#failed poem

[lettertoholly]

This poem took me months, and was originally far longer. I kind of hate it. I knew it was something I needed to write but I struggled to find out how to write it. I might rewrite this, and attempt something better. We'll see. Oh well.

[sirshroomie01]

1st of December, 2023

Today I'm wearing orange.

The colour of sunsets, marigolds

Pumpkins and carrots

Kicking up tangerine hue leaves

Scribbling with a honeyed pencil.

2nd of December, 2023

Today is a day for bright pink!

My friends and I in matching fuchsia

Foxglove colours filling the drama hall

And my mind

In hilarious coincidence

3rd of December, 2023

Today I'm covered in speckled red stars.

Pajamas for the frosty Sunday cold

And a thick maroon hoodie for comfort.

Memories of warm Christmas eves,

And decorations the colour of Mr Claus.

4th of December, 2023

OK I didn't consider school uniform here. I might keep the poem going later, because the black and white uniform I wear every day is such a fun contrast to the colour of my life outside of school but whatever. Then I was planning on writing more when rhe weekend arrived again but I've been sick so much this week so it's just been pajamas lol. I'm 100% recycling this poem later tho.

[pangur-and-grim]

I'm the opposite of a free-verse person. I love finding formats so complex that their instructions look like summoning circles. it is FUN!! I am PLAYING!!

[metamorphesque]

— 34 excuses for why we failed at love, Warsan Shire

[timetravelsong]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐖𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝟏𝟓 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝: “𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫“; 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬.

excerpts from a book I’ll never write

[manytoonepoet13]

It's pathetic, really.

How I constantly look into the scrap paperworks of the story of your life to see if something good of me is in it.

Or at least something of me is in it.

Because to be quite honest, good or bad, I want you to think of me.

I want to be in your mind.

I want to be in your memories and see then realize the amount of joy we shared together.

I want to you to realize how even as we begin fall apart, I took my body limb by limb and hook it along the cracks.

I want you to realize how while I keep on pulling you closer into my embrace, you pushed me away until the rope snapped into five irreparable pieces.

With one of them breaking into five more.

And each fragment breaking into yet another five, then another and another and another until I became nothing but dust within this whole that is the Sahara desert.

You wouldn't pick up a grain by then, yes?

You wouldn't even notice I was there even as I fall beneath your feet.

And listen to the sweet torture that is your laughter shared no longer between us, but with you and another.

But even then, I could never wish the worse for you, for I could never bear to see you hurt.

Even if you were the one who impaled me with the sharpest dagger known to man...

I would still know you as the group of people I can to love the most.

So, please... Be happy.

Not for me, but for yourself.

But I suppose it can be partly for me.

For seeing you smile, makes me wish I could as well.

For I love you, even if it means for my heart to break.

I love you.

[anxious-witch]

- by sylvie (j.p.)

[willyhoos]

metamy is insane. like.

what if i was the hero you loved gone wrong. defeated and destroyed. rebuilt as my own greatest enemy. what if i lost everything. what if i had been reprogrammed to despise all i had once fought for. what if i couldn't even remember why i had fought at all.

and what if you were made of roses. what if you represented every beautiful thing i once died trying to protect. what if you wore flowers in your hair and cared for small creatures and had eyes the color of the forests i used to call my home. what if you were everything i once loved.

those memories are just out of my reach. infuriatingly. maddeningly. but if anyone knows who i am (who i used to be) it's you. if anyone can make me feel like who i used to be (who i really am) it's you. i can't speak, i can't breathe, i can't remember anything (but you).

you are the world i have been ordered to burn. i am the weapon you have chosen to resist. i was (am) the hero that you loved.

you are my only memory.

i will do anything to make you believe me.

[embeccy]

"I don’t think there’s anything sadder than when two people are meant to be together and something intervenes."

- Walter Bishop

[threewordusername]

steady as the world turns.

d.b.a

[trickstersaint]

fr though you have to write bad poetry. poems are not handed down to you fully formed by god they are things that you have to work on and practice your skill at creating. nobody would expect you to sit down at a pottery wheel and end up with a perfect vase with no practice. it's a skill! art is a learned thing!! you have to make the shitty little pots with dents and marks and your fingerprints all over them in order to get better. and you're allowed to be proud of those first little pots you made too

[llovelymoonn]

can you recommend some good poems about icarus?

lucas jorgensen non-cento from the bureau of the library of alexandria

gottfried benn icarus

jack gilbert refusing heaven: poems: "failing and flying"

marcia carlson a masque for icarus

larry eigner three poems: "the feet of icarus..."

kofi

[timetravelsong]

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐬.

excerpts from a book I’ll never write

[aayakashii]

Oh... MC justifying why she would prefer to die in Rui's arms instead of just being killed off once she turned into an anomaly...

[shrimpchipsss]

this luo binghe only listens to tortured classical music

[saints-who-never-existed]

One thing I always feel with Fitzjames is that he may well have been happier if he hadn't tried so hard to build himself that great gilded life.

He may say otherwise but clearly it's a life that does humiliate him to live in many ways - he feels forever inadequate, forever a fraud and a fake right up until almost the end of his life when he reaches the end of vanity and is finally free. Perhaps an un-gilded life would have suited him better? Perhaps he ought to have forgone much of that emotional turmoil and continued just being the fighter/deadly weapon/balls-to-the-wall adrenaline junkie madman that life and the military saw fit to make him?

I would never in a million years condone his actions or condone violence and colonialism in general. But you can't deny that he was extremely fucking good at it and derived significant pleasure and purpose from being extremely fucking good at it.

Which is all to say that I'm now thinking the same thing about Hodgson...

We know of course that the real Hodgson appeared to be cut from a similar cloth to Fitzjames - distinguishing himself under heavy fire in battle and earning his commission during the Opium Wars. And there's much to indicate that his fictional counterpart shares that backstory right from his E01 dinner-table reminiscing onward.

Hodgson in the show really does often seem to be at his best under bloody, chaotic, and extremely high-stress circumstances in a similar way to Fitzjames. We see it in E05 when he's able to stop, assess the situation, rally the men around him, and lead them back towards danger to no-scope poor Tuunbaq in the arse in the middle of a blizzard. And to some extent we see it right at the end of his life when he's once again ready and willing to charge forward and make that desperate grab for Armitage's keys, even with chaos and death all around him.

Maybe Hodgson wasn't a Captain. Maybe he wasn't 'made of that'. Maybe he was just made to be a weapon and nothing more.