“Kneeling Satyr”


Lo, behold the satyr wild – fierce and bold and free –

from Dionysos’  revel he but stops to rest

and fall upon upon a bended knee,

‘neath twisting branches verdigris,

and offer thanks for  life by Bacchus blessed.


Crowned he is by curling locks and grapen vine,

a face cursed by beauty, yet lit by wicked grin:

for his sculpted chest is brazen, bare, and fine,

and ‘twixt lean hips kitled in goat-skin,

hangs Priapos’ boon, not quite hidden.


One clawed hand he rests on muscled thigh,

his breath restored, and his ardor keen.

The other paw he lifts toward gods and sky –

his eyes fierce-bright with silver sheen –

and that grin, first wicked, leers now obscene.

A poem from my Creative Writing class.  Prior to this class, I had not written poetry since high school, and it is doubtful that I will ever do so again unless similarly forced.  Still, I’m not displeased with this piece: an ode to a statue, perhaps once a lamp, almost certainly an idol.  The photograph is mine, taken in the Nelson-Atkins museum of Kansas City, MO.

Those who know me in the real world, of course, have already seen this poem posted elsewhere, but not the picture.


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