LatinosUSA

She-pirate and the tavern

It’s a late and warm autumn.
The wind gathered leaves up on the roof
of the marvelous tavern.
The seagulls heralded a memory – an initiation.
The old pensioner-captain drank the intoxicant,
like the ambrosia of life.
The female pirate Mary mentioned
her own stories – the primeval myth:

Icarus desired a dazzle of stars.
Daedalus wanted to become forever lost.
The flight was an absolute rapture.
Icarus! Be with me
as a ghost in the tavern of
the shine, the glory, and the rebuke!

Don’t mourn the dreamy Daedalus!
His body was abducted by mermaids
of the sea and mysterious depths.
Icarus! Survive this night,
when the Morningstar has to precede
the fall of shooting stars,
here and there!

Drunk on the emotions, full of eudemonia,
perhaps a tender melancholy,
the woman pirate remembers the storm
of the century:
The ship! Don’t rock again!
You were close to me
and so romantic.
May the starlit, starry,
moonlit, moony melancholy
of night embrace hearts
of guests of this missing
tavern!
Forever and for eternity,
the pirates will find
their destiny,
in harbors of hope, harbors full of
taverns,
which are decorated with flowers.
The woman pirate is crying
because of the parting
with the beloved parrot
in times of fulfillment of
the enchantment-bewitchment.
Her tear is not man-like,
It has the color of gold,
such as the sun during the storm.
Mary longs for the pearl’s seeking,
in the sea full of memoirs of Daedalus,
of the hero of amusing and musing tenderness.
The sempiternity will be true.

~~

The statue of Apollo through the marvelous night

The statue of Apollo stood in the museum´s hall,
in the midst of the sculptures of the brightest antiquity-time.
The man visited it with the clearest Arthurian grail,
so that Phoebus awoke, with sheen of the first moon and star.

That Apollo was a friend of the museum´s warden,
who knew in moony dreams the petrified tears for ever.
Apollo in the dazzling stone meant a whiff of the time.
Nobody felt like eternally tender morn – a dream.

However, amusing miracle of midnight happened.
The Phoebus became like a German-human, the soft man,
when Apollo was awakened through the enchantment.
And his heartlet was manlike as well as so immortal.

Apollo was able to think and muse such an oracle.
And he sent meek sagacity into the gentle spring.
The oracle showed only worlds like tenderly made pearls.
Apollo and this oracle had the souls from star-wind.

He was in position to dream like eternal dreamer.
His dreameries had epiphany of the hot wings-tides.
The souls of the divine sweetheart could bewitch hearts and tear,
perpetuate thus – softly the spell-like feast for the eyes.

The God could write poetry such night ovidian offspring.
He adored the spell of moonlet and tender shooting stars.
The enchanted distant night shone dreaming, gleaming, glinting.
His soul was close, the gracefulness of the benign homeland.

The envoy of Elysium wanted to philosophize.
The ontology of miracle became most lovely.
The naiads became fair she-friends of the eternal things.
The celestial eudemonia became just so dreamy.