Cloud Racing in Arcadia

A Confounded letter about day dreaming and legends. This was written for someone who wanted words for the picture.

  

This was high cloud. Fascinating in ringing clear complexity. Rising in a King country beyond a poor wretched imagination. Bereft of where your heroes fought, loved, and fatefully betrayed, died.

This, a place of bardic birds plumaged with maps of the universe shining. Animals dappled with mapped continents of fur. Such pertinent parchments that can only be epic written.

This is fantasy lived, sung and poet described. This was a masterpiece of jewels, the soul of faithless vice. The dear death of belief and the rising of structured hope. A lack of true science and a complete golden account of Godlike death. This was the discovery of fire. The Golden Bough realized in its heroic name

Music rising across a skylark sky, pasture, dune and mountain anchored. Heroic worlds visualized in a small hermaphrodite pools and ancient inconsistent rocks. Plays before temples; satyr ringed and spirit vital. Masked and naked, furred and down layered. Labyrinths of golden string and old memories monsters. Pushing stone forever.

Imagine classic then what you can. See what you will in histories reflection. Play with your worlds as they are encountered whole. Use your games of love and fools to bewitch, to chime and to allow such reasons as may be. Write with it complete in the hope of scorning your wayward cares.

Beware only of correct fantasies for that way lies insufficient pleasure and sure pure pain

This was clear sound. Epic speech and hungry legend. This was oars through wine dark water. Faun dancing and musical afternoons. This was peace, formed, stated and enjoyed whole. This was the day of the King that died. This was hemlock used for execution and saved for posterity. This was the memory for the race. These were clouds racing.

Author's Note

The picture is mine and called Romance of Ages. Classical puzzles for you.

Reviews

[Jack...]

Ken, It is late on a Friday afternoon, my work day is almost ended and I find this to baffle me even more than I was born to be. I like this though, it is fun to read, but at the moment a focused mind has abandoned its home in my skull, so, upon mornings light, when I have taken my rest I will read this again and hope to find what is the hidden meaning.

[Ken Simm.]

I'm glad you read it anyway Jack. Thanks for liking it.

[...]

. oh ... what a ravishing picture ... and what a ravishing piece of poetry this is ...

"Such pertinent parchments that can only be epic written.
This is fantasy lived, sung and poet described."

. truly epic lines ... so utterly soulful ... and so irrefutable ...

. and the journey from here to "See what you will in histories reflection." is as much about the momentum of change as it is about beauty ... and the journey from here to that final line ... is about pace ... sheer pace ...

. i also loved the line about "games of love" especially ... (for personal reasons) ... and even though i don't know all the references (from a historian's perspective) ... i get a very overwhelming sense of time travel as i read this piece ... superbly written ... an incredibly enriching and rewarding read ...

[Leslie Philibert]

A great text, well written with lots of rich imagery. I bet your pupils learn a lot from you, and of course the pictures are fantastic. Well done.

[Phibby Venable]

what an answer. my favorite is:
Music rising across a skylark sky, pasture, dune and mountain anchored. Heroic worlds visualized in a small hermaphrodite pools and ancient inconsistent rocks. Plays before temples; satyr ringed and spirit vital. Masked and naked, furred and down layered. Labyrinths of golden string and old memories monsters. Pushing stone forever.

wonderful work ken!

[Kerry O'Connor]

One of the nicest things about visiting your pages is the photo-art. This one is a beauty - I'm so happy to know such places exist.

The words take the reader on a journey to forgotten times when the gods still walked among us.

[Phibby Venable]

Music rising across a skylark sky, pasture, dune and mountain anchored

i love the beauty and purity of images here. the wine dark water - gorgeous.
great work.

[Emily B]

I love to visit your words

and your pictures . . . your artistry is beyond compare

[Ladysue]

Ken, if only I could write like this...your phrasing picture perfect as always..never a wasted word...always so fresh, thoughtful and engaging..excellent work..

[emmajoy]

This was-is magnificence, a perfect placement of words and beautiful memories wrapped in daydreams. Another time, another world, 'This was oars through wine dark water. Faun dancing and musical afternoons. This was peace, formed, stated and enjoyed whole.'

[arbitrary jane]

holy holy, i love how in love with words you are. your prose is inner-faceted and manages to be both solid and crystaline.
This:
A lack of true science and a complete golden account of Godlike death. This was the discovery of fire. The Golden Bough realized in its heroic name
and this:
This was the day of the King that died. This was hemlock used for execution and saved for posterity. This was the memory for the race. These were clouds racing.

... your flipbook of metaphor, each one its own depthless pool, to be plunged into, swum about it, ... drunk from deeply.

luxurious as always.

and, the picture... amazing work.

[SM Davis]

Music rising across a Skylark sky, pasture, dune and mountain anchored. Heroic worlds visualized in a small hermaphrodite pools and ancient inconsistent rocks. Plays before temples; satyr ringed and spirit vital. Masked and naked, furred and down layered. Labyrinths of golden string and old memories monsters Imagine classic then what you can.

la danse à l'intérieur d'une mémoire de trésor sans âge ... oublié jamais... Je suis stupéfié et awed et toujours toujours pleasured ... par vos mots. cent marguerites et le jus de mille attente de pêches.