#fictionadventurer poetry

[fictionadventurer]

The Unprintable News

All the planes that safely flew All the crimes folks didn't do The men who lived their day unharmed Free from danger and alarm

All the bridges that don't break The parts of Earth that never quake The homes that stand untouched by flame Those who of crime are never blamed

The friendly dogs who never bite The folks who sleep safe through the night All the simple kindly deeds That offer help to those in need

With headlines shouting all that's black My news provides the truth they lack: Although this world has fear and fright Much more often, things go right

[thatscarletflycatcher]

@fictionadventurer's post today about the imagery of the suitors in Lily Between Worlds -specifically the warrior- made me think of this poem (originally in Spanish) by Santos Inzaurralde, about a tree, the Scutia Buxifolia, a common native species:

Tough Wood, Coronilla

(Prologue to Coronilla)

It takes work for you to burn, but, once you catch fire, you don't die out; I just stir the cinders, and lit up like a firefly, you move your wings. In turn, the kindling burns immediately; just a breath and it turns flame, the crackling flame of a minute, that barely gives heat, even less so embers. Sitting by the fire I'm thinking, how much like twins are, wood and soul; there's souls that give of themselves without wearing out, and there's those that without giving, get worn out fast. How often is one deceived by the appearance of so much bright kindling, that in a few minutes dazzles you, but shortly afterwards, there's nothing left.

Coronilla

How alike we are, Coronilla, both born on the back of a hill range, rooting down, like a reaching hand, to anchor the soul between the stones! We don't give ourselves out in flowers, instead, we give shelter in the storm; we don't give fruit either, and yet, a passionflower that can, will wrap around us. The thorns we show, only have the harsh appearance of wild surliness; the only one that gets hurt by them is the one that attempts to enter our heart, but by force; or to tear from us a nest, because a nest never dies alone, and always takes with it the song it was incubating, to give it a beak in Spring. We are in the woods the strongest, almost blood the wood inside; which if it burns ember by night, it will still be bright as a star by midday. We don't wear out in smoke, and yet, if the wood has to burn, it will burn! They may burn the body but never the soul, because the soul, that is root, lives in the stone. Here, in the city, I am a stranger; I miss in anguish my home, and try, on the asphalt, to give shade, the fraternal shade that man carries with him. And even as it pains the soul to feel the distance, and even as it feels the bleeding absence of the blue cardinal and the chalk-browed mockingbird, the claveles del aire and the carquejas; the flying ember of the scarlet flycatcher, the chilca, the romerillo, and the marcela, I don't let go of my ember because even alone, a single coronilla, makes a hill range. How alike we are, Coronilla; born on the back of a hill range, and rooting down, like a reaching hand, to anchor the soul between the stones!

Here you can hear it sung by folk singer Santiago Chalar:

[inklings-challenge]

2023 Inklings Challenge Participants List

This is an ongoing list of writers who have expressed interest in participating in the 2023 Inklings Challenge. I will be updating this list until October 1st, 2023, at which date everyone on the list will be assigned to one of the three Challenge Teams.

I have erred on the side of including people, so if you’re on the list and you do not want to participate, let me know and I’ll remove you. And it’s very possible I’ve missed names in the shuffle, so if you’re not on the list and you do want to participate, let me know so I can add you.

@ablatheringblatherskite

@allisonreader

@angedemystere

@aparticularbandit

@as-dreamers-do

@ashknife

@atlantic-riona

@brievel

@butterflies-and-bumble-bees

@bytes-and-blessings

@caffeinecath

@caitriona-3

@casa-anachar

@catkin-morgs

@challenger2013

@christian-latte-anon

@clarythericebot

@confetti-cat

@cuppatealove

@cygnascrimbles

@delightfulstrawberrygalaxy

@dimsilver

@dragonladyzarz

@ellakas

@enjoliquej

@esters-notepad

@ettawritesnstudies

@faeriefully

@fairytale-lights

@fictionadventurer

@five-more-minutes

@frangipani-wanderlust

@freenarnian

@friendrat

@frominsidetheblanketfort

@gailyinthedark

@galahadiant

@heniareth

@iamwritehere

@incomingalbatross

@justhereforthesherlock

@kanerallels

@k-she-rambles

@ladygobpire

@lady-merian

@ladyphlogiston

@larissa-the-scribe

@lemonduckisnowawake

@leng-m

@lilflightlessbird731

@lover-of-the-starkindler

@madamescarlette

@magpie-trove

@maltheniel

@misscrazyfangirl321

@mrgartist

@muse-write

@musicofthedaylight

@olyia-stories

@onewingedsparrow

@on-noon

@phoebeamorryce

@physicsgoblin

@plainshobbit

@poetry-vs-depression

@politicalmamaduck

@popcornfairy28

@praise-the-lord-im-dead

@pinkbanditmusings

@queenlucythevaliant

@rachellesedai

@ranger-melany

@reneethegreatandpowerful

@ripple-reader

@rockinlibrarian

@ru-tabega

@scarvenartist

@screwtornadowarningsimsouthern

@scribbly-bear

@secret--psalms--saturn

@septembersung

@siena-sevenwits

@soulwindproductionsblog

@swinging-stars-from-satellites

@taleweaver-ramblings

@teabooksandsweets

@thatsastepladder

@thatoneweaver

@thebirdandhersong

@thejonderettegirl

@theworldiswhispering

@toothanddraw

@tzarina-alexandra

@ughnofreeusernames

@west-toasty

@what-the-dickens

@wildlyironicbee

[siena-sevenwits]

My first year using Spotfiy as my music source of choice. My Wrapped playlist is a little wonky, because I have tended to use the app for discovering new music rather than replaying loved songs. Not much classical or instrumental or hymnody on this list, because I tend to put them on shuffle without catching the names of the tunes so that I can return to them. And some of the top songs are there because I was fine-tuning a playlist inspired by someone else's writing or because I was DJ'ing a dance, and my brain makes playlist decisions only by hearing the songs a million times. But if I filter those out and I look at the ones where I kept going back to them because I loved them and needed more of the them throughout the year, here are some of the top picks on the list. They tend to be pop and folk.

"King of the World" by Young Rising Sons

"I was a stranger, held my hand to my eyes Blindly walking on a street full of lies But I found truth buried deep inside of my bones."

This one is so hopeful and adventurous and bursting with life! So victorious and motivating.

2. "We'll Meet Again" by TheFatRat and Laura Brehm

"The oak tree where I met you And the writing on the statue I still remember every word you said..."

This song is really a leftover from a difficult time last year when I ended up instilling this song with the hope I needed to get through. It remains a favourite, and a reminder that we made it to the other side.

3. "Inventor's Daughter" by Branches

"And she is like a stick laid down And a white flag torn from a wedding gown..."

The lyrics in this song blow me away with their poetry. I started to like this song by association with a couple of fictional characters, but now I enjoy it so much better letting it stand alone on its own merits, and the Inventor's Daughter and the Beggar's Son join the cast of stories in my mind.

4. "Hoist Up the Thing" by the Longest Johns

"Fresh out of college with grades straight from Hell I browsed for a trade at which I could excel An ad for a ship in need of some manning Men, sails, and purpose, but lacking a captain..."

It's good fun. Not necessarily a true favourite, but of the type that if it turns on I won't stop it. This is what I get for turning to that random Monkey Island playlist I found when I want something cheerful but am not sure what. Feels a bit like @fictionadventurer's imaginary book rec for Mercator Must Walk the Plank crossed with the Arrogant Worms.

5. "Oak and Ash and Thorn" by the Longest Johns

"Elm, she hates mankind and waits, 'til every gust be laid To drop a limb on the head of him that anyway trusts her shade But whether a lad be sober or sad, or mellow with ale from the horn He'll take no wrong when he lyeth along 'neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn."

Ah, a Longest Johns song I can really respect. This one has good bones.

6. "Be Somebody" by Boyce Avenue

"So please Be somebody with me If you feel like running The grass is greener inside your heart And I'll be there if it falls apart Love who you're becoming Sometimes we win but sometimes we fold Story still remains untold"

Found this one while listening to a favourite playlist by @telthor and it became one of my "doing the dishes" songs, then I put it on the dance playlist for my sister's wedding. Love it.

7. "King of Anything" by Sarah Bareilles (Strings version)

"Let me hold your crown, babe."

I have been familiar with the original version of the song a long time, but something about the strings version made it that much more reminiscent of my two novel protagonists.

8. "Shine" by Vienna Teng

"Shine with all the untold Hold the light given unto you Find the love to unfold In this broken world we choose"

When I asked for secular advent recs last week, and @valiantarcher suggested this one, it made me smile, because it was one of my most loved songs of the past year (though I didn't realize it was one of my top played!) Gentle and so, so good.

9. "Like Real People Do" by Hozier

"What did you bury Before those hands pulled me From the earth?"

Didn't think I liked Hozier till I heard this song. Still haven't looked into him much, but this was a winner.

10. "Runaway" by Aurora (piano acoustic version)

"And all this time I have been lyin' Oh, lyin' in secret to myself I've been putting sorrow on the farthest place on my shelf La-di-da..."

The song itself is overplayed. But it's a good good song, and hearing this version breathed new life in it. Her voice is fascinating.

[septembersung]

then off, off forth on swing,/As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding/ Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding/Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing

!!!! “AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion / Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!”

Hopkins is simply unparalleled. 

[jellicoelodge]

Jellicoe Lodge Weekly Reading

Welcome to another weekly session of the Jellicoe Lodge! This week we step back into a very short but very profound poetry selection—Gerard Manley Hopkins’ ”The Windhover,” suggested by @fictionadventurer and available online here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44402/the-windhover . This is part of a poetry double feature of Hopkins’ work, which we will continue next week with a longer poetic work by this compelling poet.

As always, the tag remains “#jellicoe-lodge“ and the inbox remains open for further reading suggestions! We look forward to the various thoughts, exclamations, comparisons, and quotes for our beloved Lodge members as we dive into this week’s reading!

[isfjmel-phleg]

fictionadventurer replied to your post: Leave It to Psmith, Chapter Six, Part Five

I’m kind of in awe at how easily this absurd situation comes together. It doesn’t even require any plotting on Psmith’s part. It’s just Psmith being Psmith and Emsworth being Emsworth. I’m getting a new appreciation of Wodehouse’s character and plotting skills.   

And you mention that this book, unlike the other ones, is aimed at a more romance-inclined demographic. Do you know why that is? Did the series gain an unexpected female fandom? Or is it more because of the time/place of initial publication?  

The first three Psmith books were written for The Captain, whose audience was primarily British schoolboys, who liked their literature exciting and full of cricket if at all possible. However, judging from editorials, fan contributions, and answers to letters, its readership also included girls and adults. Evidently Psmith has always had a female fanbase. Teenage girls were writing to The Captain with Psmith-inspired poetry and anecdotes of how they got their female friends into the stories too. At least one correspondent told of his mother’s enjoyment of Psmith, and a reply to a letter in one issue tantalizingly tells a female reader that "A letter from Mr. R. Psmith awaits you at this office.”

But Leave It to Psmith was written for a completely different audience. Not only was it serialized in America but it appeared in the Saturday Evening Post, a magazine whose literary output was aimed at adults. Wodehouse’s previous (and successful) serials in this publication had been Something New (1915), Uneasy Money (1915-16), Piccadilly Jim (1916), and A Damsel in Distress (1919), all of which were romances with prominent, strongly characterized female leads. A few Jeeves stories had appeared too, which aren’t romances, but typically feature trying to get a couple together or get rid of an unwanted admirer. It would have been an expectation of this readership, who were less interested in cricket and schoolboy hijinks and included a wider demographic of age and gender.

And of course the English readership got a serialization of the novel too, shortly afterward, with a lot of Americanisms altered--probably many of these readers had read the earlier stories in their youth and could now engage with a Psmith who, like them, now has more grown-up concerns.

But I think the female fandom had something to do with it too. After all, Leonora Wodehouse apparently enjoyed Psmith so much she (in her late teens at the time) convinced her father to continue the series--which I would consider the greatest influence a fan has ever had on these books.

[why-bless-your-heart]

fictionadventurer replied to your post: I’m trying to teach myself to play spoons and...

This is poetry.

Oh you thought I was unarmed? You thought I was excluded from your jam session because I can't play guitar? Because you don't have a piano? Well you were WRONG wherever there is a kitchen I can play and wherever there is a beat I can improvise I AM INEVITABLE *clickity-clack noises intensify*

[writerly-ramblings]

Tagged by @lillymartian thank you!

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five things you can find on my blog:

Flowers

Quotes and snippets of poetry

Art (often bookish or floral)

Books I’m reading

Occasional rants about how important it is to always carry a notebook with you

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five things I’ve always wanted to do:

Buy edible flowers in a Parisian market

Live by the sea

Learn more languages

Read War and Peace

See Lorde live (using “always” loosely)

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five things that make me happy:

Cooking

Long walks

Good Mexican food

Buying flowers

Drinking something warm and watching the rain

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five things you can find in my room:

Books (so many)

Empty space I’ve cleared for a chair

Four blankets

Laundry waiting to be folded

Seashells and sea-glass

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five things on my to-do list:

Application stuff

Finish Feel Free

Revise and submit a story I’m working on

Make dinner reservations for Saturday

Summer plans? (tied to application stuff)

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five things you may not know about me:

I love good pasta and can make it by hand

Mulan is my favorite movie

I really like being read aloud to

Blackberries are my favorite type of berry

Mojitos and Pimm’s Cups are my favorite alcoholic drinks, homemade lemonade and hot chocolate are my favorite non-alcoholic ones

Tagging: @overdressedcarp @strikingneil @scarvenartist @soldier-poet-king @fictionadventurer and anyone else who wants to (no pressure)

[fictionadventurer]

Cinderella Debates

I have so many things to do at home. The washing The baking The scrubbing The ironing They don’t stop for the ball The door of the chicken coop needs mending I could finally patch that curtain in the hall Or I could sleep In a bed perhaps With no one shouting Or wanting Or needing A thing

What would a ball give me? An evening in a dark and smoky room Filled with crowds of people I don’t know Who don’t want to know me? There’d be music, of course, Lovely things, no doubt, But when it’s over All I’d have is a memory And come home to a house Filled with just as much work With a body too tired To get it all done

But would the memory be enough To keep my spirit alive Through the drudgery ahead?

Do I have strength enough to seize joy?

[fictionadventurer]

After

Someone had to remove the crown of thorns With its hundred spikes shoved deep into his head Like all head wounds They had bled And bled And bled Until He had no more to give

Blood would have dried, crusted, congealed Around every wicked spine Someone had to pry each one loose Gently withdraw it from the tender (Lifeless) (Precious) Flesh

It would have been a Woman’s office A Mother’s A Queen’s To uncrown her kingly, wounded son If she could have borne it (How could she have borne it?) When all her strength and life had drained away

Unthinkable pain An unthinkable task Undertaken because of my sin

Lord, have mercy on me Lord, have mercy on me Lord, have mercy on me

[fictionadventurer]

children play to learn their new world's ways to practice how to live when they're grown

lord may my life be play that prepares me to live by your throne

[fictionadventurer]

holy laughter

sunlight dances through the trees – like holy laughter flowers bursting into bloom – out of saintly mirth a world that knows the secret – the great divine jest even if we can’t see it – love’s already won

[fictionadventurer]

May

The sky's ablaze with a brilliant blue The hills are clothed in an emerald hue The dandelions are yellow-bright And all's awash with liquid light

No sign of winter's cold and strife The world is warm and full of life I race barefoot outside to play And shout for joy: At last! It's May!

[fictionadventurer]

The Word's First Prayer

I thank you, Father, for these eyes That let me see the starry skies I thank you for my ears and nose For all this body: head to toes

I thank you for my mother's arms That keep me warm and safe from harm She swaddles me and gives me food With love that's pure and wholly good

I thank you for my father's love So like that which We shared above With him, the helpless need not fear I know I'm safe when he is near I thank you for this manger's hay That makes a bed where I can lay For all these soft and swaddling clothes That keep me warm in my repose

Thanks for these shepherds, men of earth Who come to celebrate my birth And all their soft and woolly sheep And for the angels that sing me to sleep

[fictionadventurer]

Beauty and the Beast for the WIP game?

My only real attempt at writing poetry before this year happened during a stretch when I tried to write a Beauty and the Beast retelling in verse. I got about two-thirds of the way through before it fizzled out and languished forever unfinished.

When it comes to my recent novel-in-verse obsession, the simplest option would be to take another look at this work and try to finish it. There's a lot of terrible poetry in there, but there are some that are somewhat better than I remember. I can't claim to be a judge of what's good poetry, but some of these are readable, so I'll share some of them here.

The first set of semi-readable poems covers the first meetings between Beauty and the Beast. (These are all numbered, and I'm leaving the numbers in place to better differentiate between separate poems. I think the speaker in most of these is fairly clear from context, but just in case, I'll put the speaker's name in the title, too.)

VI. beauty and beast

he is every nightmare i’ve ever forgotten he is thunder and darkness and death he is fear with fangs he is beastly

she is every dream i’ve never dared for she is roses and sunlight and life she is hope with jewels she is beauty

*

VIII. beauty

the chair creaks when he sits

my knees quake when he speaks

the master laughs when i ask

when i will die

my ears doubt when i hear

my mind reels when i realize

the master wonders when i began

to think he’d kill me

IX. beast

the rules are these you are mistress of this castle the servants will obey your every whim the rooms and all within are yours including me

you will dine with me at dusk we will not speak if you want silence you will look at me and try not to scream

i will not harm a hair of your head i will not cause a moment’s worry you will do whatever you wish except leave

X. beauty

his mercy shatters my world makes it bigger and at the same time smaller

how can i live in a monster’s cage

my life will be long and lonely with him my friend and at the same time jailer

how can i look at a monster’s face

the castle teems with wonders that all belong to him and at the same time me

what do i do with a monster’s love

*

The next set of poems I feel like sharing starts with Beauty finding a portrait in the castle, and then leads into her sharing a dance with Beast that makes her kind of freak out over the fact that she might be falling in love.

XXII. beast

today you found a painting in a long-forgotten room covered in cobwebs and shrouded in dust

there was a reason it was lost

the portrait showed a man with a face like the dawn and eyes like the sea you thought he looked kind

he was young and a fool

you may keep it if you wish or lock it back in darkness it matters not to me i used to see him daily

i doubt i’ll see his face again

*

XXIV. beauty (and beast)

if rooms have souls the ballroom is wise a radiant beauty long past her prime

she treasures the days when she lived and was loved she keeps them and counts them like pearls on a string

(she is not the only one, my dear)

long past midnight in moonlight and hush this sleepwalking girl can glimpse former days

a flash of a gown and a whisper of waltz what glorious balls must this room have beheld

(they were marvelous indeed, my friend)

it seems a shame she grows old alone with nothing but darkness and dust held within

i would dance for her return the spark of life if only we had music and i had a partner

(i will gladly dance with you, my love)

XXV. beast

my dear beauty don’t you know i learned dancing long ago

one step closer take my hand with a waltz you’ll understand

let the music guide your feet in a dance that’s slow and sweet

hand in hand and heart to heart it’s not love but it’s a start

XXVI. beauty

he is hulking beastly

i am small delicate

i should be stumbling crushed

but

we marvelously miraculously dance

and it feels like flying

XXVII. beauty (to the portrait)

man on the wall i may be mad but i must give voice to the storm in my heart and you are the only one near

the master puzzles me i know his home as well as my own but i know so little about him

(is he beast or man or nightmare or dream or captor or friend)

i saw his face and thought him a beast

(but he grows roses and reads poems and has never killed or even raised his voice)

i heard his voice and thought him a monster

(but he spared my life gave me his home and all he owned offered his heart and never once has been anything but gentle)

i watched him dance and thought him a man

(with grace like an angel or a prince and i think that maybe he was not always so lonely and that his heart aches for things lost)

what am i to think do say be feel about him now

and why do these questions always come at midnight

*

The final poem is one that I had completely forgotten about, so I was shocked to find it lurking in the latter sections of the document and showing signs of using some decent imagery. By polishing up the last couple of lines, I've got something that's not half bad as a standalone poem.

This one occurs during an extended period when Beauty is still trying to process her feelings toward Beast and figure out if this is really love or if her feelings are being warped by isolation and close proximity.

XXX. beauty

if this is love it is a dark and grasping love a child stumbling in the night crying for a candle flame and cherishing the smallest spark of light

if this is love it is a bleak and desolate love a skeleton tree in a barren desert windbeaten and scrubbed to bone and bursting into bloom at the first drop of rain

if this is love it is a smoke and mirrors love a sleight of hand or trick of light that takes my broken heart and fools me into thinking he can make it whole