Pan is defined, first and foremost, by two things. One, he is a god of nature and wild lands: he protects the shepherds and their flocks, while also offering hunters their bounty. He is found in the forests, the meadows and the grottos ; he is the spirit of the fields, the groves and the glens. He is the patron of Arcadia, the Greek region that gave birth to the “Arcadian myth”, this idea of a peaceful, beautiful, idealized pastoral region (though the real-life Arcadia was a very mountainous area of Greece deemed “primitive” and backwards by the other Greeks). Two, he has a very unique appearance among the gods, being half-human and half-goat. He is usually depicted as a bearded man with the legs (or whole lower body), horns and ears of a goat. If this description sounds familiar, it is because it also fits the entire species of supernatural beings known in Greek mythology as the satyrs. The satyrs, the goat-men, were thought of as the friends and companions of Pan. The closeness between the god Pan and the satyr species led to Pan, from a singular entity, evolving through time into a “multiplicity”. For example the late Greek author Nonnus wrote in his “Dionysiaca” that Pan had twelve children, identical to him and who were all also known as “Pan”. Now, this is a very late addition to the Greek poetic canon, and is doesn’t seem to have been a widespread belief – but Nonnus does rely on the fact that the satyrs as a whole were commonly known as “little Pans” (Paniskoi), to distinguish them from the “great Pan”, the god proper.

A pastoral poem is one that glamorizes and idealizes country life. It speaks of a yearning to get back to that simple life, and that it is somehow more godly and superior than any other. It is often couched in religious allegory.

With this poem I decided to hit the major beats of a pastoral poem but reflect the reality of "country" life for someone like Stede, who owned slaves. His father owned slaves and he owned slaves, and I thought it would be interesting to watch the reality of that start to creep into his mind the more time he spends with his crew and realize that his history being "on top" of everyone necessarily meant that there were people at "the bottom," the kind of people he is growing to like and admire a lot. Does Stede making himself captain of a ship put him in a similar position of power? Is he continuing the same practices from his previous life as a plantation owner? That's ultimately for him to decide and express through how he sees and treats others going forward.

By Julia VaughanTurning Fifty-SevenAcknowledging Judith Wright’s Turning FiftyAs I drink my coffee in the early morning sunI taste my fifty-seven years.Pure joy, chaos, terror and funGirl to woman, so many tears.At 7, walking home from Pembi Dam, all alone,Through a bog, stepping with intent,Choosing grassy clumps, in the zone,Never saw snakes, utter content.At 8, terrorists (or…

Housewife

Softly o'er the Western mountains sinks the setting sun;Scarlet tints the azure sky - the toil of day is done.Gently fall the dewdrops on the heads of sleepy flowers;Evening casts her magic over these exquisite hours.Through the weeping willows sighs a soft and fragrant breezeA sense descends from Heaven, of serenity and peace,And nestled in the valley 'neath the shadow of the pinesStands a charming little village filled with cottages and vines.In each and every cottage glows a cozy little lightAnd, if you listen closely in that little town tonight,A joyous cry is rising o'er the village chimney-stacks:"Jack the Nuisance is in prison! We can finally all relax!"

“who can stand the raging sea and the mournful rain” if i asked you to guess where this came from would you be more likely to guess a folk band or an ancient roman poet

Sometimes, naked, I don't feel naked.Sometimes I feel naked when clothed.What if all our incredible futuresare still just bound for misery? A thing breaks, and we are on fire with rage.Was it supposed to enjoy eternity, like us? Before Trojans were mascots or condoms, they were warriors. Before non-sequiturs were digressions, they were songs.The universe is an echo chamber of discordant matter.Heaven is a fraudulent quorum of marooned demigods.I am detached from narrative, history, identity:whip out a dictionary and tell me what that means.On the days the stars conspire against me,I will conquer and overcome my ugliness.Today, I saw the sun rise into a bank of clouds.I want to be strong, and I want also to not have to be strong.I left the windows open. Is it raining now?The shadow is a mouth that baptizes.The shadow is a lover who won't call.You die and die and die then live. I think of the small white moths orbiting the garden.Because they are beautiful, because they barely exist at all.