What a nice eclogue
the ecological sound
harmony we sing
Categories:
eclogue, adventure,
Form: Senryu
I love a day where I am at peace,
when I can just wander in rural fields;
letting the air and the sky release,
and the blossoms float with scent that yields
and my worries, sorrows and grief cease.
Where trees become my shelter and shields,
oh, delightful are flowers cerise;
then, by a soothing stream my pen wields,
words about this awesome scented day.
____________________________
September 20, 2019
Poetry/Pastoral/Rural Fields
Copyright Protected ID 19-1205-593-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to FGI Blog Series 24, eclogue
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
Categories:
eclogue, nature,
Form: Pastoral
So when he slowly descended from the hill,
with sun providing him with a blinding halo,
the other ascended and regarded him in awe.
"May I introduce myself? Hermes."
He bowed and his wild blond curls shone like gold
in the evening light.
The sheep flocked, mixed and mingled.
And watched them with mild but fleeting interest
bordering on bored.
They sat together under the tree, the one
admiring youth and golden locks,
the other admiring colors and warmth
of playing flecks of dust blowing in the
warm evening wind.
"Then who are you?" Hermes asked amazed,
while his companion, silent, only held his hand
and caressed the slender fingers.
"Where are your sheep", he wonderingly persisted.
"Follow me, and I'll show you miracles and
wishes fulfilled," his companion seductively replied.
And as he put his flute to his lips, sheep, rats and
Hermes, mesmerized, followed him, over the hills
towards the brilliant sunset.
***
January 31, 2017
Categories:
eclogue, adventure, allegory, funny, romantic,
Form: Pastoral
The scratchy fog will not alight,
upon the eye's shield to the night.
On upward drafts of rumination,
Hypnos whirls past his noble station.
Like Greeks concealed inside the steed,
thoughts - swords drawn - wait to be freed,
upon a mind in blind delight,
which had prepared for restful night.
No sooner than my head was laid,
those Greeks unleashed their thund'rous raid.
Early to bed,
Early to rise.
"Never!" shout my untiring eyes.
Marauding Greeks, they battle still,
awakening every thought and will.
Hypnos! Have you forsaken me?
Like windless ship upon the sea.
Set sail from land of toil and schemes,
to reach the newfound shore of dreams.
Stuck bobbing on an ocean that,
but for the breeze, lay calm and flat.
And while a calm sea does evoke,
a peace in the more mundane folk.
It will not carry those who aim,
for distant haven o'er the main.
And so I utter this eclogue,
to beckon forth that scratchy fog,
to lull me down in the moonlight.
Happy slumbers to all,
and to all a good night.
Categories:
eclogue, sleep,
Form: Couplet
Motherland (Eclogue)
In the country of my forefathers,
Economy is friendless and upset,
Politics are sleeping with labour,
Justice is seducing foreign crime,
Poetry is turned on, but it fears,
Traditions keeps history hostage,
Religions are attempting suicide,
Nature is busy biting its tongues,
Fruits are swearing at their trees,
Education shows God axis finger,
Seas gets shallow, graves deepen,
Life confront its first nightmares,
Death is satisfying its final desire,
Future is stinking nothing but lies,
June 13, 2003
By Mohlouoa Ntsasa
Categories:
eclogue, africa, beautiful, betrayal, bible,
Form: Epyllion
To a woman
(In this traslation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : « A une femme »,
I have retained the rhyme scheme to the letter, I hope. T. Wignesan)
To you these lines in faith must console I address :
A sweet dream laughs and cries in your large eyes through
The purity of your soul which is wholly good, to you
These lines from the depths of my turbulent distress.
Just that, Alas ! the nightmare which haunts me hideous
Allows no respite and furious, mad and jealous continue
Multiplying themselves like wolves in a funeral retinue
Hanging on to my fate which at their mercy they harrass !
Oh ! how I suffer, I suffer hopelessly, so mean
That the initial whimperings of the first man
Banished from Eden a mere eclogue to the cost I wean. !
And the minor discomforts you may endure in comparison
Are like the swallows in the sky on an afternoon
- My Dear – make the beautiful warm September day a boon !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Categories:
eclogue, lost love,
Form: Sonnet