An obscene poem for Dionysos

I was kicked out of a group once for writing this poem.

Follow the shaggy Satyr through secret forest paths
Until you reach the gathering where the Nymphs still dance
Circling round and round in rapturous worship of
King Lusios, crowned with clusters of ripe grapes and green
Foliage, he the master of men’s hearts whose tender touch
Unleashes their hidden spirits, freeing them from ego’s
Cruel chains to revel in primal purity, feeling themselves not apart but
Kin to all creation. They dance a dance old as time,
Flowing blissful on waves of wine, their every move
Under the control of their God, whose heartbeat is heard in the
Clangor of drum and pipe and wailing barbarous shouts.
Keep the memory of this moment in your heart, how it
Felt to touch the divine and be touched by him in return, the
Unspeakable ecstasy of dissolving at his feet, your fears and
Concerns, your fragile, broken, imperfect parts melting away in his
Kiss and the way he stroked your cheek, saying:
Follow me, my child, and I will make you whole again,
Unbelievable as it may seem, and teach you to be free.
Child, my path is not easy: it will cost you everything to be mine.
Knowledge of this sort is a heavy burden – though ignorance is heavier – and
Freedom, real freedom, is never easy. But
Unless you walk this path, you will be like a dead man,
Close to living, but not really. How empty the other way seems,
Kept apart from the source of life. Never to
Feel the heart in your breast thunder with excitement,
Ugliness all about instead of the beauty of the mountain –
Crisp snow beneath your feet and the smell of pine in the air –
Knife-sharp pain and transcendent joy, these two sides of one coin.
Feel everything, and feel it intensely!
Understand this above all else: mine is the path of life,
Child, and everything in it. Leave no sensation unexplored;
Kill what holds you back inside and drink your
Fill from my cup, emptying it and asking for more
Until your lips are stained with wine and you
Cannot recall a time when you were sober.
Keep these commandments of mine and I will bless you, o
Friend of mine!
Up you lift your head, proud to be
Counted among the ivy-clad Bakchoi of
Kissokomes, the ivy-crowned God.
From your wine-drenched lips
Unbidden and incomprehensible
Comes a shout like that made by the mighty
Kine in the field, and in that moment you understand the mystery.

8 thoughts on “An obscene poem for Dionysos

    1. This person had taken over mod responsibilities for the largest Hellenic polytheist hub at the time, and in the middle of a heated conversation she booted one of the members for using swears, because she wanted it to be a friendly environment for the under 18 crowd. Problem is, she hadn’t notified us of the rule change and as I said this came in the middle of a heated convo, which she was participating in, and the folks on her side had used as bad if not worse language, yet only this one guy was getting penalized for it. Several folks spoke up, pointing out that she was being unfair, at which point she booted them from the group too. Obviously I could not tolerate such injustice, so I shared this and another poem which the moderator enthused over and begged me to let her post them to her online temple of Dionysos. Once she had done so I called her a hypocrite since this poem was nothing but the word fuck repeated over and over, and the other poem was even worse. She said she didn’t understand, so I explained to her what an acrostic was. She took my poems down and kicked me out of the group, but by that point she’d lost the respect of most of the members and retired shortly thereafter. Alas, only from her moderator duties for the group, as she’s still in the Hellenic polytheist community and was most recently responsible for the Xenia Declaration bullshit on Twitter.

      Liked by 3 people

        1. They usually are. what do you think progressivism is at its heart: paternalistic racism dressed up to look like they give a shit. All the little narcissists care about is getting a pat on the head for *seeming* virtuous. They don’t actually care about *being* virtuous.


      1. wow. there’s a lovely anglo Saxon word that begins with a C and ends with UNT that perfectly describes that witless twat.


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