"daphnis" poems
O singer of Persephone!
In the dim meadows desolate
Dost thou remember Sicily?
Still through the ivy flits the bee
Where Amaryllis lies in state;
O Singer of Persephone!
Simaetha calls on Hecate
And hears the wild dogs at the gate;
Dost thou remember Sicily?
Still by the light and laughing sea
Poor Polypheme bemoans his fate;
O Singer of Persephone!
And still in boyish rivalry
Young Daphnis challenges his mate;
Dost thou remember Sicily?
Slim Lacon keeps a goat for thee,
For thee the jocund shepherds wait;
O Singer of Persephone!
Dost thou remember Sicily?
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There walks no Daphnis with his mournful song
Blinded by the vengeful nymph, whose love was unrequited
He does not wander in the hills above this place
Playing his pipe and singing of his sadness
Aphrodite can punish him no more
For he is gone to the quiet land of shadows
Taken by Hermes, herald and messenger
Of the mightiest of gods, to cross the river Styx
His soul guided by his father’s loving hand,
to Hades and the final still of time and season.
In the quartz sculpted gorge, beneath the waterfall
Naiads lithe and languorous once bathed
Alabaster skinned, in the crystal brook
Auburn ringlet tresses were shaken free
When they stepped among the mossy rocks and ferns
Their peachy cheeks flushed vital rose
Their strawberry ******* raised and glistening
Their teasing laughter that once echoed in these dales
Through verdant pastures and the bluebelled wood
Is heard no more, for they have passed into memory.
It is silent now, the Jackals are not howling
The threat of Wolves and Lions gone
This pastoral world of goatherds pining
Is but a world of dust and dreams.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
To look, to touch, to hold,
To squeeze, to smell, to kiss,
To unhappily release.
These truths still untold
Block the blow of our bliss!
To love from the shiver of the skin,
From the blood and the flesh and the bone
To the flame for a soul within...
To love and to feel alone.
To try to touch the incandescence,
To reach the limpness of a cloud,
To hurt both company and ausence,
To jump, to fly, to fall.
To cry and to pray and to kiss again
In a poisoning paradox of desire,
To feel as cold as ice and hot like melting fire.
In spite of the time,
In spite of morality,
In inspite of our parents,
Of our own anxiety,
In inspite of the world
And whatever watches from above,
In spite of ourselves,
To love.
To love and to pray and to hurt again
To jump, to fly, to fall,
To feel Hell and Heaven at the reach of a hand
But to know nothing at all.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 3:08 PM UTC
*"When we get to New York City, I'm gonna **** you like you've never been ****** before!" - Charles Bukowski*
2/5/2015
weeks maybe even
a month? two months?
ago I'd crossreference
you in everything I wrote
As if my thoughts were some of
My pieces.
Actually, upon retrospect...
Remember when we snuck out
That June Tuesday and remember
When I told you in November
We should sneak out to the city
*yeah, and make out in the middle
of the street and make
everyone uncomfortable*
you'd said with a smile
Yeah. Tell me something about new
York.
And so then like in the letters which Id tounge in cheek proclaimed Fitzgeraldian
You'd give a sentence like those
Elementary school games finish the story and you'd say
"brightly lit apartment"
the place is **** but the rent is cheap and we get by with our degrees.
"lots of flights of stairs up"
I Would read the idyls of Daphnis and Chloë at bed
"Why do you like that book so much"
Never quite got to finish that story,
But it's cause it reminds me a lot of us
I'd always say with no elaboration
But remember I said I used to
Always write about you and now
Did you know I forced this?
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC