coast, and unrivaled, I concede to everything and wake up deep in redshift, the whole universe escaping, warmth-ribbons suffocating the abyss: without you, alone on the ecliptic at last. In the spring-sinking, you order me a silver sword, sharp in starlight; to remember you. You stand a guardian, beyond the sun, flinging tiny ice-hot rocks (freighting gemstones); King of the Heavens. I submerge myself into the bathic depths, skulking in aestival despair, as you trade the night for day. Little do you know, my resurgence is also in your hands.

[i watched Orion slip from view every night this spring. No doubt he’ll return next winter... it’s sad losing a friend like that, for so long]
palladia Feb 2014
someone clean
this paxwax
oozing from
my neck
someone call a
lasso this body
i'm not zippy
or well oiled
uneasy glances
& the desperate
against anguish
you mold

{eww! entrails!}

the furies don't
like me
i'm the nature of
they'd rather
not meet
they get
throw me into
the gorge
the slime still
out of my

i'm salivating
you'll keelhaul me
but your tongue
doesn't stand a
you'll pant
but keep up
& i'll stay firm in
visual art usually has a large pull on me, especially pieces with gripping imagery. “subtle abuse” was inspired studying francis bacon’s triptych "three studies for figures at the base of a crucifixion". those paintings evoke how i feel, misunderstood. the critic’s reception at the premier was harsh, i’m sure bacon felt misunderstood as well. the figures look so desperate, and it’s difficult for me to see things denied. it’s like they’re wax and they’re going to melt when the light returns, and melt away into the cracks of the earth. to me, melting wax statues seem like an epithet to belittlement. I can’t help but scream when I see them denied as they are.
palladia Feb 2014
A tyrant                king, a
Vandal’s               scream        
Of moor               & rock        
And fair                 I sing;                  
  Life’s                    to its                              
   Test,                  guer-            
     don of        unrest,            
      &strife; believed!  

           Milked out                
  like utter red; lipids        
   ****** hard                  
           at birth: semi-          
                     born: made
three         legion’s ****,    
careful;       cuz fate’s,  
      Allectus, mean.      

      Made in            sheaths        
     An aural           memor-      
     y lock, a-          nswer ur
    calling;              tricky to  
      be bad             &get; a-  
         way w/it!     Caraus-      
           ius’s on     guard          
             duty; he’s in.              

              Fog in chan-              
    nel; no               lights:        
    Bware!            Usurp-        
   ing cou-             ntry,        
   mauling& killing men      
   To ob-        tain                
   Power;            @any        
   risk in                   Britain.

       gold insignias!          
     shine           ur lite!      
    greed              can’t      
    pay—poenas dat!      

    He, Allectus does a-      
    way w/.                            
   ge in London—rime      
   the trea-                            
   sure al-                              
   Vain he found, good.    

       Crack souls’ ice;
   To ruin              comes
   conceit,           comes
   that rip-       ped part.
   Ah, to p’wer& knifes
   Like wo-      rds...
   P’wer               slashes
    Carves,                &impales;.
usurper: a visual poem
(the poem spells the word "usurper")

i often like bragging about the fact that i've taken six years of Latin, so i have Roman History pretty much under my belt. this was written about last year when i was translating/learning Caesar for the AP Latin exam i took that spring. alongside the AP requisites, our class took a historical journey into the various parts of Roman life and warfare. because Caesar was our focus, places where he'd been were golden. the Roman occupation of Britain always fascinated me; i did some extra research and came across the story of Allectus, Carausius, and Asclepiodotus. Allectus was an usurping emperor of Roman Britain in the mid 290s AD. Allectus first was the treasurer to Carausius, an officer in the navy who took control of Britain and northern Gaul, modern-day France. Allectus was power-hungry assassinated Carausius, but his schemes did not go unnoticed for too long. Constantinus I, emperor of Rome, endeavored relentlessly to seize him but to no avail, however praetorian prefect Asclepiodotus entered into the fight and one night, when it was foggy in the English Channel, Asclepiodotus managed to burn Allectus' fleet on Vectis (modern-day Isle of Wight). He was killed in the battle and Asclepiodotus became the next king of Britain.

Carausius was greedy for power and established himself as Britain's king, but Allectus overthrew him, additionally greedy for power. Asclepiodotus steps in and disposes of Allectus, becoming king for 10 years until he too is overthrown. so it's all very ironic and one of my favourite stories of Roman history, and i turned it into a poem...a visual one, mind you!
palladia Dec 2013
some information cannot be found – you can only originate it. facts are often recycled in attempt to clear a logjam that has prevented us from finding ourselves. when i look at the billions of directions my life could have taken, you have to admit we're a very tough bunch, because, who else would have tagged along at this point? we're a recipe for disaster, but that's alright, because we already racked everything. we're bottlenecked. we're deadlocked in ourselves, and there's no way out.

strength cannot be given – it is only self-acquired. we can think of ourselves as vessels of change, but it won't be gifted to you. it has to be done by yourself. it's a real grabber. and once we take it to heart, it works.

axiology—the study of judgments. choice is so vital in postmodern culture, there's a whole branch of study attributed to it. should i take this opportunity, or should i decline it for another? should i rear success with my horns, or wait ecstatically for it to poke me? should i recline, take an easy ride, or work for it? – no matter which outcome, you're still going down the drain because you haven't established the most important part (yet).

i am struggling to understand economics, as well as applied mathematics. wall street certainly does not hang easy for me, but there is more to discuss than stocks and bonds. society has put us in stocks and keeps us in ******* – that’s wall street for you! there are still certain mysteries, such as you cannot put a negative number inside a radical. and all parabolas will have a reflecting twin, no matter how you look at it.

i fell asleep to a black and white movie, and it was still playing when i awoke. however it was in colour. i rubbed my eyes and sat there dazed until i concluded i was dreaming in colour. i woke up again and it was over. now i think that i watch the same movie, but colourized in my dreams, and that i can dream reality, while that reality is a dream within itself.

much reflection has been cast upon theoretical and unchallenged interest in scholars, for example. some presume we can only perceive one – ten-thousands of the universe but of course this can never be proven along with life's destiny and life's purpose, and indubitably, life's meaning. much dark and invisible matter perhaps comprise the rest, but the threads of an unroped cosmos are far from being knitted. can you prove your eternal existence by way of religiosity or science? Jesus rose on the third day and so did the interstellar medium situated in the midheaven. i sleep with a book of philosophy under my pillow, and i'm not in the least ashamed. Alexander the Great slept with a copy of the Iliad, and Mary Shelley, her late husband’s heart. at least philosophy doesn’t stain.

total uproar soars through the galaxy when i begin to think. the terror strikes, and i cower discrediting the truth. my trine is Jupiter, Saturn, and the sun. i’m an Aries, like the one of Judea. constant virtue is what i can believe but i speak in the revolutionary sense. i can enhance my life as long as i am able to try. there is always room to improve a man and i attest to that.

a literary device isn't useful at all until applied in context. an ambition isn't fully good until it is launched. Newton was right, after all. a body is motion will stay in motion until acted upon by an outside force. you are an artist as long as you keep your creative process going until somebody threatens you. then you hide. you establish a force field, which protects you, and you trudge on, because all that matters is your art, in the end. it's everything.

think... Ω-style. one day lofty things won't take pleasure looking at you, because you’ll be confronting them head-first. machtprobe, a german word for showdown. like the one you'll be taking with yourself if you don't buckle down and unravel your weaknesses.

this morning i woke up and stared at myself in the mirror. i was depressed at the condition of my life and my position in the world. my reflection stared back and held up its ******* at me, saying "what are you going to do about it?" not knowing how to answer, i fumbled around possible responses, but it kept going, "it's not that simple, isn't it? life can be tricky when you've got no motivation. it leaves you in a rut until one morning you wake up, depressed about the condition of your life and your position in the world and your mirror's reflection holds up that *******, insuring you're completely aware of the awaiting consequences." it finally shut up and i stood there contemplating its message. "how bad do you want this?" were its last words i heard before i knew that 'initiative' was the one i would soon fall in love with and meet at the chapel to wed.

"either you take it all the way, or you're gonna go astray." it's either one or another, a choice that we have to make. and i don't my reflection to pose a threat to my self-esteem again, so i'm gonna take it all the way...because really. how bad do i want this?

i don't want to have a shoot out with myself again. so when you ask, i'll just tell you algol sent me.
I've been fostering this one for a long time: my ruminations that I've collected over the past year. It's a mini-autobiography of my life over the past year and what I hope to change in the future. It's those New's Years resolutions we keep for about a week and then banish until December 31 the next year. And now I'm taking a stand again and want to reclaim myself from the miserable ruts I fall into. So, it's more of a personal poem, as a sort of get up and go for the future of myself and my art. And I cannot fall back. Think: "how bad do you want this?"

This poem is written in anti-traditional form: no rhyme, meter, lines, or verses. It's more of an essay, because I am especially fond of writing them, when the topic is left up to the author to describe.
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