"arcadia" poems
Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,
Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove;
Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,
Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.
Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,
Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove;
From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,
Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.
If Apollo should e’er his assistance refuse,
Or the Nine be dispos’d from your service to rove,
Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the Muse,
And try the effect, of the first kiss of love.
I hate you, ye cold compositions of art,
Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove;
I court the effusions that spring from the heart,
Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love.
Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,
Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;
What are visions like these, to the first kiss of love?
Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,
From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove;
Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,
And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love.
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.
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XVIII. TO HERMES (12 lines)
(ll. 1-9) I sing of Cyllenian Hermes, the Slayer of Argus, lord
of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, luck-bringing messenger of
the deathless gods. He was born of Maia, the daughter of Atlas,
when she had made with Zeus, -- a shy goddess she. Ever she
avoided the throng of the blessed gods and lived in a shadowy
cave, and there the Son of Cronos used to lie with the rich-
tressed nymph at dead of night, while white-armed Hera lay bound
in sweet sleep: and neither deathless god nor mortal man knew it.
(ll. 10-11) And so hail to you, Son of Zeus and Maia; with you I
have begun: now I will turn to another song!
(l. 12) Hail, Hermes, giver of grace, guide, and giver of good
things! (31)
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I sat by the lake
sipping coffee and feeding the ducks.
In between breadcrumbs,
I dialed his number.
"Your call could not go through."
I grinned;
Could not, not would not.
Long since the city summers,
I finally found our stillwater space:
a sense of security that felt
as serene as my remote arcadia,
disturbed only by the footstrokes
of a hungry mallard passing by.
No breadcrumbs for him.
"Call failed."
Call failed, not I failed,
and I picked apart the stale bagel
to dip in my coffee
and feed to the ducks.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC
Over the hills,
From mountain to mountain,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Playing his pipes,
And drinking the wine,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
A cave in the hills,
The heart of his fair Arcadia,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Demeter he found,
And then he told Zeus,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
In fair Arcadia,
He stood feeding his hounds,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Artemis came,
And he gave her ten pairs,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
Visions and dreams,
In trances and dances of ecstasy,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Fair Apollo came,
And learned prophecy at his feet,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
Bragging and boasting,
He plays his pipes and he dances,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Apollo comes challenging,
And the mountain god liked lyres,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
Echo he loved,
He sang and he wooed,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Scorning his love,
His panic tore her to shreds,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Horned God,
***** God,
Dancing God,
Drinking God,
Hooves upon the hills.
Youngest of gods,
But oldest by far,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Father of all,
And forever the Child,
He dances and hunts and roams.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 12:42 AM UTC
*we are not the
nicholas sparks novel
read wrapped in comfort
of store-bought quilts
on rainy days
or an ed sheeran song
in long-haul flights
flying us
into one another's
longing embrace
once in
a blue moon
how long will
the movie screens
and best-selling novels
continue to
romanticise a
love like
ours
all of its
torturous;
troubling;
tragic glory
even with dreams
of your laugh
and the most short-lived
imageries of your crescent eyes
the sheets on your side
of the bed remain
perfectly
uncreased
i cannot stop
my heavy lids
and tired bones
from gravitating into
both Arcadia
and Erebus:
another
sweet,
wicked
dream
of
you.*
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
Thy tallow flame burns brighter than the rest, my love,
Warming the jealous heart within my breast, my love!
Thou art the envy of all lovers' lovers eyes,
Thy whim commands me unto thy behest, my love!
Arcadia proffers to thee her beauty throne
Where shepherdesses gather to attest, my love!
Wild winter plants her lilies over autumn crown,
Setting pure ice born crystals for thy crest, my love!
Yggdrasil bows and offers thee a fledgling branch,
A gnarlèd sceptre, life and spirit blessed, my love!
Erato guides old Argo unto Colchis bay,
Thy stately robes to fetch from hydras nest, my love!
All-seeing Delphi Oracles gaze heavenward,
To beg thy wisdom (or they lied and guessed), my love!
And I, your humble servant Tryst, declare to thee,
Thou art my sacred never-ending quest, my love!
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
Merrick, was he
And now farmer.
The ghost of the Euridi wars
But now simply father.
She gave unto him Ilo
And then passed.
A treasure from her *****
For what more could he ask?
The grey in his hair
And the wrinkle upon his skin.
As his daughter kissed his cheek
He thought not of past sin.
Ilo sang as the angels
And glided with beauty.
But her sickness had doomed her
To waste away rudely.
Traveller Nner spoke of
Arcadia and the four ghosts of God.
Far away, over mountains
Plagued by demons and monsters odd.
Ilo can live again,
Warrior-farmer-father.
Across the desert, ocean, and mountains
Do not falter.
Staff in hand,
Upon Kerona he rides.
Eastward towards the ghosts
With Ilo's body by his side.
Dragon of desert lands,
From the sand to the sky, fly
Breathe of fire, brimstone
A war through the night.
Cut deep
The flesh of the fire breather.
For your daughter Ilo's soul
Hangs in the ether.
Victory and blood
But her body lies still.
No gain from this battle.
Only sorrow and hatred to feel.
Forward to the ocean,
To the lair of the giant serpent.
The one who drinks up the waters
And will not relent.
The mighty beast,
He steals away Ilo's body.
To the floor of the earth,
Beckoning Merrick hotly.
A foul beast has stolen
The body of my daughter.
Merrick breathes in all the air
And follows after.
A war under water,
Flesh and blood in twain.
****** into the belly of the beast.
A nameless grave.
Burst forth from the entrails,
Ripped, bitten, and torn.
Another beast overcame.
Another victory, though forlorn.
He holds her body
And her head against his.
A tear he permits.
His life would he give.
To the forests of Zalvest
To the lair of evil.
Black magic awaits
To unravel his meddle.
Trickery of the mind,
Manipulated with horror.
Recalling the gruesome battles of Euridi
And comrades lost to war.
Blinded by fear,
By the demon wizard of Zalvest.
How helpless he feels.
Lay the ghost to rest.
Acceptance of sin,
Parting with guilt.
A wizard rendered weak,
The evil-willed welps.
To the four ghosts of God
Atop the mountains of Arcadia.
Breathe life to Ilo
I have bested the sons of Echidna.
Not ghosts of God,
But of the devil.
A sacrifice for a life,
A hero laid low to their level.
And Ilo is raised,
Her breathe is now her own.
With his parting words
His love is shown.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 4:23 AM UTC
I see you glancing at the brush,
But our bristles don't hold paint the way they used to
And for all the folly in our atmosphere, I am sorry
I know I'm the one who exhaled the most
Remember, your father told you,
"We run the most standing still,"
But my stars have remained perpetually frozen
Since my love ceased blushing your alabaster skin
If you cinch the tourniquet too tightly,
To summer's dismay, I may not heal by autumn
And whether you whisper treasons of the universe or not,
My anchor's still aweigh by first light
Broken words taste bitter upon my tongue,
And it's becoming clearer and clearer
That you were my road to Arcadia
But, as I am prone to do, I derailed us both
I see you glancing at the brush,
But our bristles don't hold paint the way they used to
And for this achromatic atmosphere, I am sorry
I know I'm the one in black and white
Oct 6, 2021
Oct 6, 2021 at 7:55 PM UTC
Balmy days
bound in Arcadia's summer; lightly whispered
secrets, drifting beside forgotten pathways
sheltered in the umbra of nooks and hedgerows,
breathlessly confide
Stolen dreams
awaken sultry mornings where love erupts
from ripened seed to bloom, eliciting
a fondness and a fawning that summer's end
is fated to consume
Timeless moments
captured for eternity within ring-
binders of the living trees, Arcadia's
old sentinels take pity on lovers
lorn of keepsake memories
Summer fades
yet ever in Arcadia, summer shields
the land from autumn gloom and lovers lorn
will ever have a place here, where summer
keeps a vigil on their tomb
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
Roses, rooted warm in earth,
Bud in rhyme, another age;
Lilies know a ghostly birth
Strewn along a patterned page;
Golden lad and chimbley sweep
Die; and so their song shall keep.
Wind that in Arcadia starts
In and out a couplet plays;
And the drums of bitter hearts
Beat the measure of a phrase.
Sweets and woes but come to print
Quae *** ita sint.
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Part I.
I tried to die
in the arches of your orchard heart
struggled for breath and bleeding
but my blood was not willing
it loves me like you never would
red lead weights
on the dogeared notes of last weekend
yellowing with antiquity
like the singing saints of Hyperborea-feigned
in paper cathedrals
if only we could see them
once
the moon waned
to these tobacco-trance stains
that creep beyond the door frame's edge
- dreams of Apollo.
You will sing in light
but your eyes will burn
and when the sky falls to night
the halls of your arms will yearn
and your song will laugh at you
in the hollow of its silence
if only my mouth could marry a love like that.
I often dreamt of lighthouses
then
you came from the water's edge
and brought the sea with you
stupid saltwater
sodium mouthfuls
nothing grows from you.
Part II.
Summer crept
in to the holes in your jeans
as the sky fell to dusk
we saw the sun die
under waves of golden clouds
summer kept us warm in to the night
now only the sea sings its praise
to the promise of the evening
a promise that will fall with Arcadia
and the loudest of silences
to the archaic indifference of apocrypha-lost
few others could speak
in a way that grew between us
with the colours of a love not yet lost.
Now all my books are burning
beneath the palm of your eye
your iris twists
and burns with the sky.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 3:29 PM UTC
I'm known for navel-gazing my way to elation,
and am living in a country caught within
the grips of frenzied matriculation.
My insidiously
malapert generation,
my incessantly
malcontent gene-nation.
This is a Garden of Eden,
Where is our guard of Eden?
carefully removing
all who are not heathen.
Plucking the clouded excess from an already crowded bed of hegemony, as a gardener would and so should.
It is a mirage, a far off oasis of Arcadia and
I say this all unconcernedly, a basis for this absurdity.
I have stolen my ego from god,
I will carry this yoke readily,
and I shall take up my axe doling out mechanically.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 11:03 PM UTC
Great Pan is Dead!
Flag at half-mast,
Great Pan is Dead!
He will not be the last,
The boorish wind will blow
And say ‘Pan It is time to go’
While the nymphs will lament the passing of friends.
Old Ulysses
Focussed as time,
He thought lotus-eating
Was a heinous crime.
Ploughed on with his quest,
He could cut it with the best.
But even he could not compare to Pan.
Oh Deadly Day!
The music has died,
Oh Deadly Day!
Arcadia lied.
Apollo will play,
And the Gods will shout ‘Hurray!’
And sing ‘Great Pan is Dead!’
October 2009
Jan 5, 2010
Jan 5, 2010 at 8:19 AM UTC
*Arcadia, or what is now spliced of aeons' great
Gates of gold that rust in hate
Islands on grim sulfur lakes;
I have no demeanors that wait
They've left and gone away
To the rise of demise and acid rain
Where epidermis boils
Quintessence abolished and spoiled;
Grand scent of desiccant
Miff's so indelicate
Caveats and feats of nothing; No rise
My apotheosis' hellish paradise*
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 4:48 AM UTC
If I can escape to my Utopia
Connect with my own bliss
Create my own Arcadia
A Wonderland of Happiness
A Tropical Island get away
Palm Trees, Coconuts and more
A Fantasy Island of my own
So, what am I waiting for!!
I so just want to Get Away and
Save my Troubles for another Day
No more worries it would be so nice
To Get away to my Paradise
If I had the opportunity, I wouldn't think Twice
Of this being my Paradise
My, my, my, "What A Sight!!"
This would DEFINITELY be my Paradise!!!
By: B.R.
Date: 10/15/2022
Oct 15, 2024
Oct 15, 2024 at 11:55 AM UTC
I extolled them as they went about their
Menial tasks in suits of silk;
Sunday bests amidst the concrete, the earth,
The broken shards of
Bamboo splintered skin, hiding interiors
And further, the broken mirrors of
The broken memories of the
Broken histories upon the
Broken backs become names wrought ancient.
Though further from fractured, a family calls,
Beholden to the absolute intent, but one wish –
Eternity amongst the bountiful brethren left behind
Atop tea-brimmed Mountains and a
One malevolent, revered benevolent,
Mao.
One more saga prerequisite this newer dynasty red –
Witness the
Wives huddled plowshares,
The daughter scribbled arithmetic
And sons assumed thrones to legacy.
I scrutinize soiled – smoke amid pear peelings,
The dirtied – unscathed and archaic,
So very fatigued – just one more nail,
For his eternity, with scratch and
Sliver of blood, a sanctity upon chin
Beyond cradled hammer,
Hand hugging thumb,
Thumb beyond nail, iron or the
Heart impaled homesick;
But I and hand asserting tie, freshly pressed,
Almost gleaming with an embezzled prestige –
Born unto Arcadia, a puzzle near complete
Continued to run, with only second’s pause to admire,
So very far from the fields of, “father,” or first blink,
While Sunday’s best weep, work and wither.
This man with joint autographed, “end,” and
Soon to be mound, history wrought dust,
A chipped Henan ceramic
And hours in attempt to breach;
Behold the back of Chen.
The title of this piece was inspired by observing constructions workers wearing suits we'd typically wear for an interview. That being said, my venture in China is near an end - years in the making. What's next? Ecuador? Japan? Morocco? Montana? Either way, I could never thank China enough for all that'd become naked before I and my pilgrimage christened, "world."
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
Sewer stained,
The street, the pavement an so to
Soak the shoes
Born torment twice and a recurring
Tap upon back;
This slipper, a signature
Succumbed suicide,
Slaughter,
An only sorrow
But lash shared millions,
To tread paths beyond barbed
And a sooner return to my
Land, or its maker –
Wards and shop,
Sweat under, sweat atop
And browed, be the animosity
As I swagger my way through
Haizhu's faceless crowd.
This is the assumption of Arcadia.
Or so she’s said and she’s right
As I witness the
Hunched backs, sea pearls
Stained-bowl rice, bow-legged dreams,
The denizens
And if only to stagger,
Come 12 more hours to shelter,
Simply shelter
And a dread named, “day,” come ‘morrow.
It’s real, as real as the sun’s rising,
As real the sun’s sweating
And as real as the sun’s setting.
So onward they go, meager and dollar
Driven, under whip and promised avarice
So that as guilty as I may be;
I’ll still buy, you will too,
He will too and she will too;
We’ll buy and assume our “Arcadia.”
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 11:23 PM UTC
Lo! The holiest saint, arises underneath the sun /
Whose august, resplendent rays fulminate /
Auric with excellency; golden in his eyes; /
Therefore, my pilgrimage upon this world /
Is but an ephemeral speck, an exhalation, transitory, /
For all is a preparation, a quickening /
Unto Greater Eden! /
Lo! A Land where dreaming is fallacy for /
Arcadia awakens anew with each morn: /
Love & Light brim in every living soul; /
There in my heart, I fathom The Transcendent hears my /
Beckoning cries beneath /
The adamantine moon, & /
My wishes shall be ordained at twilight. /
Lo! "Know thyself," said the sage; /
Yet, every man, /
Every woman, /
Every child, /
Falters should they fathom themselves fully. /
Ye, ignorance is not only ephemeral bliss, but existential.
(Voracious self-knowing is moored in a sea of vanity) /
Lo! Understand that meant to be understood /
By mortal eyes, yet, mind /
That there are deific forces whom devise, /
Transcending the veiled realm of our Mind's Sky; /
Therefore, we must allow ourselves /
The privilege of unknowing: /
By virtue of this advent, enlightenment is borne. /
(—Se' lah)
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 6:33 PM UTC
*pyramid, is that short of pencil-sharpener, an unmovable object, a Nevada experiment... (prolonged pause, also intended for a humidity of the questioning affect). quiet frankly you're making us look quiet silly give the mammalian status of sapiens; fuck's sake, Pythagoras spent a whole eternity contemplating a hypotenuse looking at the chiselled mountains of Giza - reputation wise you give monkeys a bad slogan - i.e. we evolved, evolved to build a temple of perpetual death: each slab housed the body of a labourer, and inside we just found a lot of poisonous powder ruminating to find the only basis for encrypting the whole affair, metaphysical borders, metaphysical by which i mean, due to Egyptology we have the museum-state that's Egypt, and the real life assertions without mint-condition comic book cults of mausoleum-states, known as Libya, Sudan and Israel; on that basis, a chicken and egg question, within etymological parameters, what came first, museum or mausoleum? see, history can be a Tchaikovsky affair, given etymology a dense shortening - a solid, rather than a **** when it comes to nationhood and patriotism and adherence to.*
a U.F.O. could have landed and we'd still
be printing dollars bills and admiring
that **** montem*, seriously, bring out
a pencil sharpener, we need to revise Mont Blanc,
more like Mont Bonkers - a white kite hey hey **
**** retardo* and a *** and
a singalong that Napoleon never spotted:
the Ramones with pet cemetary - that's how it's
in Englanf (no speel or spelling mistake,
impromptu arcadia, banishing the surds stemming
from Hay, or a needle in the stack),
a tombstone for each house what would have been,
the riddle of life with the priority of death
having seconds - the nørden of Newcastle will know,
that the soofern fairies are all Arab or Tsar pawnbrokers
or transvestites (as they respected Kenneth Rexroth,
but Proust incubated in only two volumes
just ain't for me).
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
this here
is a saga of a child
lonely and sad
seeking faith in the wild
born of fear
forbidden to love
but loves everything
he sees and touches
claps his hands
but didn't know it's war
growing up was hard
with peace no more
was told of fairy-tales
of an imperil utopia
then given guns
in place of arcadia
the boy remains
a boy no more
with ****** khakee shirts
and bones sore
shown a path to hate
and misery
but tears in his eyes
missing his family
prays to a god
who does not exist
grudges on leaders
and failed politics
finds his savior
in an stranger's bullets
they said it was the enemy
but it was just people
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
Lit by angels and adrenaline
silent auctions, abductions
still as death decends here
Archadia dimmed
a dimension of distractions
sinking in a pretty little nest
feathered with fear
she sinned so softly
knowing nothing else to sleep beneath
twigs and bones returned from the battle
gnawed clean from anxious teeth
so brittle; you become a love song to the cold
a rattle of defiance
a longing for a place you cant face alone
this is not Archadia
these sweetly poisoned streets
full of tempting berries
choking on my mind
every sniff every sip every inhale is all we have
to stop what we are in-between
awaiting, impatient
feral from empathy
dreaming of each others bliss
an escape to humidity
an instant view of the sea
it might fix this
but it doesn't
I wish , I wish
my memory could imprint on me
that cascading fading message
I always leave in rem sleep
that lack of loathing now I'm older
old enough to know life's secrets
still too young to live by them
this is not Arcadia
this is a January town
where every new idea never starts
an eternal dance
a feast for show
so starving eyes swell
the grass is always gone where I go
I wish , I wish
the night could take me to Archadia
my silence as loud as
the auction lost
here were are; in the rotting sequence
pining for a reward
I'll build my own Archadia
out of precious words, molecules of hope
how to enlighten
omens of wonder, summer rain excitement
I roll down the grassy hill
turn another page
to somewhere I can smell resilience
a rest bite, evacuate the cold and reunite with your innocence
Welcome to Archadia
where hands are full of strength
a land full of scents that warm frantic souls
giving out their tidings
tiny rebels repel your decisions
deviate what you hope to replace
for here is your Archadia
empathy is everything
a peaceful wave of lighting
a quiet sob of clarity
an instant view of the sea
Welcome to Archadia
you're here to be free
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 4:49 PM UTC
3am, the epitome of perpetual night.
The hour of the wolf in sheep’s clothing
Alabaster clocks, ebony needles for hands
Walking to one-second beats on dripping wall paper,
exposing the blood in the house and meat in the pipes.
I see shadows of the malevolent past:
Rings of smoke and cum-stained magazines
Lies woven into eyelashes, sealing them shut
Bleak figures made of shattered glass
Transparency, their only truth.
And dawn shows the new day
A stage of light like sweet Arcadia
The pages written for me to walk upon
Every hour summarizes a year’s worth of turmoil,
an abstract of vicious malcontent youth.
Standing against usurpers and cattle-branding parents
I will not allow the false punishments to continue
Nor the raging strangulation subjugate my woe
Sweating fingers penetrate the holes
All while pleasure and pain in endured.
As the sundial strikes noon, life meets the middle
Leaves falling off trees while amidst the winter
Hands tired and dry; legs crooked and frail
I will wipe the dust of my friends away from me
Like nothing and everything in between.
The tomorrow won’t come this time
The prelude to eternity will be a last gasp of air
And I’ll welcome the suffocation like a lost brother
And abhor the condemnations like a pious father
And I’ll think fondly of that fading mother
As the light of day segues to a haze of fire
I’ll take those reluctant steps that I must
Ravel my life’s threads into a warm coat
And I will meet you at that cold and violent dusk.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
Heart uplink.. Loading love..................................
Mind uplink.. Loading memories and dreams............................
Soul transfer complete...........
Welcome to Arcadia Reverie......................
You may begin your journey..
Blackness turned into colors.. White first, Then red and yellow..
Then green and blue..
Then the aura of colors came on through..
Grass at my bare feet.. Sometimes warm and sometimes cool.. Soft to the step and calm to my senses.. I then came upon light fences..
This was the boundary to heaven.. The beginning of afterworld.. The skies were every blue I had seen in my old world..
This is the Promised land, Nirvana Elysium.. Arcadia Reverie lets me visit this Ecstasy Empyrean..
I crossed the light fence and became light.. I was now connected to every star in the sky...
They're was nowhere I couldn't visit, no place was to far away.. All were connected through lightwaves and dreams..
They're were colors I had never seen.. The color of dream, and the color of love was visible to me in this grand above..
I then got a message.. That my link was going to be broken.. The Arcadia Reverie allows me one hour in heaven and then you awaken..
What a fantastic machine.. The Arcadia Reverie lets you visit heaven in digital dream..
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC