Cornucopia: The Fairy Goat and the Horn of Plenty

AMALATHEIA the FAIRY GOAT

In with the mythos and mystical stewing ensues whereby

what do we see of this in the indeterminate morass-muddle of constellation soup,

steeped in ether of magical mushrooms?

will we still muddle in there?: PERHAPS

AMALATHEIA (regression)

Nursed by Amaltheia whom we called

the Fairy Goat.

From its horns flowed a form of plenty named doubly Ambrosia and Nectar, inseparable as mac n cheese, recipe for raising marble gods in flesh from crescent waxing to rich and lordly stature, because you say that indeed the Immortals progress thru Childhood?

Nay, she is Lady Amalatheia, in no way capriform but just a goat-tending nymph.

But Legend prevails, not a nymph truly, but a shegoat giving to suckle the god of gods, this is the milk-glutted Jupiter, lord of Planets with his lacteous mantle, all of which a shepherd could see clearly visible in the pictures of the night sky (true temple of a planetarium)

contemplate

while still nursling baby boy bouncer the legend alleges how in play with this nanny of his, on accident in spike of prodigious boomboom force, he broke off one of her great and curving horns and from bicorn she went to unicorn, (by Father’s Neologisms):

the first unicorn form I mean the first unicorn born; and not did he ever press his infant lips to the nanny-goat’s teat?

*some say* AMALATHEIA’S skin

(or the pelt of her goat if she’s a goat-tending nymph)

was made into the AEGIS (the SHIELD of the FATHER)

the horn itself was vehicle of copious cascade features, regenerating by spiral cone that twist to the molecule of degeneration structurally supporting all organic matter, truncated branch; castration anxiety solicitous of universal atrophy: try and tell me that dead nature is not still life! that’s the turn of verse and the trope of the Nurture of the Infant God, the Thunderer in Progress always sucking at some kindly animal’s mammary surrogate mamma in the cradle of the hidden grotto: the nature of the beast.

And although Isidore of Seville sayz in the light of his fame that you thus create a MONSTER not a GOD (the Idol of) out of such fabrics— is it still not possible that Amalatheia the Fairy-Goat was a Mommy who was a Daddy or a Daddy who was a Mommy and we are dealing here with the mammaries of a milkable male of a ram called Amalatheos?

Was the proverbial yokable fox maybe his teacher (are you tame)? that is how, peeking through the leaves, he learned to contemplate the sky

and play a relative game of connect-the-dots

[astrological augury rooted on earth]

for kings of men

name of the game

NANNY

THE MOTHER GOOSE

corny corny,

or is it horny?

that’s the force, fucker

whereby

Some bucks might indeed swell with milk

And a yoked fox will never fully live a romance

But what of that?

o king of kings

how the family tree of creatures lives interlocking,

interdriven and interstriven (territorial, a root-system

of lustfully struggled peace earnings)

this organic declension in rotative form

and conjugation of taxonomy, runs in

biological ramification of names [lists

by function to programming-tree]

and speaking of the Programme—

Lunar Calendar what’s in a date let’s go Solar

again in the sign of capricorn

CAPRICIOUS CAPRINE CAPERS

Leafage of Glasir

all of copper glow

the she-goat who munches

of the roughage in red gold

distills the holy mead of poetry

milk the limb-muncher of her teated charms!

for the Mill of Digestion eschewing the toxic

to which livestock animal is noxious the acorn and the oak-leaf

Then turn three times sunwise,

stretch yourself along the ground full-length

and say the litany there.

*GOATS IN A TREE*

Heiƿrvn heitir geit The Goat was called Heiƿrvn

(does that really signify Bright Open Space Symbol as in translation?)

the fuckin’ goat bites off the limbs of the

windshielded council!

bringing doom by our leafy children

Yggdrasil—

the she-goat who nibbles

the limbs of the Great Ash

how good is your milk o’mead concocted

(the feeder) her udders lactate distended with fermented

fro’ meadtree poemmatica in meadmill

(mode, memory of mind) that mashes

from munches same difference of poemmatica by millstone

from which this goat has glutted

PAY ME MY MEAD MEASURE!

Bright Open Space Symbol

that poet-taster’s part like a poison-tester

What have the Champions to drink?

Master Whiskey Blender,

Water of Life,

Heidrún (a new spelling?) the She-Goat

she bit the leaflimbs living from the Tree,

still lively with her udders swollen like balloons

and so copiously she fills a tun every ovary dag

[exudation goes the

drip of slow-brewed

poetry]

DWARVES’ DRINK

in mead measure

overseen by the Veiled Head

they blended the honey with the blood

and stirred it with a knife,

licked it with their tongues

and the outcome was that

alcohol by virtue of which

he who drinks (from)

becomes skald or scholar

AND POETRY itself PARAPHRASED in liquid form?

All-Father’s Song Surf Streams

THE SONG-SURF OF ALLFATHER

princely giver godking’s liquor

the waves of Odin’s surges

‘gainst the tongue’s

song-glades clashes

the Heartstreams of Odin

in his spoil, songs of praise

Who do you say if I call myself the Wild Man *Suibhne* SILVANUS

cackle ‘n gack as a goose ‘mongst melodious swans

The Pagan-King with his suivez-moi

this lantern doth present the horned moon

or something like that

Renaissance! a Hundred Flowers of -ISMS

With a Horned Moses in its Italian and elsewhere

what symbol

Meed Notebook/of sylvan strains

now replaced with Chinese and Vietnamese imports

what symbol!

Pan himself on the bagpipes

Three Billy Goats Gruff

Ma Mère l’Oie

with little Bo Peep

and even littler Boy Blue

PECUS AS PECUNIA Ram buck ewe wether

Offspring

KALENDS

just survived the Year of the Cock

entering (blessing by the Doorway

is what they labelled)

the Year of the Dog

My Bucolica is a modern reboot of the "eclogue" form originating in Classical Greece and Rome, much rehashed throughout all European literature. It usually comes in the form of a collection of shepherd's songs, dialogues, and stories featuring themes of love/desire, nature/the seasons, death/mortality, and the passing of time. It is often a playground to poeticize the animal world and humankind's relation to it, as well as particulars of the seemingly idyllic life led by simple shepherds and farmers in Arcadia. It is also referred to as bucolic literature. I wrote my Bucolica 2017-2018 in a mix of poetry and prose.