Astivation

In candent ire the solar splendour flames;
The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames;
His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes,
And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.

How dolce to vive occult to mortal eyes,
Dorm on the herb with none to supervise,
Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine,
And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine!

To me, alas! no verdurous visions come,
Save yon exiguous pool's conferva-scum--
No concave vast repeats the tender hue
That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue.

Me wretched! let me curr to quercine shades!
Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous maids!
Oh, might I vole to some umbrageous clump,--
Depart--be off,--excede,--evade,--crump!

Reviews

[Brytt]

I read it with a touch of bitter in my voice. Especially given the last line; it sounds like you are scolding someone.

Having recieved your note, I can say that your goal was well achieved! I believe that there is also a contest for nonsensical poetry right now, so I would advise you to submit it. It has potential, for sure.

I also like how you used words from other languages (dolce, suave, etc.) as though they were common. It really adds to the depth of the poem, because the words sound like you made them up, but you didn't. And they make sense, translated!

Anyway, great great, great poem. Do more like this, if you can!

[TJ]

Again this one was a bit over my head, nice flow though! :)

I like the way it flows. I can almost picture the person saying it with passion and spit.

[Brytt]

could I get a commentary on this to better understand it?