O, Prescient Ewe
That knows where to stand
Avoids ambivalent hand

That bore this world
Of life’s command
To bear its high demand

O, Precocious Hen
Knows when not to lay
A life down in the hay

A babe unborn,
Uncracked, unraised
Unknown to her dismay

O, Prodigal Mare
Beware not to sprain
Or you will bear the strain

Though not for long
You’ll be for this plain
Where retired mounts are lain

O, Impassioned Pig
Whose fattening
Welcomes a fatter thing

Wash away
The amber glaze
Chase not the dangling

O, Prescient Ewe
Return to me
What is it you see?

Be sure it is
What’s to come
Not what you wish it be.

From Publius
To Terra

Salve amore mea

I bid you greetings from the new land
Though I am saddened by your absence
It is a necessary grief

Think not on the sweaty tasks unsuitable
For a beauty such as you
A house you deserve
A house I shall build

A grand atrium will await your arrival
Flowers and Garland will be strewn
To parade your coming

The triumphant wife
Whose radiant reflection shines as a goddess
Mine impluvium turned caldarium

Enter further and I'll have built for you
A grand hallway
Paved with mosaic representations of great Jove
And pastoral murals of our farm and ****** Ceres

Finally, I'll show you to your bed chamber
Finely furnished for the royalty of my love
Crowned in soaring arches crossed in such a way
That creates perfect cubes painted with dancing Cupid
Whose bow I've aimed to forever seal your heart

To mine own

When I draw the arrow
Feathers knocked to sunburned cheeks
And let loose my desire to hold you close
And erase the distance of space between
Our farm
And your home

All I've left to do is build and till and sow
May Sol, Luna, and yourself
Watch over me from afar
With love and well wishes

I will write you soon with more tales from the field
Until then, the work continues...

Vale amore mea,

PERTINAX

From Publius
To Livia

I'm writing to tell you
I will no longer work your fields

For too long my sweat bled to make you look good
Mine harvest fed the entire eternal city
For months!

Yet you'd eyes only for the leadened ***** of
Gaius
And
Marcus
It's a wonder you haven't gone blind yet

Or mayhaps you have?

It would explain your complete and utter ignorance
Of the goings on right outside your window!

Those furrows
I plowed
That terrace
I built
Those grapes
I grew

I nurtured this land long before you
And Marcus

Originally,
It was just myself and Gaius
Charged with taming wild Ceres
Transforming forest to field
Then field to farm
A cornucopia of plenty

Then you came along
Your drooling dog in tow
Salivating the discord of Discord
While gorging yourself on Gaius' selfish lies
Taking credit for mine own efforts
And treating me as a mere shadow on the wall

Invisible to all

Well,
I prayed to the Capitoline Triad
I offered a white bull to Jupiter the king
And asked him to command radiant Sol
To shine bright on your shade
And bless me with brighter horizons

I begged jealous Juno
To send windy ****** to blow you off course
Along with your precious pets
Hopefully you'll crash on Sicilian shores
With only furious Polyphemus for company
For this I burned frankincense and myrrh

To ****** Minerva
A libation of mine own wine
So she might reveal your true arachnid self
A punishment for your self aggrandizing arrogance
Thinking yourself wiser in the art of cultivation
Than the goddess of wisdom herself

Dear Livia,
You should be worried

Already my horizons brighten
As yours begins to dim in mine absence
And slowly, your guise of perfection is slipping
Revealing six sinewy legs, dagger tipped
And fangs dyed red with innocent blood

The Gods have heard my prayers
And your web begins to unravel

Praise Olympus

Signed,
PERTINAX

From Publius
To Marcus

Marcus, I must apologize:
It is true that I said you were as Antinous
To Gaius' Hadrianus,
But do not fret, it was not in jest;
I truly did ask the Gods to curse you so.

You see, this farm,
This land,
Has been my ward long before you...
In your Janus mask,
Were hired.
At least that God understands the difference
Between war and peace.

Unlike you, dear Marcus,
Who brings only chaos to the fields;
A greater pestilence than any drought or rot.
You are the weevil that spoils the grain,
Corrupting all around you.

Poor Gaius has already fallen
Under your impious spell.
His fields grow fallow from association
With you Marcus!

What shame you bring your family
With your lazy immorality,
Incapable of discerning right from wrong,
Lest it be ascribed by your new dominus, Gaius,
Whose skin your claws flay with fatal flattery.

All this while I tend both your fields,
And mine own,
Working myself to the bone;
The heat, and sweat, and bugs,
Reminiscent of Pluto's underworld.
To honor my family.
To feed my family.

I honor my ancestors Marcus!
Daily, I make offerings to Gods of house and state
At my household alter;

The Capitoline triad overflow with my piety,
Bringing abundance to mine soul and soil alike.
Plenty, that you, sweet Antinous, claim as your own.

No longer.
I'm divorcing myself from all of you.
You can have the land.
As it stands it would make a beautiful wedding plot.
I've even gone to the trouble of forging you a ring,
Meticulously sourced from your masters ****!

Consider it a fragrant farewell
From your favorite fan,
Who will fondly not remember you,
Even as you scramble without me,
And miss the coattails you rode,
To usurp my home.

Woe to the plow;
Proscribed to die in rust.

Signed,
PERTINAX

From Publius

To Gaius



Gaius, how long have we worked together now?



Three, four years?



Are we not as friends, whose sweat salts the soil?

Whose blood still stains mine alter?

...

And mine yours?

...

Have you forgotten your oath?

As brothers have we not sacrificed for the work?



In shared turmoil we toiled with miniscule minutias,

Always working together to make solutions

From pesty problems.

...

Yet, since you hired Marcus you have been different;

...

The work once shared has now become mine own.

No longer do you seek success in teamwork,



Nay,



Languid you have become with the work;

Heavy have mine shoulders become as a result.



Marcus is a joke.

Sure, he makes a fine comrade

Suitable for long binges of wine and women,

But his intellectual capacity is found wanting.

...

A detriment to getting the job done.

...

Still, you insist upon toting him around,

Holding his hand like a little lost puppy

Whose eyes water with weeping greed,

For more and more favoritism and need.

While, I, sit here and continue the work;

I am here finishing what we started, Gaius:



My SWEAT

...

My BLOOD



Has never ceased to pour forth to the land,

While you reap the harvest, leaving bare kernels

For your so called 'friend' to pick at.

...

Scraps as a reward for rearing another bountiful crop.

...

While Marcus lounges in your atrium,

******* plump figs,

...

That I have grown,

...

Spending more time in the lavatorium,

Than tilling the soil or plucking and picking.



No, dear Gaius, you can have the work.

Enjoy it with your dear Marcus.

He'd make a great Antinous to your Hadrianus.

...

Together, may the gods see you buggered in failure.

...

For this, I will make an offering of frankincense and myrrh

As I set off for new fields and greener pastures

To ply my trade.



One that you will find wanted in the days and months

To come.

...

I've new fields to plow


Seeds to sow


Crops to reap


And seedlings to grow

...

Like them, dear Gaius, I will thrive under noonday sun,

While you will wilt with your work.



Without me.



Signed,

PERTINAX

In mainland meadows, flowers tempt,
Yet spurn those animals they tease,
Except caprificating bees.  
Here, whatever’s edible’s unkempt.  

There is an isle more fortunate
Where nettles sow chrysanthemums,
And farming isn’t wearisome,  
And where what tempts must satiate.

Discredit not the busy honey bee,
or the hedgehog that makes the grasses stir
The old owl that makes it's nest in the fir
Admire the deer pacing the woods with glee!
No bard does justice to the roaring sea,
no sculptor the grace of a wild flower
Or the nurturing of a rain shower,
or majesty of an ancient oak tree

The beauty of Nature, a peaceful sight
Like swans taking flight in the rose sunset
Deep deserts where small foxes show no fear
of man, and to feel a thunderstorm's might
All these wondrous things and more can be met
on this miracle, blue-green biosphere

The fog loses purchase
on the window
and, dying, wicks
ashy vapor's slick scatter
to gated green-brown.
Morning comes again
in fractioned crooks
of snow declining
into fat eggs of rain.
The fog is a colossus,
ravels with dragging step,
before retiring itself
above oak branchlets.  
The sun wraps away
in gray, as if stolen.  
Nativity of cloud.
I'm telling you this:
everything is possible.

All the women in my life
They- I cannot deny-
Have shown me love unknown
To men who vainly roam

Their words of dew and sway
Bring rise to dawn and day
Their hymns and fabrics blown
From their sylvan loam

They bear me in their arms
Where sorrow breeds no harm
And turn my mouth to crow
Of harsh and fleeting home

In time and hastened feet
Approaching skin's defeat
I recollect and row
Through times of sky and foam

See the eyes, through jagged trees
Humbly calling out to thee
And the damp eagle plea
Downy arms falling free

As breath makes no qualms
With the levity of psalm
And the soot between palms
Lies still in fearful calm

Orion’s sprightly pace
Shrouds the cratered face
As pearls fall without trace
Miss the ocean’s embrace

Neon ghosts surround
The orphaned mobile sounds
As empty fertile ground
Now bitter and profound

Within malignance, the smell of stale night
As blue and then amber engulfs the sight