https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/The Festival at Thebes is a Poetry cycle written by Edward C. Patterson, dedicated to my many friends chosen as family. Adult in tone and Gay in nature, these poems were the first outward expression of the authors style. Edward C. Patterson is the author of several Novels and Novellas, now available at www.dancaster.com/jotrans.htm. The Festival at Thebes has been a web favorite on the site since 1995, having first been published in 1995 at vagranthollow, in the Best Part of Me Collection. hourly12000-01-01T12:00+00:00https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/229529I’m a Jersey Poet now, Caught in the blast of a Monmouth breeze, Kept by Hopatcong, Swept by the dells; Meadows and pleasures nearby all my life Known only now since my secret rebirth. Cupped by the gentle down by the pool, My appetite whets on the edge of the dunes, From Brielle to Sussex, from...https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/223139Comes the heal, The balm spirit felt - The net to catch me should I fall; And the mountains sing to the welkin; Yet, the rain comes not - Only comes the heal. And to this heal, When the tide is ebb - I will yield my spirit’s balm And the sky will cry and careen; And the heal will never know How...https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/221529I was a calm and gentle soul, The still pool unmarred - The blind shoot unblossomed - And the fire within me lit others And drew them no where but to a calm pool A blind shoot. Then, I saw those brown eyes - Those twin stars - Like silver heaped into the sunlight And the pool still becomes a...https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/217088The fire in my loins have led me to the gate, To the gates of gayest feast, The Festival at Thebes. And I wear my brightest frock, The flowery invitation, And I flaunt my pearls and baubled ears, And dance to the midnight sun. The drum beats steadily all the eve, And I drink the health of the...https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/215196In groves of Autumn foliage We sit, my dog and I, Watching the sun descend the heights, Tumbling into the willowy pool As autumn foliage. Billows ring on the lilied lake; The surface breaks anew; I sigh and my dog sighs, For although apart in mind We both know autumn’s foliage. Over the bridge...https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/214560I watch the sultry desert drift Through the narrow waist of an hour glass, And wonder who has the nerve to count the sands Which pour like sugar’d dust. a clock.... unnatural thing..... I once saw a tree tell time. I once saw a beaver shed its timepiece in direct order. Did they say, it’s half...https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/212366They crowd the sky, the birds, Each trying to find a domain’s spot Above the pines in circling lot Squaring out their own; Their little territory Claimed by none but birds. If chance another feather musts The air in hapless accident Within the circle charted, He’d be ignored for aiding’s claim...https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/211171The sunlight streaks across the selfless waters with faultless radiance As my bark skims cotton crest and ferrous wave; My canvas shadowed form is freed by wind and wave, As bee near sweetened vine or leaf at harvest dawn; With speed my eyes caress the distant line of earth and sky, The welkin...https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/209926Weep, o weep, o Bethlehem, For your children are slain by Herod’s hand; The cold desert wind now howls through the land, Maternal sobbing - father sighs, For youth has been ruddied, Their flow runs the gutters Spilled on the highway for Rome. O! Bethlehem, your sorrow is now deemed, Poured into...https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/MedicineFlower1895/208861I have often thought, and well I may Of days gone by and lost in clay And dreams of dawning’s feeble fate And curse my day as born too late! Such is the greenery fallow foul, Which teams about the mason’s trowel And builds the boneyard of my hope Which would be best at end of rope. For, as the...