#improvised poem

[bookmothic-dyke]

Beware she who lies in silt and sorrow,

if you wish to see tomorrow.

Her song is saccharine and her blade is keen.

Halfborn daughter of the violet queen.

Dark wings flutter, like tar and slick oil.

All who are clever, shall bare her toil.

She whittles and waits, watching over the ember.

The last cinder of a lover, the world no longer remembers.

First to war, first to die.

Now forevermore alone she will lie.

For now cries a mother, without her hearth.

Beware my children, The Widow.

She will tear you apart.

[dragons-for-the-win]

Rain, night, silence

That's all I need...

That's not true,

I'm missing you

I never thought I'd say this

but lately it has been you

Everything I do, everywhere I go

I keep wishing to be there with you

Holding your hand

hugging you tight...

I never want to let go

Because I am tired of all

the "see you tomorrow"s

when you are the one I want

to see when I get back home

Even when I want to be alone

I would rather be with you

Staying in silence no words

but still together whatsoever

Being with you makes everything

much better, much brighter

you make me shine like the sun

and I wont ever stop the light

Rain, night, silence

That's all I ever wanted

but now I want you more

than all I have ever desired

[flowerboypoet]

i feel sick to my stomach

physically ill

for the way that you’re not there

but i feel you still

[grasslandgirl]

quetiapine, pristiq.

latuda, allegra.

kickin' it-

kickin' it at the pharmacy.

takin' it back.

all- all- all- all-

all right.

feeling like I'm on campus

little, little girl

growin' up, takin' pills,

feelin' chills.

what, what?

don't ever go down,

always twist around.

never stop blowing up.

[jackshields]

empty

all that i do feels empty, shallow, without any meaning; that is, when i do something, since recently i've been feeling like nothing. i don't know how to explain this, how to describe this using only words, but if you've been there, or are there now, you know exactly what i'm talking about. i write this having sort of given up; i say "sort of" because i still believe, but my beliefs are fading. and they will either recover, and i'll be able to be something, or they'll end up completely gone, 6 feet deep on the ground. it kind of feels weird, I have this story i'd like to complete, but no matter what, whatever i do just feels wrong, bad, horrible, not enough. yet, when writing here, it all flows down like a river on the countryside. wonder why it's like that. but coming back to the main subject, i feel empty. i am empty, without any meaning in my life, with hopes and dreams, but without achieving them. i'm empty, my mind is empty, my will is empty, and soon, all i'll be is nothing, like i've always been.

[safiresyrup]

History

you haunt every memory

you haunt all of my thoughts

you tear each and every page of our story

and leave me in the dark

-s's.

[wonder-worker]

Margaret of Anjou’s visit to Coventry [in 1456], which was part of her dower and that of her son, Edward of Lancaster, was much more elaborate. It essentially reasserted Lancastrian power. The presence of Henry and the infant Edward was recognised in the pageantry. The ceremonial route between the Bablake gate and the commercial centre was short, skirting the area controlled by the cathedral priory, but it made up for its brevity with no fewer than fourteen pageants. Since Coventry had an established cycle of mystery plays, there were presumably enough local resources and experience to mount an impressive display; but one John Wetherby was summoned from Leicester to compose verses and stage the scenes. As at Margaret’s coronation the iconography was elaborate, though it built upon earlier developments.

Starting at Bablake gate, next to the Trinity Guild church of St. Michael, Bablake, the party was welcomed with a Tree of Jesse, set up on the gate itself, with the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah explaining the symbolism. Outside St. Michael’s church the party was greeted by Edward the Confessor and St. John the Evangelist; and proceeding to Smithford Street, they found on the conduit the four Cardinal Virtues—Righteousness (Justice?), Prudence, Temperance, and Fortitude. In Cross Cheaping wine flowed freely, as in London, and angels stood on the cross, censing Margaret as she passed. Beyond the cross was pitched a series of pageants, each displaying one of the Nine Worthies, who offered to serve Margaret. Finally, the queen was shown a pageant of her patron saint, Margaret, slaying the dragon [which 'turned out to be strictly an intercessor on the queen's behalf', as Helen Maurer points out].

The meanings here are complex and have been variously interpreted. An initial reading of the programme found a message of messianic kingship: the Jesse tree equating royal genealogy with that of Christ had been used at the welcome for Henry VI on his return from Paris in 1432. A more recent, feminist view is that the symbolism is essentially Marian, and to be associated with Margaret both as queen and mother of the heir rather than Henry himself. The theme is shared sovereignty, with Margaret equal to her husband and son. Ideal kingship was symbolised by the presence of Edward the Confessor, but Margaret was the person to whom the speeches were specifically addressed and she, not Henry, was seen as the saviour of the house of Lancaster. This reading tips the balance too far the other way: the tableau of Edward the Confessor and St. John was a direct reference to the legend of the Ring and the Pilgrim, one of Henry III’s favourite stories, which was illustrated in Westminster Abbey, several of his houses, and in manuscript. It symbolised royal largesse, and its message at Coventry would certainly have encompassed the reigning king. Again, the presence of allegorical figures, first used for Henry, seems to acknowledge his presence. Yet, while the message of the Coventry pageants was directed at contemporary events it emphasised Margaret’s motherhood and duties as queen; and it was expressed as a traditional spiritual journey from the Old Testament, via the incarnation represented by the cross, to the final triumph over evil, with the help of the Virgin, allegory, and the Worthies. The only true thematic innovation was the commentary by the prophets.

[...] The messages of the pageants firmly reminded the royal women of their place as mothers and mediators, honoured but subordinate. Yet, if passive, these young women were not without significance. It is clear from the pageantry of 1392 and 1426 in London and 1456 in Coventry that when a crisis needed to be resolved, the queen (or regent’s wife) was accorded extra recognition. Her duty as mediator—or the good aspect of a misdirected man—suddenly became more than a pious wish. At Coventry, Margaret of Anjou was even presented as the rock upon which the monarchy rested. [However,] a crisis had to be sensed in order to provoke such emphasis [...]."

-Nicola Coldstream, "Roles of Women in Late Medieval Civic Pageantry", Reassessing the Roles of Women as 'Makers' of Medieval Art and Culture

[eff-plays]

Hira heals Astarion with a poem and he's like "what the fuck, cringe lol" and then weeks later he asks them about it all pretend casual but actually wanting to hear it again and they're like "lmao sorry I improvised it on the spot and totally forgot what it was" and he's like ... ouch. Ouchies actually. That shit hurted.

[persy-r-bozo]

A unicorn walks among a waters Bank, her coat is pure white and her mane is curled like clouds have fallen upon her head. Her tail long with tufts of the same cloudy hair on its End.

Her body shimmers in the moonlight, her eyes capture the stars perfectly and her eyelashes flutter as junebugs rest. Dispite this lovely scene she feels empty for this moon light and fog upon clear water is not what she wants.

She waits till day, she wonders among a rainy morning though old pine trees. Sun's rays glareing though ever so slightly. Till she finds her favorite spot.

A clearing where the trees circle, and the rain pours down on the ground. Creating mud.

She runs toward it with no hesitation in her body. She rolls and prances though the dirt and mud. As the sun reflects of her sapphire eyes.

Many would say she ruined her coat.

That a unicorn shouldn't have done such a wild thing.

But to her it was Pure Bliss.

[bunnycomix]

bunnycomix #11: pilgrimage

SOMETIMES YOU SLIP OUT OF YOUR SKIN SOMETIMES THIS LETS SOMETHING IN AN OLD GOD DRENCHED IN SIN WAITS FOR A NEW LIFE TO BEGIN

IT STEPS BETWEEN YOUR DREAMS GENTLY UNRAVELLING AT THE SEAMS ITS VOICE ECHOES UNSUNG SCREAMS YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS

THERE IS A PLACE WITHIN AND WITHOUT STANDING ON THE EDGE OF DOUBT WHERE YOU CANNOT SPEAK CANNOT SHOUT AS SOMETHING TURNS YOU INSIDE-OUT

[bookmothic-dyke]

I have a single yearning,

that keeps me ever forth.

That when I am finished learning,

I will venture onward north.

Hop upon the rails,

and venture to the woods.

To travel onward all my own.

to prove to me I could.

To be free from my aching binds,

of plans and kin and known.

So a journey I will take.

to see sights all my own.

Mayhaps I will return,

to the golden land of birth.

Or I will stay among,

the misty western earth.

[dragons-for-the-win]

My handsome boy

Sometimes I just sit, and stare

because there's nothing else

but to be amazed by his gaze

and let my mind wander till the end

His eyes, brown as a tree's trunk

by them i could get drunk,

as they are the prettiest ones i've seen

and will never be forgotten

His messy hair, black and straight

soft touch, in my hands tangled

bounce around when he runs

like he was one of those fauns

His smile, hidden by his shyness

hides stories that have never been told

but also stories that have never been

wanted to be heard, truly and sadly

The way his face lits up at my sight

is a feeling i will never disregard,

its one of those acts that might

but will never be ignored

His face... his whole damn look

that i wont keep my eyes off

he is the most gorgeous angel

that has ever fallen from heaven

He is stunning like the night sky,

pretty like the sunset in summer,

handsome like a field if flowers,

beautiful like a secret waterfall.

He is that and so much more

as in my eyes there's no boy alike.

since the moment i met him

he stood out from the crowd

and now hes mine,

so please, shine

[sallysavestheworld]

I feel alien. Foreign.

Going through metamorphosis.

Ripping through skin

And tearing through emotions

Shedding all that was new

Now old; shedding all that once was

Now nothing; rather, it’s uncomfortable.

Like wearing your mother’s lipstick

And wearing shoes that don’t quite fit

Fulfilling expectations- hollow.

I have become strange.

I’m becoming something new.

All this time, I thought I was perfect.

Who can call the butterfly beautiful?

Not the caterpillar. He only knows

Slugging and slithering. Emerald green

Plants, chewed and eaten.

His life is perfect. Yet change still comes.

Who says the butterfly is what the caterpillar looks forward to? The caterpillar is he;

The butterfly is she.

When one becomes the other

Do they stay the same?

Damn. I’m changing.

[flowtus143]

No Luck Duck

There was a duck

His name was Puck

He has no luck

But he didn’t give a…crap

[jackshields]

living

living is quite a funny experience, isn't it? we can't even choose if we'd like to or not, and when it crumbles down, all we'd like to do is rot. living has been quite hard for me, i have no idea what i'm gonna be. i have plans i wish would come true, yet i always fail to get them through. mornings are usually the worst, but the rest of the day isn't that great either, as i wonder what is it i'm supposed to do, but i always stay with none or neither. i live with no future ahead of me, but only the agonizing present i shall be stuck in, and if there isn't anything i can do about that, then that's an issue i'll only try to fix, yet fail again. i don't think i'll ever find a way of turning my life around, i have no idea what to talk about, but somehow, i know, that maybe, just maybe, i can work this out.

[safiresyrup]

if my thoughts had hands they would strangle me,

Tightly, entangling, but not before they reach for you and you would be the first thing they’d hold onto

-s’s.