The GardenDespatches from The Satyrs’ Forest

Lords of Misrule 2022: Three poems

Today’s post(s) come to us, in no particular order, from three different people, because like buses, good things come in threes. As always, please leave your comments on the main site.

child meets Cernunnos

i met Him in the woods and He told me to hold my chin up His

skin black as ash shining


blood in the snow, He gave me a bow fitted for me and said to shoot

i said what for, to shoot what, i don’t want to hurt a creature

and He said the cycle of life requires death, if you reap then you will sow, to kill a cræture is

to give it back.

i said alright but i was scared and He said what if the other hunters come not my Hunters the other ones

man-shaped and hunting crætures like you

and i shot

the arrow fell through the shadow, spilling, and i said to protect i would do anything

and He said now you understand what this is for. and He said daughter, your destructive anger

can construct mountains and miracles. don’t listen to those as say death and life and rot and growth are anything different from each other. look at the berries grow through the snow. it kills the snow, the snow feeds them, they are not beautiful in this way without the snow.

i said, i understand i am an arrow and a Hunter and i am not yours i am my own and i protect

and like this is how my i became an I

two months later i called for Him

with my head in a bush

because the other ones had taken away my I again

and he said take it back and this time He gave me a knife

and I stole nothing

but I held the knife and sat with Him and remembered that i am I.

Listen to Hanif Aburraqib who says

“I don’t know if I believe in rage as something always acting in opposition to tenderness. I believe, more often, in the two as braided together. Two elements of trying to survive in a world once you have an understanding of that world’s capacity for violence.”

and go lightly but know yourself Leave a comment

sinxelo, lost
Sent in by an anonymous reader from Santiago

know true, feel feind

creer, pensar


estou na miña lengua perdide
non coa morriña, ni pobo.

lellos turn, so they wanted

beg, simple:
¿ Leave a comment


I’m a poet of the future
poet by mission
With pen in hand
I let any dick hard

Strong Viagra is my verse
Fills souls with lust
blowjob by passion
To all subverse morals

I open the gates of hell
Like a lady’s legs
For I am invited to both

May this verse last forever:
I feel sorry for those who love
destined for sadness.

Leave a comment

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