"atalanta" poems
AY, 'twas here, on this spot,
In that summer of yore,
Atalanta did not
Vote my presence a bore,
Nor reply to my tenderest talk "She had
heard all that nonsense before."
She'd the brooch I had bought
And the necklace and sash on,
And her heart, as I thought,
Was alive to my passion;
And she'd done up her hair in the style that
the Empress had brought into fashion.
I had been to the play
With my pearl of a Peri -
But, for all I could say,
She declared she was weary,
That "the place was so crowded and hot, and
she couldn't abide that Dundreary."
Then I thought "Lucky boy!
'Tis for YOU that she whimpers!"
And I noted with joy
Those sensational simpers:
And I said "This is scrumptious!" - a
phrase I had learned from the Devonshire shrimpers.
And I vowed "'Twill be said
I'm a fortunate fellow,
When the breakfast is spread,
When the topers are mellow,
When the foam of the bride-cake is white,
and the fierce orange-blossoms are yellow!"
O that languishing yawn!
O those eloquent eyes!
I was drunk with the dawn
Of a splendid surmise -
I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear,
by a tempest of sighs.
Then I whispered "I see
The sweet secret thou keepest.
And the yearning for ME
That thou wistfully weepest!
And the question is 'License or Banns?',
though undoubtedly Banns are the cheapest."
"Be my Hero," said I,
"And let ME be Leander!"
But I lost her reply -
Something ending with "gander" -
For the omnibus rattled so loud that no
mortal could quite understand her.
2.5k
Sirious ********
Study is ********
Will you let me be.
There'll be other days
to write more poetry.
Smirking, missed you too.
She's studying with language barrier,
under repression.
Taking years to slowly do
what we can accomplish in a day.
I see, but what are we to accomplish?
Blow it up? rip it down? to rebuild?
or embroider?
Like repairing a tapestry.
Fill the in gaps,
complete her story with hard data
and prettier pictures.
Half on one hand, six in the other.
Make do and mend.
Change the world for a second
Which of us drew the short straw again?
Zzzzxxx
Tripping over myself and our humongous marriage of minds.
Apologies.
Apogee.
Nadir
©Atalanta Undigested, 2013. All Rights Reserved.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
*
*Swift-footed huntress
Life and death hangs on footrace
Love fierce like lions*
*
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 7:25 AM UTC
There she bends her fluid form, milky skin dazzled with sweat,
to pluck the golden fruit from the marble earth.
It eludes her grasp, un-bruised from its fall till
she turns her back to the finish line, to her maidenhood, to her victories
and faces all her determination to catch beautiful and artificial
apple. Midas’ own greed pulls her into succumbing to the last of Milanion’s offerings and Aphrodite’s snare.
There in her crooked form, her robes still billowing from the momentum, sandals come undone so close to the finish line
Atalanta clutches, desperately, to win her freedom and the gleaming prize.
Yet the Gods know that only one can be won.
Aphrodite’s dove proceeds the victor as he barrels to the finish,
his wedding in sight.
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
Is what you fear death?
Only alone...
I remember, I was upset about love.
My heart was broken by the last time.
The times I did it to myself.
The time before when I did it to you,
The time did you did to me.
We are committed
To find ways to forgive each other,
as I asked you to do for me.
Each of us amazed by the other's perception,
capacity for acceptance of others,
as examples of human nature.
Copyright ©2013 Atalanta Undigested. All rights reserved.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 9:03 PM UTC
after Atalanta Undigested - http://hellopoetry.com/-atalanta-undigested/
Phyllotaxis in bunches and bracts
Raisins and almonds
Twice baked
Scattered through crisp loaf
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 12:02 PM UTC
Cuando estas muerto,
quiero su alma para mio.
Porque
Su alma es como el sol
Sin caprichos
Quiero saber que tu alma es para mi
Quiero que me asustes con
Lo radiente y lo bello de tu ceguera
This poem is a collaboration. Second couplet was assisted by Atalanta Undigested & Edourdo Siller
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
Three golden apples
And she chased every one.
Raised by Henry and Daisy and Maisy...
And searching for the sun.
And when wise counsel came to me,
"Don't do it, don't do it! Never tie."
The same as you in top hat and tails
As the addled world flashed by.
And we are turned to lions, lions,
Through every evasive moonshine,
Through every ****** up bloodline,
Through every love divine.
Could we worship her right now?
Could she bring back your arms to me, for me?
And I would praise the dove, the swan, the myrtle tree.
I would board your ship
Hand you my spears and cut my hair,
And tend to every battle scar
If you saved me from this mountain air.
And we are turned to lions, lions,
Through every evasive moonshine,
Through every ****** up bloodline,
Through every love divine.
Three golden apples
And she chased every one:
Little Atalanta
Still searching for the sun.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
crushes frail men underfoot
scattering yellow-bellied petals
like feeding corn
for her foxes.
my atalanta
holds the tongues and throats of kings
choking them,
forcing their poison back
down their throats.
my atalanta
burns institutions and skyscrapers
enveloping cities in magma
blowing them away
like cigarette ash.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 9:36 AM UTC
(presumably still alive
predicated on rumored sightings dive
ving fast as blazing saddles,
her blitzkrieg,
nothing but a blurry beehive.)
Swifter than Usain
(lightening) Bolt
Eden Liat
(thine eldest daughter,
a mixed hybrid breed
greyhound and whippet)
leaves in the dust
topnotch any racehorse
prompting speculation,
she harkens, and begat
from a long line,
sans award
(at trough feed ding),
many a cooly
winning super naturally
infused awk worded Colt
surpassing (with a flash,
plus even sub track ting
considerable handi
capped add halt
ting delay), thine
prestigious, princess,
and prodigious exalt
ting marathon running
smart lee zipping
as a whip lash heiress,
thru no fault
in the stars
of her astrological designs
oft times humbly declines
adulation, benediction, dedication
and deferentially finds
reasons amazingly, gracefully,
and mannerly deflects
self imposed grueling practices,
that she quickly grinds
into pulverized powder,
any high top custom made
high tech lines
brand name
threadbare sneakers saved
with countless
trophies that aligns
storied (and stuffed
animal bedecked)
bookshelf, even gag
me with a spoon
humor tinged competitions,
faux rotten tum ate oh
(John Heinz)
seeded "ketchup with me"
hash-tag game
opened to all kinds
of village people, including
some barenaked ladies,
where flashy Mainliners
dressed to the nines
(essentially for sound
garden variety public,
who generally favor squash),
that crop up during
Indian Summer salad days
punctuates the warm air,
where one after
another lover doth appear
oak kay embracing ephemeral
pseudo sappy romance
spine tingling
as sharp needling pines.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC