"atthis" poems - Hello Poetry

It was you, Atthis, who said "Sappho, if you will not get up and let us look at you I shall never love you again! "Get up, unleash your suppleness, lift off your Chian nightdress and, like a lily leaning into "a spring, bathe in the water. Cleis is bringing your best purple frock and the yellow "tunic down from the clothes chest; you will have a cloak thrown over you and flowers crowning your hair... "Praxinoa, my child, will you please roast nuts for our breakfast? One of the gods is being good to us: "today we are going at last into Mitylene, our favorite city, with Sappho, loveliest "of its women; she will walk among us like a mother with all her daughters around her "when she comes home from exile..." But you forget everything

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3.5k

Sappho

It was you, Atthis, who said

It was you, Atthis, who said "Sappho, if you will not get up and let us look at you I shall never love you again! "Get up, unleash your suppleness, lift off your Chian nightdress and, like a lily leaning into "a spring, bathe in the water. Cleis is bringing your best purple frock and the yellow "tunic down from the clothes chest; you will have a cloak thrown over you and flowers crowning your hair... "Praxinoa, my child, will you please roast nuts for our breakfast? One of the gods is being good to us: "today we are going at last into Mitylene, our favorite city, with Sappho, loveliest "of its women; she will walk among us like a mother with all her daughters around her "when she comes home from exile..." But you forget everything

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Yes, Atthis, you may be sure Even in Sardis Anactoria will think often of us of the life we shared here, when you seemed the Goddess incarnate to her and your singing pleased her best Now among Lydian women she in her turn stands first as the red- fingered moon rising at sunset takes precedence over stars around her; her light spreads equally on the salt sea and fields thick with bloom Delicious dew pours down to freshen roses, delicate thyme and blossoming sweet clover; she wanders aimlessly, thinking of gentle Atthis, her heart hanging heavy with longing in her little breast She shouts aloud, Come! we know it; thousand-eared night repeats that cry across the sea shining between us

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2.6k

Sappho

Anactoria

Yes, Atthis, you may be sure Even in Sardis Anactoria will think often of us of the life we shared here, when you seemed the Goddess incarnate to her and your singing pleased her best Now among Lydian women she in her turn stands first as the red- fingered moon rising at sunset takes precedence over stars around her; her light spreads equally on the salt sea and fields thick with bloom Delicious dew pours down to freshen roses, delicate thyme and blossoming sweet clover; she wanders aimlessly, thinking of gentle Atthis, her heart hanging heavy with longing in her little breast She shouts aloud, Come! we know it; thousand-eared night repeats that cry across the sea shining between us

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(1)ones laughing like a dog with 2 22's who're like 3: a whorish slightly giggling mess 3 prods the carpet by footed semblance of leather assembling her flesh in the left corner of a lazy rectangle cinema cube. 1nes still cackling throat ******* cords vibrating stupidly on every face with the 2 maybe 23's mouthhanding and eyefucking with his fat grunt syllabary. 3's uncomfortable atthe sycophantic panting of her 23's atthis masculine discharge wetting the silence a pulsing ***** of tongue barking vomit . as an usher ushers fleetly our moist intellects to the quiet little. the quiet little notch. of waiting excited screaming visuals a screen crucified blathering. the 1's ungiddy prance detonates by the skinnyjeaned legs pumping fetid motion. in company of long femininity. and the ovals of 3 grate swift bile at they're lump. and they swallow inthedarkness his moronic spit. and puke . . .

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Nov 15, 2010

Nov 15, 2010 at 10:17 AM UTC

patrick-wakefield-1

(1)ones laughing

(1)ones laughing like a dog with 2 22's who're like 3: a whorish slightly giggling mess 3 prods the carpet by footed semblance of leather assembling her flesh in the left corner of a lazy rectangle cinema cube. 1nes still cackling throat ******* cords vibrating stupidly on every face with the 2 maybe 23's mouthhanding and eyefucking with his fat grunt syllabary. 3's uncomfortable atthe sycophantic panting of her 23's atthis masculine discharge wetting the silence a pulsing ***** of tongue barking vomit . as an usher ushers fleetly our moist intellects to the quiet little. the quiet little notch. of waiting excited screaming visuals a screen crucified blathering. the 1's ungiddy prance detonates by the skinnyjeaned legs pumping fetid motion. in company of long femininity. and the ovals of 3 grate swift bile at they're lump. and they swallow inthedarkness his moronic spit. and puke . . .

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