Ordinaire, I was only playing with words; I wasn't serious about you (or anybody) recognizing anything in me.

I'm more than happy to provide you with the poem. There is no war between me and anybody at this point.

By Dr_Ordinaire on Thursday, November 08, 2001 - 06:33 pm: Edit

Artemis, it's not that I didn't recognized your poetic capacity.

We were involved in a civil war that was not of our making or, as far as I'm concerned, my desire.

Thank you for the poem.

By Artemis on Thursday, November 08, 2001 - 11:16 am: Edit

I saved a copy on a floppy (I too a poet and you didn't know it), but I think it varies a little from what I posted. Pretty close, though:

Absinthe
by Jeanne The Glutton

Apollo, who mourned the demise of Hyacinthus,
Refused to cede the victory to Death.
It was needful that his soul, adept at soaring,
Find a holier alchemy for beauty
So, with his celestial hand he squeezed, he exhausted
The most subtle gifts of divine Flora.
Their broken bodies sighed a golden breath
From which he reaped for us the drop of Absinthe!
In dark hovels, in sparkling palaces,
By one, by two, drink this magnetic brew
For it is a magick spell, a matter of healing,
This pale opal wine aborts misery,
And throws open beauty's inner sanctum
Bewitch my heart, ecstasize my soul!

By Dr_Ordinaire on Thursday, November 08, 2001 - 08:47 am: Edit

Like the one for the Hausgemachters.

Pity, I wanted to keep Artemis' translation of Crowley's poem.