To read the latest issue, click 'Issues by year' in the menu above

A Superannuated Satyr Speaks

Nymphs I have loved to the point of mania;
What richer way to comfort my age
Than to recall the sweet miscellanea?
Share, if you dare, my joys on the page.

Chaste little naiads, I chased the shapes of them,
Out of the rivers, fountains and streams,
Slaking my lust in the sleek, cool deeps of them;
Still with coy smiling they fill my dreams.

Dark hamadryad who left her oak for me
Spreading her garment verdantly wide;
Sleeping sensations she subtly woke for me
Ravishing there on the woodland ride.

Wave-licked, my nereid rose so beautiful,
Moist to my touch in moon-dappled bay;
There, like the sea’s, her gifts were bountiful
Till the tide ebbed and she swam away.

Snowy robed oread, chill and mountainous
Was the terrain where I made her mine:
Pressed to a rock face, steep, vertiginous,
Passion and terror would intertwine.

I have had mortals, I have had goddesses,
Beasts of the forest and birds of air;
Keep them, dear reader, your earthly temptresses,
Mythical nymphs are beyond compare.

Alanna Blake