Good morning! Welcome to this week’s Poetry Corner featuring Donny Barilla’s poem, A Retelling of the Myth of Apollo and Daphne.
A Retelling of the Myth of Apollo and Daphne by Donny Barilla
The polished grooving of a curving bow,
arrows that slice, zip through air,
by beloved child of the tempt named Venus,
all hearts beware the warmth of the fair goddess.
With Cupid, sworn to avenue the thrusting euphoria,
and Apollo struck the draft flurry,
calmly through his heart.
Good Daphne, fell never to any man,
wrapped her chase to the fright she encountered.
By heaving sweated breast slick upon the air, wind, and breeze,
Fine Daphne saw the madness of mighty Apollo,
in pursuit of her from belt to gown.
Apollo lusty by sting of the clever bow,
in the distance, giggles and laughter,
his wrath and rage, now gone.
The sun god dripping in heavy lust,
simply alive to grapple, penetrate the young maiden.
…and the race began.
By stroking fern and sordid wood,
tickling leaves upon their heel,
the swift darting of Daphne held supine,
and, Apollo graced to her cloth and perfumed air,
gentle yet fast the animals fell astray.
The prince and betrothed of sweet sounds
barbed all whom heard his plea.
The prance of the fondled deer,
they lay crisp upon the dewy glades,
a fox held in quiet amazement,
and the estranged chirp of the whispering bird.
The rustle of each and every leaf, stem, root, and twig,
snapped beneath the foot of the hustling sylvan,
stroking waves of the onion grass,
the gentle patterns of falling rain,
alive as rainfall of the crying heavens.
Zeus, maddened with the rage at an adulterous son.
In the heat of Apollo’s nectar stinging about his tongue,
the chase fastened closer to all which he adorned.
Gasping in the fears of touch,
Sauces stroked close to her tingling neck,
a fracture of a minute elapsed,
and her prayer and utterance cleverly reach the father
roaming high about the gems of a cloudy Olympus.
In the next moment,
fine and fair Daphne absorbed into the grace
of the Laurel tree, fine standing and lusty
the tree gloated above all else,
high in the thicket and wood,
reaching for the sky.
So for ages, Apollo rested playing his lyre,
singing the deeply meant love ballads,
leaned back upon the trunk of his love.
He gathered the fine leaves as they fell,
crafting the oils to incense and honored his love.
These scents drifted on the southern wind,
luring the Kings from island to island,
paying homage to the wooden enchantment,
the savory shade in the thick of forested hunger.
The kings came and went to
pay homage to the newly granted queen of love
and sweet coronation.
The scents slowly put Apollo into a deep sleep,
and there he lay,
feet changed to mud,
his torso and arms,
stretching for miles as the gathering moss,
out of his mouth grew rivers and stream,
from his shoulders found their way
hundreds of meadows,
lurking to every pond.
In the end,
the madness of a lusted after nymph,
their was no end to her
thick drowning adoration,
she softly climbed to the heavens,
but could not escape.
Amazing poem, Donny! This tugs at my love of ancient history and mythology. Thank you so much for sharing!
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