Short Satyrs Poems

whose bliss is this

when all ye have tranquility
absorbed in meditation
as purified drops of water
are drawn into a sponge

a wild and roving gypsy girl 
this pagan wench becomes
and takes me to the byroads
where fauns and satyrs run....

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Sometimes 
I write poems about
 Wine and other essential
 Molehills of Life at 
4 AM when 
Bacchus is still awake
Conniving in 
Sheer revelry at the
 Mere notion he invented
Satyrs and other
Preternatural nymphs.
Speaking of nymphs, I relish the whim that at 
4:10 AM or thereabouts, if I rush outside into the
 Oozing Black Syrup, I might brush against one,
Intentionally....

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“How may I help you?” asked the quasi-mother earth counter girl at the espresso bar/quasi-coffee house, “Oh, give me a cup of house coffee; after all, I’m just a caffeine slut,” I replied,

She looked startled, then controlled, gave me my beverage and returned to the cultivated profanity of a repressed wildflower aboveground disconnected from her roots in the fertilely non-sterile soil of mythic satyrs and sacred whores....

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Nurtured into a budding bloom
My hands are busy, they start and soon
Shake with blue; white; doves intone
Bones, body brown with eyes that drone
Like tiny gashes sewn up by hand
Tempered temper: fueled and fanned

Dripping dew from simple soil
Bead and bend, like drops of oil
Slick, smooth and shadowed still,
Rush the ground like boulders fill
Forgotten craters; satyrs; round and then
Devil’s whittled son, left wooden red....

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Under the shades 
Of tall trees and thick grass
I wrote a ballad 
Of two souls falling in love
Under any circumstances
They chose each other 
Holding hands taking chances.

Two souls singing hymns
Under the shades
Of tall trees and thick grass
Exchanging promises.
Maybe the Gods will hear,
Open their eyes, whisper to them ears
And show them the right way.

Never get lost.
In a maze of envy nymphs 
and wicked satyrs.

~cvb~07|01|24~...

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Bell re-rung
lit bag of dung;
no treat, so
a smelly trick

stomping makes
a foot quite slick

serves him right
the cranky old prick --

Horrid Ghosts
shrieking goblins
bloody sacks
creepy maniacs

it's all sick fun
Halloween on a
bun~ icky worms
and spiders -- backyard
pool with a couple
gators -- replacing
guardian angels with
starkly arousing satyrs -- 

a night of celebration

hosted by

the monarch of 

Evil Contemplation -- 



...

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Crystal country morning,
a splash of red barn,
just enough for that perfect painting.

A festive fairyland
where satyrs dance among
the wooden-glass spires dotting the land.

Did you catch a glimpse
of the snow fairy
as she whisks from tree-to-tree, like a honeybee.

Just outside of the
human realm lay those moments of childhoods imagination 
inside the magic crystal country.



5-17-2021
ALL YOURS (May 18) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand...

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