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lionofchaeronea · 1 year

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The Quest for Repose

Anthologia Planudea 230 = Leonidas of Tarentum (fl. 3rd cent. BCE) Traveler, do not drink here, in this sheep-country, From this hot torrent-water, teeming with mud. But go a little distance over the peak where cows graze, Yonder beside that pine tree shepherds haunt, And you will find, gurgling through rock of fine fountains, A stream that is colder than the North Wind’s snow. μὴ σὺ γ᾽ ἐπ᾽ οἰονόμοιο περίπλεον ἰλύος ὧδε τοῦτο χαραδραίης θερμόν, ὁδῖτα, πίῃς: ἀλλὰ μολὼν μάλα τυτθὸν ὑπὲρ δαμαλήβοτον ἄκραν κεῖσέ γε πὰρ κείνᾳ ποιμενίᾳ πίτυϊ εὑρήσεις κελαρύζον ἐϋκρήνου διὰ πέτρης νᾶμα, Βορειαίης ψυχρότερον νιφάδος.

By the Fountain, Henryk Siemiradzki (1843-1902)

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atompowers · 9 months

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The Hot Solar Shepherd to Their Love

#poem #solar poem #solar poetry #climate poem #solar farm #pastoral #pastoral poetry #Christopher Marlowe #interpolation #solar shepherd #hot solar shepherd #hot solar shepherds unite #love poem #solar Love #solar energy #solar electricity #solar pastoral

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sehnsuchtz · 1 year

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one California poppy can stop a day in its tracks its nectarous orange pulsing for hours in one’s consciousness

"california poppy," Myriad Intimacies by Lata Mani

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deathbyvalentine · 6 months

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autumn arrives i am still breathing. what breath - the air is fresh and cold and promises me a new start even amongst all this death.

cleansing flame tumbles from trees i walk on the burning coals. they crackle under my shoes smoke in the air.

i don't know where to put myself. my heart threatens to beat right out my chest. i'm in love, i tell the truth, i get dirt underneath my nails.

i can plan my nights they all fall so soon.

#autumn #poetry #poem #poems #pastoral poetry #nature #fall

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soracities · 25 days

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Dominic Leonard, from "No Dark Pastoral", pub. amberflora [ID'd]

#q #lit #quotes #poetry #typography #id included #spring #march #dominic leonard #no dark pastoral #amberflora #m #x

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annariadne · 5 months

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‘Her tender touch was all but a dream;

Unfurl sweet rosebud, holding morning dew,

By night the rose is gilded by frost’s gleam

What dawn proposes, dusk demeans’

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rabbitprayer · 5 months

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#My pastor read this for the first sunday of advent service and I cried so much #poetry #laura martin

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haleyincarnate · 1 year

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Quote by Brianna Pastor

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wordsnpoetry · 8 days

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please do not rush my recovery. i am in a whirlpool of "should be, would be, could be", when all i need is to just "be" as i am, here.

brianna pastor

#words #quotes #poetry #brianna pastor

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waitingforthesunrise · 26 days

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my mother thinks there was druids in our line; I think there might be witches – whatever that word means, anyways. What do any of these words mean, really? All I know is that so much of my returning to myself has only brought me closer to where I began. T. S. Eliot wrote that “the end of all our exploration will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.” I try to remember when I felt most alive: fifteen? Twelve? No, five. What did I believe in when I was five, when I was most alive within myself, ribs like twigs I had no wish to break? I believed in God because it was easy, easier even than my insistence that the trees could talk and mud had meaning. When I was six I spent the nights on my knees, searching for sins I had yet to repent for – harsh, I know, but so is life. I don’t know why I'm crying while I write this. Maybe because I prayed again yesterday with just my mouth, words wandering across the table while I stared at my food, and the pleas drifted out before I could stop them. Forgive me, Father, for I know…I have sinned. I know it well. I am absent for a moment and find myself back on my knees. Maybe repentance still sleeps under my tongue. Maybe I’ve never stopped being sorry.

Lately, I’ve noticed how I can only write truly sad poems about other people. My own must always end with some crucial nugget of hope, of redemption. Do I finish poems with hope before I can end with apologies? I struggle with the fact that in healing you must inevitably sleep while grieving, eat before your hunger returns, hold yourself while you hate yourself. There is no purging in love. I have poured out apologies for a God who doesn’t want them, yearned for heaven when it was already in my palm.

It’s Holy Week in the liturgical Christian calendar, a week which has something to do with repentance and more to do with love that erases it all. To me, Holy Week is like two things: sunrises, and someone you love ladling pasta into your bowl. Here. There is no apology necessary for the love and satisfaction between us. It is good, and it is well, and I love you. You cry, but only because you have forgotten how to be loved, and now – now, you are remembering. Lately, I’ve stopped choking on apologies – for refusing to go to a church that wants to shove me to my queer knees, for the messiness of healing, for the way I’ll spend this Easter in my garden and somehow feel closer to that empty-tomb-garden than I ever have. I think everything is an altar if you worship there, because divinity whispers through everything. Apologies slip out but they’re swallowed by the gentle grace of trees. I don’t want to die anymore, but I’m not scared of it either; when I do, I no longer wish to go with sorry clutched between my teeth like the gold coin of passage. Sometimes, when I’m quiet, I can almost hear my five year old self laughing, and I know: I’ve almost made my way back to the beginning. Exploration never truly ends, but repentance does. The tomb is almost open. I’m almost alive again, and God: it is good.

#happy Easter!! To all who celebrate and to those who don’t have a lovely week #a bit different from what I normally post on writing so just thinning out loud #Those ex pastors daughter thoughts hit different in holy week #sometimes you miss absolution and then remember it was already yours and all you miss is the validation etc etc #original writing #creative writing #queer christian #tw christianity #on writing #writeblr #spilled ink #beautiful words #poems and poetry #poetry

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cameliawrites · 4 months

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Not Celebrate?

by Ann Weems, from Kneeling in Bethlehem:

Not celebrate?

Your burden is too great to bear?

Your loneliness is intensified during this Christmas season?

Your tears have no end?

Not celebrate?

You should lead the celebration!

You should run through the streets

to ring the bells and sing the loudest!

You should fling the tinsel on the tree,

and open your house to your neighbors, and call them in to dance!

For it is you above all others who know the joy of Advent.

It is unto you that a Savior is born this day,

One who comes to lift your burden from your shoulders,

One who comes to wipe the tears from your eyes.

You are not alone,

for He is born this day to you.

#poetry #when the pastor read this poem during her homily tonight I may have cried right in the middle of the church #christmas #christianity

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park-bench-poet · 11 months

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Book of Ruth

All I have ever been is willing.

I wear my fingers to the bone but

there is never enough

work for these hands.

I am ready to believe if you

would just tell me what god to kneel to--

give me a place and I will go there,

give me a direction and I will walk,

give me a new name and I will answer.

.

My arms can hold enough wheat

to feed us all winter.

I will wring myself out in the fields

and the daily death of sunset

will make me fresh again.

Please don’t worry,

like an overripe orchard,

I need to be harvested.

I can be both the fire and the fuel

as long as I am keeping someone warm.

.

I spend all my nights awake–

what need have I for rest?

I have seen your lantern burning too

and it takes all my strength to keep

my wanderings from ending at your door.

Oh, stay up with me on the threshing floor,

pluck these fruits in the darkness!

Let me scrape the loneliness off

your skin with my strong fingers.

I am so good at suffering, please

let me do some of yours for you.

.

I don’t even want a corner of your

cloak to wrap around myself.

There is no one else waiting,

there is only me in the darkness.

Take my shawl and lay back;

I am not asking you to redeem me

or make me whole,

just let me fall asleep at your feet.

#ruth #book of ruth #pastor approved!#creative writing #religion #religious writing #something something honry posting about god #spilled ink #poetry #poem #original poetry #original poem #love #heartbreak #writeblr #protestant work ethic or something

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hoochieblues · 1 year

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I love Eurovision season because I always learn things. This year, it's Moldovan-Romanian folklore.

Moldova's entry, Soarele și Luna, is heavily influenced by Miorița, a poem/ballad/pillar of Romanian-old Moldavian folklore that goes back to the 1700s in its written form but probably goes back earlier.

Balada Miorița tells the story of three shepherds: a Moldovan, and a Wallachian and a Transylvanian who, jealous of the Moldovan, conspire to kill him.

The Moldovan's prized sheep Miorița (lit. little ewe), warns him - but the shepherd doesn't plan to fight back or escape. (Presumably bc shepherding in the Carpathians traditionally involved transhumance and living outdoors for months so... where's he gonna go?)

Instead, the shepherd asks Miorița to hide his death from the other sheep - and from his family - and to tell them instead that he went into the forest to marry a princess, with the sun, moon, and mountains standing as witnesses:

Soarele şi luna / Mi-au ţinut cununa. [...] Preoţi, munţii mari. The Sun and Moon came down / to hold my wedding crown [...] The priests were the mountains high

(note: I'm working from some really sketchy translations; very open to better resources pls.)

Anyway, the description of the wedding is not only beautiful, but a fantastic allegory for the shepherd accepting death, laying down with his fate and embracing it instead of showing fear. Reclaiming agency to protect the people he loves (and redefine his own memory) in the face of an existential threat.

Wildly out of my depth at the point I'm reading about the role the story - and particularly the symbolism/iconography of the lone shepherd - played in Romanian independence, but I'm pretty sure it was a thing. Likewise, the choice of this material as a starting point for Moldova's ESC entry is very interesting to me.

Moldova's 2022 offering, Trenuleţul, used a train as an allegory for a pro-unification message (for.. obvious geopolitical reasons, in addition to the strong pan-Balkan cultural ones detailed in the song):

Pleacă trenul! Unde eşti? Chişinău – București. The train's route is East to West Chisinau to Bucharest!

Idk if I'm now overthinking it too much (I got excited and I thought it was neat, okay?) but I just feel like the cultural overlap, the defiance and the energy of Pasha Parfeni's performance carries more symbolism than the entry is getting credit for. Unsurprising, given this is also the year of Croatian art rock political commentary via drag generalissimos and tractor-based analogies, but still.

Either way, I learned something new and found a new thing to read, and I thought it was beautiful. And that made me want to share. So... enjoy?

Iar tu de omor Să nu le spui lor. Să le spui curat Că m-am însurat Cu-o mândră crăiasă, A lumii mireasă; Că la nunta mea A căzut o stea; Soarele şi luna Mi-au ţinut cununa. Brazi şi paltinaşi I-am avut nuntaşi, Preoţi, munţii mari,

Of how I met my death, Tell them not a breath; Say I could not tarry, I have gone to marry A princess – my bride Is the whole world’s pride. At my wedding, tell How a bright star fell, Sun and moon came down To hold my bridal crown, Firs and maple trees Were my guests; my priests Were the mountains high;

(x) (x)

#esc 2023 #soarele si luna #pasha parfeni #foklore #help i overthought and i can't get up #video #music #ngl i got into it bc pasha looks like every guy i've ever been to a green fair with or bought artisanal incense from #and it all got out of control from there #now i'm writing eurovision meta and having feelings about pastoral poetry #there's a bit where he asks his bone flute be placed in his grave to play when the wind blows across it #so the sheep will gather above where he rests #i think that's a classical allusion? but i have to go do productive things for a change so i won't have time to look into it #soarele si luna does have a killer flute break though #just saying

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apoemaday · 2 years

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Death Pastoral

by Virginia Konchan

Sometimes, naked, I don't feel naked. Sometimes I feel naked when clothed. What if all our incredible futures are still just bound for misery? A thing breaks, and we are on fire with rage. Was it supposed to enjoy eternity, like us? Before Trojans were mascots or condoms, they were warriors. Before non-sequiturs were digressions, they were songs. The universe is an echo chamber of discordant matter. Heaven is a fraudulent quorum of marooned demigods. I am detached from narrative, history, identity: whip out a dictionary and tell me what that means. On the days the stars conspire against me, I will conquer and overcome my ugliness. Today, I saw the sun rise into a bank of clouds. I want to be strong, and I want also to not have to be strong. I left the windows open. Is it raining now? The shadow is a mouth that baptizes. The shadow is a lover who won't call. You die and die and die then live. I think of the small white moths orbiting the garden. Because they are beautiful, because they barely exist at all.

#poetry #virginia konchan #death pastoral

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lacystar · 9 months

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I missed amongus server drama? 🥲

Qwerty no amount of update accounts could describe what happened

#don’t stop the party #his ass did not get hired NDA loving wife potato farm swag priest I’ll use him later the interview cyrus copper house Cyrus farm underside #the village armor spells out chef well he underwater mines tools named after master chef winners red light district what amendment is the ri #ght ti remain silent THEYRE fuckinng at the red light district all the time clings reciting poetry maybe if I finish his gift he’ll like me #when is the divorce is clings socks son because he’s mixed who is the father church so trinkets the pope then is it priest or pastor I’m not #calling him father cyrus how are you doing Cyrus I’m feeling swaggy bedrock minecraft isn’t on mac Nintendo online is $20 a year you did #lore and you’re not even on our server can I get the family tree when will my husband return from the war cyrus has the nda why are you at #the red light district trinket crying laughing #I’m gonna listen to YCGMA is your husband faithful oh well he works csn cyrus deafen the king solomon baby story recited from a techno quote #in a Cyrus fic please areus don’t tell you know clings I just want my family to be okay you don’t know what this would do to him please #he doesn’t even have a priest outfit you are not allowed to build in swag nation afyer some debate the council has considered you for the #job of pastor so how are Andy and clings related #cyrus gets tagged 5 times consecutively on a burger post. clings is in the backrooms. it’s jover.#amogus server #asks #qwerty

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annariadne · 5 months

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"And I will make thee beds of Roses

And a thousand fragrant posies,

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle

Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;"

(The Passionate Shepherd to His Love. Christopher Marlowe.)

#romanticism #poetry #nymph aesthetic #nymphcore #nympette #classical art #neo classicism #artemis #forestcore #cottagecore #fairycore #literature #faerie #faecore #pastoral beauty #pastoral scene #cottage #flowers #romantic movement

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