If it was December and….
If I was an ancient Roman
But I assure you, I am not….
I would be feasting and merrymaking like mad
Celebrating the Festival of Saturn.
Or Saturnalia if you prefer.
As many ancient Romans do.
But alas, I am not Roman, only ancient.
And December is almost three weeks out.
So let me begin this poem again.
Welcome to my brain
Scalar saturnalia
Embracing sun and rain
Where rainbows spring euphoria
Where shadows cold and deep
Indulge in dreams of light
Where from the demons reap
The powers to take flight
circa 2006
Saturnalia my Dream
Cycloidal forms transmuting to the involute
obduration under duress a malleable direction
coming to nothing just the gearing of time
Spartan gates left open to a millennium of thought
three legged animals given there a soft palfrey canter
air floating fish seen and their no need water
still the rusting coulter rusts and rusts
the power such lasciviousness constant thought
why would a simple man under go such agglomeration
deracinate weak seeming silly there the confederations
let us all sharpen so freeing all thought
fools are fools concomitant if you will keep with it
monsters lovely chimeras and beauty
entering the world of Hieronymus Bosch
let us not be reduced to the witch of Buchenwald
interweaving ourselves into their existence
A signal to arise.
I saw it in your eyes.
Reveille.
In good company
Aroused in your bed
Reveling with you
Reveille.
A celebration of the bugle
Your eyes of blue
So close to sunrise
Alive with boisterous excitement
Reveille
Awakened in no time
Every day a new one
Yielding to your arms
Your trinkets with magical powers
Keep us not asunder
Reveille
Tis cold this time of year
Whispering sweet nothings in your ear
Aloud with temper
Under the covers
Consumed and alert
Daybreak for Saturnalia
Reveille
And should I sleep
Away the hours
Under Sun and Moon
My romantic muse
Your castles in the sky
Visions of you
My fool's paradise
And it's cool sheets.
Reveille.
A dream of a rustling
Amongst the flowers
Plumb dumb
With much attention
A revelation
Of our affection
Forever young
Is your fine
Devotion.
Reveille.
Cycloidal forms transmuting to the involute
obduration under duress a malleable direction
coming to nothing just the gearing of time
Spartan gates left open to a millennium of thought
three legged animals given there a soft palfrey canter
air floating fish seen and their no need water
still the rusting coulter rusts and rusts
the power such lasciviousness constant thought
why would a simple man under go such agglomeration
deracinate weak seeming silly there the confederations
let us all sharpen so freeing all thought
fools are fools concomitant if you will keep with it
monsters lovely chimeras and beauty
entering the world of Hieronymus Bosch
let us not be reduced to the witch of Buchenwald
interweaving ourselves into their existence
The usurpation of the annual right of solstice
by a quarrelsome religious upstart,
Lead to the re-designation of the celebration
due to its now newly designated Holy part.
In order for a connection to be formed
between the Lord and a party that was pagan,
The symbolism had to be reworked
until for Christians it could be displayed again.
By this intent, the Roman festival of Saturnalia
surrendered its celebratory rite,
And donated all that it possessed
to those who recognized a birth one Holy night.
Is this to say that the adherents of the newly
formed holiday were being misdirected?
Or that the symbols of the pagan celebration
are something that needed to be inspected?
I advocate for the negative in response
to the above outlined interrogatives,
Instead I shall take a stand to allow each
to follow their own personal prerogatives.
And if any of what you’ve read in this missive
should sway you into taking pause,
You’ll probably want to keep it to yourself
Or there’s a chance that you’ll tick off Santa Claus.
Saturnalia
The Romans celebrated
Sweet Saturnalia
and the Christians waited
for the birth of their god
who suggested a mass production
not wine flowing end of Winter
But the birth of a nation
where beginning and end is the same
start as you mean to go on
end in shame sweet Saturnalia beget
a son of purity and gain
a conscience of pure myth
a culture filled with emptiness
no pagan worship of their god
but filth and gainly enterprise
to kill a man before he grows
The Roman calendar forget
the myth comes with driven cries
onward soldier and acquire
then happiness awaits
save us from the fire
But Saturnalia is fate
trust the end and not a mire
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