Best Satyr Poems
Dr. O S Lont MD
1822 – 1893
The proud peacock bird
Knew of my enormous egregious ego.
As a young satyr in suspenders
I sought out the fillies and the mares
In the old town of Springfield.
They allowed me, the boy,
The boy with the full head of coarse brown locks
And brown beard to match,
To entice them to esoteric spots
In the distant cold canyons.
And with precise skill and determined non-chalance,
I stabbed them with my spear, my long hard spear!
Stabbed and pierced them with
The Punto Reverso and the Hai!
And then it all changed.
I saw the sunset of my bachelor days,
And married Melissa.
Of mountainous harmonic highs everlasting sacred skies, meadows evergreens
Our Love swiftly soars beyond the seraphical shores, of everlasting dreams
A ripple in the parental pond a wizard waving wand, love bewitchingly beams
Like birds in their native nests Love rarely rests, feeding on sensual streams
Love may take a waiting while you surrender to its smile, you give and receive
Once you've been bit you sacrificially shall submit, to the thriving thieve
It steals your humble heart as you comply and compart, to conquer and deceive
Like a rose in disguise chasing beauty and chastise, in the end we always grieve
But Love carries on like a softly swimming swan, thru ripples to the end of time
Come what may Love will always Satyr stray and rivetingly romantically rhyme.
July.04.2017
The Creative Collective Anthology Series
Sponsored by: Geraldine Taylor
Happy 4th to my US buds and buddets lol
like Crusoe when it's friday
on saturday a satyr lurks
sunday comes,no rest for wicked
monday I crawl to work.
Amid Arcady's sylvan groves(where once I gazed
Upon such luminous and alabaster grace
By her immortal beauty raptly drawn and dazed
As she turned and gently upraised her elfin face.
Like Aphrodite from the foam she rose and shone
With eager rivulets caressing ev'ry curve
Boldly her willing body yielded to the sun
While capricious Eros' dart smote me deep with love.
In that balmy dawn, birds all hushed in reverence,
Her glistening charms held so deeply me in thrall
Through the glade wafted her fluid fresh fragrance
So that I could barely stifle my lovesick call.
My satyr spirit begged me to Priapus play
But Aidos bade me remain withdrawn and hidden
If only I had known that this moment's delay
Would my great good fortune diminish , unbidden.
Then still she stayed,a startled fawn just before flight
As her skittish glance strayed towards where I was stood
'Twas then Actaeon's fate rose before me with fright
So I shrank e'er deeper into the shadowed wood
Lest vengeful Artemis let loose her hounds of hate.
But then coyly slipped away my shy shepherdess
As I stayed in fear transfixed and saw much too late
Her glide through the trees in her fluttering dress)
I wander alone aye haunted by this vision
While there fiercely burns in my heart a crippling ache
From which there can be no respite nor remission
That even Bethesda's waters would never slake.
Even now that image I cannot forget
Of her rising from the cool water
In my heart there lingers deep regret
For not addressing Aphrodite's daughter
As she swept back her dewy golden hair
Sparking within me an electric surge
The cascading streams caressing her everywhere
To animate me with a powerful Priapic urge
Satyr picking thorns
Bouncing rhythms of jazz horns….
Oaks drop acorns
"To my belief.." Said the Satyr, perched in an osseous throne,
"The clouds are crumbling! The ocean is drowning! Creatures are inside of our soil!".
And since their heads lay spilled on the floor, it's time for a change of tone!",
Tryptamine fiction fell from their tongues, as they polished our brains with coconut oil.
We swallowed tales of ghosts in the sky, we coughed up our ears, our hearts and our eyes,
We're hearing voices from burning trees, we're watching surgeons dissect the sea.
"We wouldn't dare dream of thinning the oil, we're yours to use, forever remain loyal,
We're being devoured by acrididae, we crave your consent and absolvitory".
We started to wonder, started to conspire, but they stitched our lips with telephone wire,
They wrung serotonin out from our glands, they drizzled hot glue all over our hands.
"Listen to this, and it listens to you, don't doubt what you read, 'cuz all of it's true",
Our bodies were layered with aluminium foil, and our blood still flows with this cancerous oil.
a cavalcade wept ashore with frenzy like a beastly bus
oblivious of tribes who blissfully dealt without a fuss
triangulated within an ever narrowing pen
contaminated, decimated, eradicated “red” men
once a collection of indigenous separate “nations”
plucked by invaders who usurped america as their den
releasing poison couched as religion into the air
which indignities true colors became readily clear
when europeans “discoverers” fomented war-fare
to those who found themselves in deadly cross hair
every inch of “new world” grimly rustled in every lair
with deadly piping hot metallic bullets with near
with unfamiliar customs on par with a satyr
without means to escape any direction they did veer
cohesion of unity did annihilate without a trace
that belonged to those who stood apart as separate race
paraded as “exotic specimens” in some faraway place
bandied about as if some rare refined silken lace
of their rightful home by chicanery tactics base
to banality, effrontery, hostility though dined
with travesty from Europeans whose dreams lined
against so called original occupants who got maligned.
Who Can?
Paints a Fulani maiden
With creamy calabash hawking 'fura de nunu',
A tall nomad, pole stretches on his long shoulders
Hold in place with hanging fingers like broom,
Being on a nowhere long way, wave on a transistor;
A cajole broad face,
Scowling amongst bushy extended beard;
A narrow umbrella sombrero
Tip at right elfish ear,
Shepherding towering cattle in perpendicular;
Munching down uppermost greens, with heighten horns
Traveling in lengthen distance,
Who can?
Who can?
Depict heavenly masquerade typhoon by gods;
Leaping, flying with flashing whips,
The satyr opened dark tunnel throat
And fangs all coloured with crimson;
Dear deer full of affected blinks,
Innocent mirth on polish promise horns.
When I was dewy-eyed I longed for sex,
a kind of sex fit for a male virgin
who lusts for the head of a fair maiden
regardless of what may then transpire next;
but my quest for this sex became a hex
and so I bedded a rough whore in sin
instead and succumbed to the act often
like a sex-starved satyr or male T. rex!
“O God, wherefore have I spoiled my body!?”
I pined and now rued the loss of purity
and was aware of lapse from the inside
and the lessons of this true irony.
But so long as breath, life and God abide;
Redemption saves despite that I have died.
The Orchid
As the orchid blooms its long beautiful flower
The perfume of which fills the air hour by hour
The strength in its leave when open from bud
No decay just a little wrinkle as in age it should
If Orchis the son of the nymph and satyr
Had not drunk of the vine and showed his desire
As he drank long and hard at the feast of Dionysus
His eyes fell on a priestess and caused all the fuss.
He wanted her, was his drunken decree
And he didn’t care if she didn’t want he
He coveted the priestess as he drank by the hour
Determined he was soon her going to deflower.
His advances she said she would not take
But he did not listen and her he would make
But for this insult to a revered priestess
The gods were determined he’d pay for her distress
He would not go unpunished this was THEIR decree
And ripped limb from limb they decreed he would be
The bacchanalians did tear him apart and justly so
He should have accepted the priestess she said NO!
The father of Orchis prayed the Gods would restore
The son that he loved and would for evermore
After they listened to the prayers of a father distraught
The Gods returned Orchis not as a man but as a flower they thought.
Orchis became the flower with the strange sounding name
Whose beauty enchants and its perfume does the same
The orchid, the bulbs shape we will recognise today
The part under the body, where a man likes us to play.
© 9/02/2013/~GG~
Where is this peaceful utopia of infinite wonder
I've heard much about? I've followed the call of echoes,
and I've searched far and long into the wilderness
I've looked through the haze of morning mist
and peeked through apertures pierced by sunlight
I've relied on the wind for directions, but they blew me
every which way. I've searched the four corners
of my dreams, to no avail. Morpheus, will you kindly
take me there? I just want to briefly get away
from this world gone mad.
Take me to Arcadia to tour the majestic sights on the back
of a satyr, to soar the peaceful sky with the faeries,
to gaze at the stars there at midnight. Isn't this a place
where the rainbow never leave the sky? I want to know
what the zephyr there feels like!
I want to see the place where bliss and beauty reign supreme.
Isn't this also a place where friends and foes, fools and kings
all harmoniously co-exist? Isn't this a place where the wheels
of pleasant dreams are spun? Take me there, won't you,
Morpheus? It haunts my imagination, and how.
Date written and posted: 11/10/2018
Accursed still, be the cursed rapist
Who in blind pedophilia
Prey upon our little girls.
Condemned still, be the condemned satyr
Who, in sadistic cannibalism
Pounce upon our little sisters!
Alas, the tears!
Bitter salty tears that gulley to waste
The soft cheeks of their innocent faces
Alas the ruins!
The ruins of shattered dreams,
Wrecked ambitions and murdered hopes
Alas, the tears!
But tremble ye rapist, and quack!
For hark, the sound of a bell,
Though not the common one, but a knell
To summon thee to the flames of hell
And by God the truth I do tell
There in the pit you’re sure to yell
Gnashing your teeth in the bowels of hell
No Lazarus, no spring nor well
Only the sear and the roast, till you swell!
Dear heavens!
The bitter tears of the children,
May judgment come!
Turning into an angelic beast,
Here is the ugly Narcissist....
For others! She cared least,
Here's the ugly Narcissist.
When the plot of life got revealed,
She had a role to lead.
Sanguine She, was now so turbid,
Like Sophocles! Hard to get rid.
But it doesn't end here! still some to indite,
the lost rhyme and a will to fight.....
With a lesson, not to hold it with Arms,
Took birth a new Epigram.
Arrival of an elate metre of vicissitude,
came a wave of valedictory for turpitude.
She breathed out of that tearful cyst....
Citherns and Citoles singing "You! No more a Narcissist".
Coffining the corpse of heart,
She ambled on a new start.
Towards Quibla!! Hearkening to a Dole above,
reached a Kingdom, with the blind wind's shove.
On the Schrezo of Hyades,
Condoning the satyr envoy of bliss.
In the elfin's grot ! To meet Her,
Came someone, with a Scepter.
If my poetry moves you to witness to stranger
Just know that I'm touched that you're "sharing my ride,"
For the fact is that giving can be fraught with danger,
But those that it calls feel much warmer inside!
I have so little knowledge to call my invention
Some came from my parents, from people I've met
But the gift of the spirit defies all convention
It's holy, profound, precious gift without debt.
Even muse I call gift, for it waters my soul's growth,
An alternate path that the spirit can take
Truth that's flavored by strangers, by loved ones, I've seen both,
Fresh air never sweeter, Grace purges mistake!
Spirit truth has no owner like jewel or gold dust,
It's one with Creation; you'll know it by feel.
Although Midas (1) got gold, all his love turned to soul rust,
The gift of the Spirit is simply to heal!
Brian Johnston
June 13, 2017
Poet's Notes:
(1) From Greek mythology - Wikipedia
"One day, as Ovid relates in Metamorphoses, Dionysus found that his old schoolmaster and foster father, the satyr Silenus, was missing. The old satyr had been drinking wine and wandered away drunk, to be found by some Phrygian peasants who carried him to their king, Midas (alternatively, Silenus passed out in Midas' rose garden). Midas recognized him and treated him hospitably, entertaining him for ten days and nights with politeness, while Silenus delighted Midas and his friends with stories and songs. On the eleventh day, he brought Silenus back to Dionysus in Lydia. Dionysus offered Midas his choice of whatever reward he wished. Midas asked that whatever he might touch should be changed into gold.
Midas rejoiced in his new power, which he hastened to put to the test. He touched an oak twig and also a stone; both turned to gold. Overjoyed, as soon as he got home, he touched every rose in the rose garden, and all became gold. He ordered the servants to set a feast on the table. Upon discovering how even the food and drink turned into gold in his hands, he regretted his wish and cursed it. Claudian states in his In Rufinem: "So Midas, king of Lydia, swelled at first with pride when he found he could transform everything he touched to gold; but when he beheld his food grow rigid, and his drink harden into golden ice then he understood that this gift was a bane and in his loathing for gold, cursed his prayer."
Lord, how I love my sinner man, my Satyr.
My copper skin sinner man with the hard body of Zeus.
My teacher of debauchery.
My leader into a life of hedonism, I am his nymph.
Heavens knows I tried to resist this flute-blowing faun.
I am unhinged by his lovemaking.
Yet I want to spend every wakening moment with him.
I hunger for;
His passionate seductions.
His gentle touch.
His warm embrace.
His hot breath.
Blissful is our hours together.
Blissful is our days in delightful pleasure.
What a new world he has introduced me to.
Lord, how I love my sinner man, my Satyr.
copyright 2016 Looking At The Light From The Bottom of The Lake