#Cape Poetry

[hallohartje]

“…and feel the water moving through him / and knowing that this is love the prone flesh / what we expel from the body and what we leave”

- from physical, by Andrew McMillan

[martyncrucefix]

Remembering John Burnside

With yesterday’s announcement of John Burnside’s death, I thought of this review that I wrote in 2006 of his Selected Poems, published by Cape Poetry. His work meant a lot to me around that time and I enjoyed the chance to try to articulate what I found fascinating in it. John Burnside’s poetry has, for some years now, been offering us a modern egotistical sublime. With Wordsworth, he shares a…

[soracities]

Corsino Fortes, from "Postcards from the High Seas" (trans. Sean O'Brien & Daniel Hahn), My Voice: A Decade of Poems from the Poetry Translation Centre (ed. Sarah Maguire)

[unadulteratedcoffeetimemachine]

You don't hate the summers, you're just afraid of the space, askin' strangers for answers to forget what they say

Maine - Noah Kahan

[sweetmorninglamb]

i am my monster

1. @heavensghost x 2. ethel cain, ptolemaea 3. @begakabegaka x 4. @arabwife x 5. gloomy_goat x 6. @nutnoce x 7. allie x, learning in public 8. i.b. vyache, conversations over sanguiaccio dolce 9. bella hurlbut x

[sacralimplication]

put some energy into this blog

[themusewithinthemusewithout]

They will come again, the leaf and the flower, to arise 🌸

From squalor of rottenness into the old splendour,

And magical scents to a wondering memory bring; 💮

The same glory, to shine upon different eyes.

Laurence Binyon

[avillainstory]

Shauna Barbosa, from “GPS,” Cape Verdean Blues

[mx-lamour]

8 - Cloak

[That's right, we've got audio this time babyyy!]

At first glance, the cloak was black, and that was all. It hung over Strahd's impeccably squared shoulders and draped long and straight past his ankles. It was made of fine wool from only the blackest of sheep and overdyed besides, to achieve an even richer, deeper shade.

What most did not see, at first glance—which was the most opportunity most people ever had to look—was the way the color faded brownish toward the hem. The protective woven trim along its bottom edge had twice been replaced, but even now it was beginning to fray again from frequent use, with bits of mud and dust crusted along the join of stitching, despite diligent efforts to brush it carefully out. The brownish hue was of the natural dark wool, scrubbed raw of its additional dyes by the combined menace of rain and sleet and sunlight, by kneeling and sitting and otherwise battering the fabric with his legs as Strahd walked. It was faded this way around the collar line as well, not only by precipitation from the sky but perspiration from his body also, where it clasped around Strahd's neck at the front with intricate loops and buttons, although the effect there was somewhat hidden by the folds of its hood, whether drawn up to protect Strahd's head or swooping back to rest upon his shoulder blades in comfortable disuse.

Most also did not notice the stains of iron blood in splatters on the parts which covered up Strahd's chest and arms, but this was by design. Black would always be a practical choice for a noble man engaged in war. But, unlike the careful dyes, these evidences of the lives he’d claimed would never, it seemed, fade.

Hardly anyone had seen the inside of the cloak, except perhaps a passing glimpse, when a long leg kicked its front gores brusquely forward, and the center part flapped open to reveal a secret corner near Strahd's feet. The lining from the shoulders down was sturdy linen, and this had been dyed red. A lord could afford his indulgences.

Deft hands slipped beneath the old wool cloak, prying deep into its scarlet depths. They found Strahd's waist and settled there.

What the cloak would see, if it had sight, was a partner of its own, a well-worn and half shorter cape in marled gray and fawn. It draped about square shoulders and fell upon long arms, but sometimes only one of them, clinging by the collar to a rope which tied beneath the other. The shabby cape, of slightly newer stock but less well-kept, having been tossed about on chairs and bedposts, trampled in snow and singed by fire, and snagged by wind and steel on blood-slick fields and rugged roads, was worn by Strahd's second in command. Its lining held no secrets, and neither did its shell.

The soft rustle of fabric underscored the tender smack of joining lips. A light breeze whispered ancient nothings to the spires of the pines.

Strahd stumbled on the frayed edge of his concealing garment. Awkwardly, it tugged him down, scattering its winged entrails wide upon the ground. Alek followed, laughing low, and unhooked the buttons at Strahd's throat. He kissed him again ardently, and Strahd forgave himself the lapse in form. He allowed his face a surreptitious grin, gently grasping Alek's jaw.

Through their kisses, Alek pulled the cord on his own cape, which slid softly off his shoulder. It landed as a heap upon the pool of red. Leaning on one arm for balance, Alek scooped up his small sacrifice and placed it behind Strahd's head. He then sank down, himself, to slide one knee beneath Strahd's thigh and guide it up onto his hip. Strahd's heel snagged the fraying edge again, forming subtle ripples in its wake.

Their other garments hardly mattered, none of them so constant as a cloak, but each left one by one with reverence, until the only thing between the two men’s souls was their own skin and bones. Like a curtain in an open window, billowing gently with the breeze, they undulated against each other, breathing now in stuttered gasps.

Strahd’s arm replaced the rope that had been tied across his second’s chest, and Alek’s lips replaced the loops which often rested near the base of his lord’s throat. Strahd’s moan was deeply that of velvet; he tipped his head back on the wool, the fibers catching on his hair. Alek’s fingers clawed in crimson linen—he hardly spoke at all, which was very much unlike him. While trees around them swayed and groaned, their branches stroked each other.

The sky above was clear and crisp, unshrouded were the stars; they winked like faraway jewels, glass beads held high by silver thread. And then they vanished. Strahd’s eyelids, like a hood, pulled down on his dark gaze. The winding fabric of his loins further twisted and wound tight. The inside of his weathered cloak would find new secret stains, not least of which his sweat, which pooled cooly down along his spine, and soaked into the centerline, while Alek kissed his breast.

When all was done and quiet, Strahd reached out both his arms to draw the edges of the great cloak inward, wrapping them around the back of his beloved guard. Alek laid within it, his body draped on Strahd’s, a cloak within a cloak, the only one to have borne witness to this much of such a lovely scarlet lining.

* * *

[Ao3 Collection] [prompt list by @syrips]

[emmajeanisnotmylover]

midsummer.

on the very last eve of june in the fresh new swells of summer we love each other down and deeply on the shores of little pleasant bay we are surrounded by savage winds and kissed by furious raindrops - sent to us by fond calypso herself - and I am kissed by you, yourself wild and lost to sea, we are surrendered to roiling waves of divinity I love you, I love you, I wish to roll you on my tongue for leagues of infinity the wild whims of the atlantic rage around us and yet we are protected divinely connected a perfect calm in a windswept storm I love you, and you are we, we are they we are the same interconnected we express the earth the air, the fire the water return, return, return, return we roll and dip, flip, capsize our scorpio water hearts blazing in the coldest light of this ruthless, sunless morning dawning over little pleasant bay. how can I sleep when there is still so much of you I want to love to know to taste to touch? how can I face the day when I haven't yet had enough hours with you on this plane or the next one? don't you want to run, not walk? I see you running all day and I'm no runner but with you, I couldn't say you bring me to new heights and lead me to fresh depths of my own oceans for you I would choose to suspend all doubt, all fear all disbelief.

my heart on the winds I dream this midsummer morning of walking with you to the edge of all known earths and into every realm beyond. my heart sunk down through untold fathoms resting on the unseen soft and sandy floor deep and gentle safe and anchored endlessly buried in your depths I see now that you are the siren calling me home with a love in your voice that few understand and even less extend it doesn't have to hurt not any part of it. I know that now. you show me in every way you choose to love me.

[sewnwithfate]

Noah Kahan’s music touches a deep part of my soul. Not just because it sounds good (because let’s be honest it sounds amazing) but because his lyrics are truly poetry and it makes so many people with so many different backgrounds and experiences feel seen and understood in a way that not many musicians can while also staying truthful to himself. His lyrics are the truth and even through songs where he talks about things he went through, his mistakes, (ex. Dial Drunk) he’s still honest, he doesn’t sugar coat things or try to paint himself in a different light which is one of the reasons why his music is so good. People can relate to something that is human, mistakes and anger and grief and that empty feeling he addresses in so many of his songs, is human. Anyway I’m probably not explaining this well but I love Noah Kahan and if you haven’t heard of him go check him out please he’s awesome :)

[alliwanttodoiscollectpoetry]

To George Seferis in the Underworld by Seamus Heaney

[freshpoetbrand]

#Amapiano #Bacardi #AfroHouse #HipHouse Download here https://www.mediafire.com/file/gi0yn5r18oe7i5k/%2523ThePianoLifestyle_Season_1_Mixtapes_%2523Amapiano_%2523Bacardi_%2523HipHouse_%2523AfroTech.zip/file

[moonlights-tears]

Looking for that mortal escape

Wrapped inside my blanket cape

Tucked to sleep in this cocoon

Morning will come way to soon

[ghostspikess]

Guys it's just a joke

[malakkc-poetry]

Flighty Heart

Fragile paper hearts

Easy to tear,

but cuts

Like a bear.

Its unique shape

Lends to despair,

When it broke

By your hand and air.

Its unique shape

Rises into fullness,

Then dips in face

Of falsehood that pierce.

Look into its shape

That seems divided

Into yay and nay, a cape

Of vascillation that cried.

Its tear wails

Till eye sight is blind

With too many choices

And decisions that bind.

Oh ye who have

A paper heart,

Let its love

Blind you and don't cut.