Bali Pastoral

I lie afloat in glinting cerulean seas,

My eyes imbibing the teal bright horizon,

The swaying palms, the surfers braving waves,

The Hindu march, white robes and flags, strange sanctity

With mystic chimes and incense, idols swirled.

Ashore the locals barter, “Boy, want girl

Or gun?” and bamboo shrines with flowers burn

In doors as the dwindling sun flares magma red.

Chauffeured to Jimbaran Beach, past rice canals

And dogs astray, we sit in plastic chairs

With candlelight, untarnished chalk moonlight,

And dine on king crab, snapper, mango juice,

Our family one, united, enthroned in time.

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To my mind, the formula for pastoral = landscape + lyricism. When I originally learned I was to write a pastoral poem, I thought of Virgil’s Eclogues, which was a slog for me, although The Georgics is one of my favourite books. I also vaguely recollected some notion of John Milton following in Edmund Spenser’s footsteps in writing pastoral verse before graduating to the sublimity of epic, although I’m probably confused somewhere. The poem I wrote I’m moderately pleased with, although it’s questionable how pastoral-y it is, and the last few lines about dinner, meant to evoke a sort of timelessness and milestone for a family, come off as sentimental and tacked on.