"arcadian" poems
To smile at the carnation,
So gallantly growing,
At peace with this world.
In silence...
I tune in a short conversation
Between minds and bodies -
Incredibly cold.
My heart has surrendered
To nightingale's song.
I dream of Rhode Island...
I'm leaving! So long!
The winds of Sonora,
My nannies and friends.
My love for Evora -
My tears know no end.
The shadows of Mordor,
With sunrise they fade.
Grace, Kindness and Splendour:
Three Buddhas in jade.
I feed roastede pidgeone
To poor ryebread crumbs.
Avoiding curmudgeons,
I'm playing professional dumb.
Caressing the grass-blades,
I live in a drop.
Arcadian arcade:
There, God has no job.
In hurting the Nature
We drain our souls.
Let’s all at once cease
Being ignorant ghouls.
...To stroke the carnation,
To gently kiss buds.
To eat simple meals
Like lentils and spuds.
To carry some water,
To chop down some trees.
To stop feeling rotten.
My soul is at peace.
The time is forever,
The purpose is now.
No “when” and no “where”,
No “why” and no “how”.
The light effervescent,
The sound circumaural,
The hearts ever-pleasant,
The dreams polynomial.
...Collapsing eternity,
Upheaving humanity,
Rock-bottom fraternity,
Defying the gravity.
Creative destruction
Is staunchly forbidding.
The wisdom of ancients
Is widely-misleading.
Depleting our anger
Is key to survival.
Harnessing the hunger,
Improptu revival.
Combustion of senses,
Precarious laughter.
Incurable sepsis,
Delirious canter.
Regrets are forgotten,
Bright days are all-cherished.
Let’s live unbegotten
Until we all perish.
13.06.2012
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
Every dawn is a nexus, /
Every twilight is a beckoning; therefore, /
Embrace the fickle future /
Ensconscing within the sacral oath /
Of a thousand words: /
These utterances shall envelop you /
When upon Triumphal Arcadian Skies /
We meet again. /
Save your tears, /
For love shall reign /
From the empyreal aethers above /
To the Gaian epidermis of /
The Magnanimous Matriarch; moreover, the mellifluous kisses /
Of The Sovereign of Songbirds /
Will burgeon within, /
Will descend upon you as The Holy Dove. /
Unfurl your third eye, /
See with an indefatigable clarity /
All that you were meant to be: /
Strong, Wise, Just; /
Love; /
A luminary fulminating /
Radiantly, resplendently upon /
The Denizens of the Terrene. /
(—Se' lah)
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 12:00 AM UTC
The misty firmament above in the hours before the rising sun,
Swirls patterns deeply etched into the grey sky,
Windy realm of night with its soaring echoes,
A play of wind, clouds and dancing moonlight,
The spirits of the ages play, spread across the invincible night,
They play unseen, yet fill the Arcadian meadows with their presence,
To the wind, they vow a burning promise,
To the night, their unquenchable energies,
In the windy sea sky, adrift with misty cloud schooners,
The season of the Solstice sweeps her glowing gown,
Drawn by oceanic breezes,
Her midnight tempest spawns vaporous clouds across the gloomy moors,
Her Druid song haunting the moonlit fields,
This swirling mirth of darkness strips the tired senses spellbound in these seasons of the night.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,
Than all th’ unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense, love orations.
Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve prov’d it;
Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov’d it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine;
With silly whims, and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene’s a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent,
(Since Shakespeare set the precedent;
Since Juliet first declar’d her passion)
To form the place of assignation.
Oh! would some modern muse inspire,
And seat her by a sea-coal fire;
Or had the bard at Christmas written,
And laid the scene of love in Britain;
He surely, in commiseration,
Had chang’d the place of declaration.
In Italy, I’ve no objection,
Warm nights are proper for reflection;
But here our climate is so rigid,
That love itself, is rather frigid:
Think on our chilly situation,
And curb this rage for imitation.
Then let us meet, as oft we’ve done,
Beneath the influence of the sun;
Or, if at midnight I must meet you,
Within your mansion let me greet you:
‘There’, we can love for hours together,
Much better, in such snowy weather,
Than plac’d in all th’ Arcadian groves,
That ever witness’d rural loves;
‘Then’, if my passion fail to please,
Next night I’ll be content to freeze;
No more I’ll give a loose to laughter,
But curse my fate, for ever after.
1.6k
***Book One
(∞The Psalm of The Star Child∞)
The Precursor's Psalm I-V
To the Child of The Empyrean. For ye valleity stars shine.
(I) ―En Fortissimo
1 Tender with sentimentality,
I fathom you,
2 That you draw closer, nigh’ with every waking moment,
Closer to ensconce ‘twixt my embrace,
3 That your towering arms
May aegis these benighted bones.
4 The Vestibule of Our Souls shall be
Assoiled by an Arcadian Eternity,
5 Shall scintillate in my every blooded tear, shed garnetiferously,
―Upon my crucifix, our crucifix:
6 A penance, pardoning our transgressions prognostically
Before by romance, we touched erringly.
(Se'lah)
(II) Celestial Communion
1 O, Star Child,
May your beckoning
2 Sow the Seeds of Somnus upon the sanctimony
Festering in my faith,
3 (A besmirched hope)
Tarnished by my reverenc’d doubt.
4 O Minstrel of Manumission,
Will ye sing unto me ye SoulSong?
5 The Womb’d Aethers bleed,
The Terraqueous Mother conceives, Gaian a dream,
6 Her Luminous Brethren yearn
For the Arbiter of Fates.
(Se'lah)
(III) Song of Wishes
1 Velleity speaks,
It whispers,
2 In the twinkling of the stars.
When shall it end,
3 When
It has yet to begin?
4 Be still― and become one with all things,
As time fades, consciousness begins,
5 The Experiential Cascade:
All that was, all that is, & all that shall be,
6 Circular & Cycling,
Forevermore.
7 Know that there is a reason,
Know that there is a place,
8 Know that there is a person,
In this world for you.
9 Open up your heart and see,
All you were meant to see.
(Se'lah).
(IV) Spiritus de Tempus (Zeitgeist of the Future)
1 ―Blooming in Reminiscence
The Dreamscape glistens,
2 A Redolent Reverie wafts
The Tenuous Air amidst
3 Her Zephry'd Lightwaves
& Crystalline Pulsations.
4 Ardently I pine,
For thine visage, groping for a rhyme,
5 Whence I can gaze once more upon thine
Countenance sublime,
6 All desperations been defied,
For thee I reverberate Love, The Spirit of the Times.
(Se'lah)
(V) Bastion Heart
1 The agony in existentiality
Unravels undying piety
2 And
Cloistered in cadence of solitude,
3 I, the Somnolent One,
Am roused by The Heart’s Resonance.
4 In wanting, there is life,
In desirelessness, wanting still,
5 Know thine Power,
Indomitable Will:
6 The Couer & The Amour of the Spirit
Are immortal.
(Se'lah)***
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC
Adroit minds are adamant about arcadian lives
Boorish minds are bellicose and baleful
Adroit and boorish minds must be abolished and banned
For they are dangerous minds
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
I long for her mesmerizing gratuities .. To convalesce within boundless arcadian charms , nestled within variegated hardwood thickets , visibly enraptured and in complete faculty of mind whilst thankfully secure in every emotion ..
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
Her whispers writhe upward, warming my lips
Chased gently by thoughts, and fingertips
Which pulse over keys, sewing words onto fields
Of love thirsty parchment, tenderly peeled
From shavings off banyan trees, twisted in time
Woven from tangles of roots and vines
That glimmer and glide on the twirls of her hair
That coil around dreams as they swirl in the air
And reciprocate whispers that blend into sighs
Reflecting like moonlight in opening eyes.
Honey silk visage and java, like brindle,
Eyes like flint against frizzen, will kindle
Fire in the heart, calling men once missing
To a resplendent nexus, of lost souls kissing.
Arcadian journeys of body and mind
Sing from fathomless depths of space and time.
Geography traversed by her steps, sublime
Bearing piedra de ijada from a far eastern mine.
Electricity leaps in passionate arcs,
from skin to skin in dendritic sparks,
That strobe over rhythm beneath the sheets,
as lovers listen and friction speaks
in syncopation with shuddering breaths,
from sodden mouths that sweetly press,
And I close my eyes in synchronicity,
but even closed, it’s her I see.
Tasting the salt of a single tear
A harbinger, for the moments near.
High on the hum of hopes embrace
as rapture and destiny hasten the pace,
I open my eyes to watch her go,
but once inside it starts to grow
into a poem unleashed in my heart,
By a byzantine kiss, after lost lips part.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
Was she but the fallen
Come down to raise an Arcadian hell,
Avoiding peace in graceful slalom,
Encased in her callous breathing shell,
Most would describe her as the Cacodemon,
With the eyes of baleful sin,
Defined by her nefarious inner demon,
That had beguiled her sanity to its whim,
She breathed of ethereal indignation,
Sought upon her by trenchant thoughts,
Damning her for indulging in feelings as dissipation,
By those who seek defamatory purity as frauds,
She was the unwanted succubus,
Whose earnest beauty cost too high a price,
Her darkly alluring convictions were a neuritis,
Brought too bare all adamant admirers vice,
She was thought to be the rakshasa,
Condemned for safeholding her own heart,
Not wanting persue any psychodrama,
Not wishing for a reckless counterpart,
So she clinged to her hellhounds,
To hold at bay any contemptuous intruder’s,
And so they dub her hell bound,
Ignorant of her past patronizing prosecutors.
She is the Cacodemon,
As she shuts her gates from all,
Trusting none acclaimed shaman,
As she has already been judged to fall
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
.................
.........
Remembering,
how fast April, May and June ended,
gone.......yet, their breezes,
still whistle their songs into July
brazenly...heard by conscious, sharp ears,
by the bedroom door, i see how they
blow and push...how they move everything
...................
like these dancers on the window
moving with such grace,
always obsequious
to the call of the wind,
....................
soft silky bodies...dancing freely
moving with a gentle sway...flowing
flinging, waving up, down....in floral,
fruity and rustic prints....flimsy,
like summer scarves, in yellows,
reds, greens, blues, and browns
...................
baring......sometimes, hiding
a rich tapestry of an arcadian scene:
wide open areas of lush green
beside gold-colored fields,
eyes of passersby are stunned even more
by the long, wide, swaying leaves
of the proud tobacco plants.
.....................
tireless hanging dancers, graceful and lithe,
organza curtains, pierced by rays of sunlight,
dancing with much fire, as wind becomes wild,
...but, shy at nights, when stilled by drawn blinds...
.........................
........Dancers........
.....................
..............
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 1, 2018
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
*we inscribed poems on each others souls
in ink at first
but ink did not touch the magnitude of our love
so we wrote in the wettest kisses
and snaky tongues
undulating pink spells
but still we needed more
we wrote with the unguents from our *****
and while it was as lush as paradise
still, we craved
so we wrote in pain and blood
we suffered for each other
and at each other's hands
we drank each other's tears
consumed each other's emptiness
till arteries darkened
and our life force
ran through each other's veins
like vermilion claret
until we died each other's deaths
and felt the shadow of each other's ancestors
and then we fell in love again
transformed
true initiates of adoration
and everything each other
a rapturous yoga
fused like thrice folded metal
living silent incantations
ethric urns
burning
gold frankincense and myrrh
enshrined in the heavens
rapturous mouths
in a tangle of kisses arcadian.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 7:21 PM UTC
From the peckish flow of pollen perusing in the air, that irrevocably makes my reoccurring allergies flame up, permitting my nose to looking like a cherry tomato.
From the awakening of blossoms omitting the sweet smelling fervor of my senses. From the warmth of the weather making my heart feel festive and splendid enlightening my dreams, my thoughts, and my aspirations molding me in to a blooming, arcadian blossom.
From the dandy breeze making my hair go in all sorts of directions.
From the waves of all these winsome works of nature renewing as a sign of “new life.”
From the carelessness of our being, because what comes out of a cold, tepid, bleak winter is none another than the effulgent, heavenly, lush aura within us.
From the amicable walks and chats with open – minded acquaintances and the urgency to thrive in these unpredictable months coming.
From the change from hot, crisp coffee and lattes to the soothing, teeming tones of tea.
Spring is here,
Spring is awakened.
And so am I.
- m.d.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
Her whispers writhe upward, warming my lips
Chased gently by thoughts, and fingertips
Which pulse over keys, sewing words onto fields
Of love thirsty parchment, tenderly peeled
From shavings off banyan trees, twisted in time
Woven from tangles of roots and vines
That glimmer and glide on the twirls of her hair
That coil around dreams as they swirl in the air
And reciprocate whispers that blend into sighs
Reflecting like moonlight in opening eyes.
Honey silk visage and java, like brindle,
Eyes like flint against frizzen, will kindle
Fire in the heart, calling men once missing
To a resplendent nexus, of lost souls kissing.
Arcadian journeys of body and mind
Sing from fathomless depths of space and time.
Geography traversed by her steps, sublime
Bearing piedra de ijada from a far eastern mine.
Electricity leaps in passionate arcs,
from skin to skin in dendritic sparks,
That strobe over rhythm beneath the sheets,
as lovers listen and friction speaks
in syncopation with shuddering breaths,
from sodden mouths that sweetly press,
And I close my eyes in synchronicity,
but even closed, it’s her I see.
Tasting the salt of a single tear
A harbinger, for the moments near.
High on the hum of hopes embrace
as rapture and destiny hasten the pace,
I open my eyes to watch her go,
but once inside it starts to grow
into a poem unleashed in my heart,
By a byzantine kiss, after lost lips part.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
They exchanged glances and
The occasional
Simper on the
Subway for a
Period of time.
One thing they shared in
Common was the street
The escaped to
On their lunch breaks.
He, the high-class, affluent luncheonette.
She, the lenient yet eloquent café.
For her it's a brief
Getaway to some
Liberating
Arcadian.
She could be at peace.
Except not this time.
Not this time at all.
He was traipsing
Right up to her.
Her heart is racing and she has lost her breath.
Then he says, "will you have lunch with me, dear?"
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
*Jonquil rain bar approach , delta method
time beau stargazer in earnest
Fine line arcadian pest derecho , pinpoint
waiver unit substitution Jericho
Albamarle sinister unit torrid recuser perpetuity
cisco propulsion Easter wig nam propulsion
Archangel rock deliver jetsam
Harold ****** sonic shift mercury wind bag space
candidate turquoise nine beam analyzer Sinbad nine
Winder ground archer nine sound pet neighbor tyrant
dime loser terrier loose figment stroller ten nimbus*
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
I
The arcadian past is dead.
Perhaps it never was.
On one hand a golden vision
Of gallant and splendid men.
Cobblestone dreams,
A rustic thirst,
Renaissance, invention,
A proper bow and curtsy.
The Paradise Garden and
The hedgerows of old-
Glint in the eye of the nostalgist.
Our forebears
And the open heath.
Idyllic.
Would that it still were.
On the other a practical frivolity.
Spoiled milk and discarded scraps,
Leftovers thrown out.
A forsaken time
Of blood roar and cannon,
Disease and fetid stink,
Myth and choking smoke.
Avaricious heads
Atop pauper bodies.
Ancient tombs
Built of Hebrew tears.
****** sacrifice
To hideous and foreign gods.
Barbaric.
Finally, it is no longer.
II
We, being young,
The ungrateful and resentful,
The unabashedly alien-
We are the new now.
We turned away from the trappings of
The teachings of the wise.
We sneered when those dotards
Taught us their language,
Their rules,
Their type.
We laughed when
They corrected us,
Told us not to say that.
We detached from the decrepit womb,
Formed as their inverse,
Reflecting their faces
While defying their antique sensibilities.
We grew of our own volition,
Created our own language,
Etched our own runes,
And,
Ultimately,
Shared with them
Their very graves.
III
I, being young,
And of the here,
And now,
Have been elected
Into something
So much more
Than contemporary,
Than modern,
Something so inherently
Now.
I have been gloriously birthed
Into this open present,
This wonder of
Internet
And knowledge.
The exertions of our fathers and
Our mothers' cyclical toils
Have built such a steadfast bridge
Upon which the constant contrivances
Of our Now
Race around in dynamism.
Aware of my place
In this successive age,
I fervently embrace
Our Now,
Not to reject the past,
Never,
But to nurture its nascent chapter.
-c. c. Condry
Mar 12, 2011
Mar 12, 2011 at 8:23 PM UTC
The night holds secrets of hidden longing
Flamed circling desire til the break of day
Agony of conscious denial whispering
Wordless tales of thoughts coming to play
Depth bearing are the quicksands of lust
Arcadian sinking of silenced urges
Yearning of ferocious recurrent thrusts
Quick wave of desire submerges
Trembling, aching fingers, dried lips
Sentient drift with every passion
Hand craving the tender capture of hips
Fossilized moment of flowing emotion
Yet a barren field of frozen reflection
Forbidden path we like to borrow
Sweet devilish temptation
Filled with ecstacy but sorrow...
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
He had no insight into the mysteries
Of the gilded sports
Of the British social elite,
By the time he arrived at his beloved college,
Long, long ago in a long-forgotten England,
And in later years, when he looked back at his beloved college,
He'd insist if he possessed a single quality
That might be termed noble
He owed it to his education,
And not least the four years he spent there,
And there’d be times when certain pieces
Of quintessentially English pastoral music
Still had the power to evoke his strange and sudden flight,
While seeming to him to bespeak a passion
For the Arcadian soul of England that verged on the ecstatic,
And others when he’d dream of a day
He might return to the scene of his flight as if in atonement,
And commune with the soul of his beloved England,
With a passion verging on the ecstatic,
And then put the memory to rest for all time,
For he absconded once...just the once it was...
To avoid being chastised for something foolish he did,
And he finished up wandering, forlornly wandering,
His boots freshly caked with the purest English soil,
Long, long ago in a forgotten field in England.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
Where does man, where does woman, where does beast go
When slumber dawns upon their fleshly vessel?
When the twilit sky bleeds into a stygian veil?
When the musicality within begins to take psychosomatic form?
I reminisce over the eventuality that stirred my burgeoning.
It quaked my lucubrations, my excogitations, intellectualizations;
Ye, The Incendiary Phoenix Flame billows within. Rebirth awaits
every anima forged by The Apotheosis of The Astral Flame.
The doughty firebrand in me shalt nought surrender,
The Gaian Warrior within shall ne'er be forgotten,
And my reverenc'd doubts shall be undone.
O, whence all incredulities have been uttered The Leadings of Lovelight shall prevail. The Vestige that once ravaged my remembrance shall vanish into The Magisterial Tides of Oblivion,
We are all one with the Blood-Tinged Oath, The Fulgent Daystar;
He, exhaled eternity into the souls vexed by mortality.
Underneath the Sun:
There breathes an azure vista.
What lieth above our aethereal aegis has incited inquisitiveness aeons aforetime
Open your hearts to the cosmic currents, the transcendent torrent,
The Communal Oneness of The Primal Phantasmagoric;
By that One,
For all time we were summoned.
Question what lie before to be spirited away.
Listen to the arcadian zephyr whisper
Through in, through out your every breath. Trust, the Sanctity of intuition.
Coloring the Changing of The Seasons.
The aqueous dew throngs upon virescent leaflets,
A fulgurant surge fulminates
Upon The Celestial’s bedarkened sky.
Red- Shift Existence: evidence, upon which a system of belief expands, under examination
Therefore, it is our duty to ponder the Legacy of the Sages
That we might unravel the esoteric secrets
That function as a key
In gainsaying, in overturning The Lock of Fallacy.
Finally we gain understanding, we acquire wisdom
Altering our cognitive trajectory.
What is Life,
What is Love,
What is Divinity,
Without creativity?
Without imagination?
Without vision?
We must all surrender to
The Sacral Expressions of Omnibenevolence.
Jun 27, 2020
Jun 27, 2020 at 6:50 PM UTC
What is it she whispers?
Outside..
The brittle bleach decor rustles shy applause
Inside….
half encumbered slumber wins
The aching World to part made play
Arcadian chapels hover in folds
That form in the fields of gathering grey
and still she whispers.
Damp calico dales murmur and shift
in the twist of a tremor.
A cold palm press upon temples that pulse
for the touch of another that passes
high over the way…
What is it, she whispers?
Witch-fingers lift at the filigree latches,
saltwater patches salivate free…..
..lasciviously.
beneath the list of chalking blinds
rim- shot eyes scour windswept causeways
Always searching,
Always waiting,
For some unknown.
And still she whispers...
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Entombed on the outskirts
of hero township
sits a once Arcadian jewel
turned relic
its vast wings spread
as an eagle
but the days of flight
long exhausted
sullen close-down signs and banners
hang minatory from
a fractured glass ceiling
-- a terminal remainder
spots of rain fall thru strewn wreckage
along the counters of a fossilized department store
inchworms journey down
the massive teeth of a frozen
escalator descended from
the empty heavens
creepy crawlers move about
remnants of a food court
in search of morsels
like the droves of
holiday shoppers
that once haunted this place
before betraying it
for the shiny new toy
across the highway
Feb 25, 2020
Feb 25, 2020 at 9:14 AM UTC
As the transient day slips by,
We work for our food and shelter.
We busy ourselves with toil
In a sultry, oppresive swelter.
This is the way of things, of course,
As we seek to survive the world’s hardships.
But we must not lose hope, so we keep words
Of encouragement on our lips.
But the day wanders late,
And we must prepare for
The perilous darkness…
Looking up, we saw the day’s diadem
Dropping and dwindling
Into an expanding distance.
A widening waste spreads,
Swallowing our hope and
Threatening our existence.
We kneeled to pray for protection
During this cold gloom of catharsis.
It seemed a ghostly mist approached,
As if from ancient Tarsus.
Suddenly, the warming orb shatters
Against the horizon,
Exploding with resplendent rubies,
Flying out from the surface!
Before this crystalline spectacle we are transfixed,
As our hearts discover a renewed purpose.
This shimmering treasure
Was then drawn up,
As the night’s shade descended,
To stand as a symbol
Of an eternal hope,
Just as God Intended.
To fill the sky with wonderful lights,
Creating a crown Of destiny.
We beheld its glory,
Within and without,
As our fears were transformed
Into ecstasy!
In that moment, we cried out,
“Come, O' Night! We reflect your beauty!
In this darkened aura,
We feel the embrace of an Arcadian love!
Night! Portent of our death and
Harbinger of our illumination,
We are kin with the stars!
We are citizens of the heavens above!”
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC