#pattern poetry

[artemisandhersilverbow]

I was actually speechless when my CD showed up today and "But Daddy I Love Him" lyrics stopped me in my tracks. CONCRETE POETRY??

Pattern poetry is probably the more accurate categorization for this ex., but I immediately thought the lyrics echo the shape of one of the most famous examples, "Easter Wings" by George Herbert.

I know the variants have different shapes for the lyrics (circle, square, octagon). But any googling of Concrete Poetry or pattern poetry will inevitably lead you back to the OG George Herbert (or like... ancient Greece, but ignore that for now). I also saw someone on Twitter say that the variants could even symbolize the many interpretations (and no true muse) of this song.

Below is a brief breakdown of "Easter Wings".

On its base level, in "Easter Wings" the speaker meditates on one's relationship to God. I have been thinking, prior to this booklet showing up at my house, that the "him" in BDILH could potentially be God. Or at least one interpretation of it could be. Sunday best, pearl clutching was an early tip off.

Anyway, pattern poetry is more than just shaping a poem into a fun shape or even an obvious shape. The physical shape and visual appearance of how the poem is printed works in combination with the themes and content of the poem to amplify the meaning. It adds another level (a third level?) where the poetry has to be seen to be fully understood. Also because you need to see the poem, authors use its shape to manipulate words, phrases, meanings. Essentially, if you heard the poem it would sound one way, but reading it will reveal the authors true meaning. Dear reader, indeed.

This is an oversimplification, but in "Easter Wings" the wider lines are, to borrow a phrase from "Robin," lighter. The narrowing signifying this turn to despair, pain, disconnect from God. Similarly BDILH lyrics narrow at the most biting part of the song and give way to that incredible running through field energy we end on.

And not for nothing, but the only way I would find the joke of "I'm having his baby, no I'm not," would be if she was talking about God. Lol iykyk.

Anyway, Herbert has another very famous poem. One taught to me in middle or high school - maybe you've seen it before too. It's called "The Altar". The first illustration is harder to read and a little more obvious, the second is how I've seen it reproduced more commonly (still the shape of an altar).

And naturally, the word altar made me think of another song from TTPD... So Long, London.

This woman terrifies me...

Anyway, Taylor wants you to put her reading glasses on! Album booklets, lyric videos, the choice is yours! As I always find with her booklets, she fully embraces writing out her lyrics as poetry. You'll notice a lot of changes from the Genius versions, for ex. Album booklet's punctuation, line breaks, new sentences, etc. have changed the entire "meaning" of lines/songs for me. Usually, whatever reframing I find is richer than what I had accepted on the first listen.

I've also noticed how simple the lyric videos for TTPD are in comparison to previous albums, but she's (ok her digital media team who I would not doubt are under STRICT instruction) playing with text quite a bit. Like Herbert above we have many instances of spacing, CAPS, vs lowercase, even collage like effects that completely reorder the lyrics, perhaps even the meaning.

[frosted-woods]

autumn time to be gay and totally fine and not miserable at all

[trashraccoongirl]

[adventuresofalgy]

It had been a cold and frosty night, with a clear sky illuminated by a glowing golden half moon and a liberal scattering of stars and dazzling planets, and when Algy woke up in the morning he found that everything was frozen once again.

Fluttering over to the wee pond, where only a week or so ago he had dipped his toes in the water when he had perched on the mossy stones to gaze into its depths, he found that he could now perch right in the centre, but he could no longer look below the surface as it was covered in obscuring patterns of ice.

But the air was sweet, and the sun was climbing up above the trees, so that soon the area would be flooded with the light which was beginning to make the frost sparkle at the pond's edges. It was going to be another beautiful day, and as he rested on the slippery surface, ignoring the chill in his tail feathers for a few moments, a great tit started singing its repetitive spring song in a nearby bush, and Algy suddenly rememberd a lyrical poem that he had read some time ago:

Pray to what earth does this sweet cold belong, Which asks no duties and no conscience? The moon goes up by leaps, her cheerful path In some far summer stratum of the sky, While stars with their cold shine bedot her way. The fields gleam mildly back upon the sky, And far and near upon the leafless shrubs The snow dust still emits a silver light. Under the hedge, where drift banks are their screen, The titmice now pursue their downy dreams, As often in the sweltering summer nights The bee doth drop asleep in the flower cup, When evening overtakes him with his load. By the brooksides, in the still, genial night, The more adventurous wanderer may hear The crystals shoot and form, and winter slow Increase his rule by gentlest summer means.

[Algy is thinking of the poem Pray to What Earth Does This Sweet Cold Belong by the 19th century American writer and naturalist Henry Thoreau.]

[garadinervi]

Neide Dias de Sá, Untitled, (ink, letraset and cutting on paper; diptych), 1960s [Galeria Superfície, São Paulo. Poema Processo arquivo. © Neide Dias de Sá]

[burtonsdoodles]

EMPTY WALLS & SILENT HALLS…

Sometimes you find yourself back where once you frequented. Staring anew a view you’ve seen a hundred times before. There’s a silence amongst the noise. A ringing in the ear. The mind wanders. Wonders with distant eyes. Moments of the past are seen once more from times sat amongst those walls. Forgotten whispers reverberating the halls. Conversations caught. Trapped within the membrane. Revealing themselves once more. Years have passed. Yet there you stay. Sat silent amongst those empty walls…

[authenticity2025]

when i think back on my life when i was just a small, fragile child i wonder in what part did i change? my thought patterns? how did i think? i remember her but she has no idea who i am but we are somehow.. one?

[theartoffresco]

[a-pattern-a-day]

Where do I belong when my own mind no longer feels like home?

[my-unsent-thoughts]

He texted you first. He replied quickly. He flirted. He called you. He got you attached. Then, out of nowhere, he barely responds. His replies slow down. He starts acting distant. The flirting stops. He cuts you off. He leaves… Almost every woman has been through this, and it’s hard to face.

src : thread

[youngster-monster]

You're gonna carry that weight

Cowboy Bebop | All These Things That I've Done, The Killers | On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong | Mattress Performance (Carry That Weight), Emma Sulkowicz | You're So Cool, Nicole Dollanganger | Every Day I Am Trying New Techniques To Make Myself Disappear, E.E Scott | Papyrus of Ani | Impossible Weight, Deep Sea Diver | The Gang Carries a Corpse Up a Mountain, It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia | an old poem about reflections, Grendel Menz | @jb-blunk | @intactics | The Glass Essay, Anne Carson (thank you @grapecaseschoices )| Henry V, Kenneth Branagh | I, Carrion (Icarian), Hozier | Carrying the Skeleton, Marina Abramović | Atlas, Serhii Hetmanchuk | Dark Knight questline, Final Fantasy XIV

(image descriptions in alt)

[rini-descartes]

"We are drawn to the familiar, even if it's painful because its what we know."

— Brene Brown

[lokilysolbitch]

DO WHAT YOU CAN AND DONT BE A DICK ON THE INTERNET

i was writing a post about how it's unhelpful to shame average people for not meeting your standards of activism and calling them evil and things like that bc shame is not a reliable motivator and you don't know these people blah blah blah. and then i ended up writing this so here u go:

like. let's imagine you're an average guy. you work a job under a shitty manager and you still can't pay rent and afford groceries at the same time. you have untreated physical and mental illness and/or trauma. you don't have energy to cook a full meal. one of the microwave foods you like is being recalled. lead or e. coli or something. you can't remember when you last had water. you are too tired to clean the mold and algae off the corners of your brita. and who knows what is in the tap water.

a new episode of your favorite show just came out. you post about it. someone comments or makes a video about you and several others who are not posting about [serious issue]. saying you are heartless and inhuman. and you've heard about [serious issue] on a site or from someone who is supposed to be the most trustworthy on this topic. this random person on the internet is telling you things that don't match up to that. they're telling you that you should've had researched more. that not knowing enough is not an excuse. there is mold in your brita filter.

the video about you has thousands of comments. they're saying they think you should know what it's like to experience [serious issue]. then maybe you would take it seriously. you have the privilege to post about your favorite show. you are being lazy. these people are like piranhas. your dinner has e. coli or something. you have to clean your brita.

you want to research [serious issue]. you care about people. you started to but you are hearing different stories. one of your sources is from the same internet the random person came from. you thought you weren't supposed to trust the internet? another source can't even stand up against itself. that one is supposed to be trustworthy.

you see someone getting torn apart for posting misinformation. comments say they should have done their research. these people are like piranhas.

now you're seeing it. raw footage. you need a break and your notifications are flooded. why haven't you posted about this yet??? it's the least you could do. are you lazy??? don't you care??? these people are like piranhas. you still need to clean the brita.

no more internet. you need to clean the brita. sponge, soap. tap water. thin green and black streaks coming off the corners of the pitcher. all done. well now the sponge has mold on it. new sponge. your brita filter is getting old. new filter. do you even deserve a new filter? do you deserve fresh water? whatever, just refill it. tap water. waiting. tap water. waiting. tap water, fridge. check your phone.

brita filters are getting recalled.

lead or e. coli or something.

[hedghost]

okay guys i wasn’t joking when i said i had the urge to write a poem - i call this one…

an ode to fa player

the weeks drag on, an endless stream

of days which just all seem the same

but then it comes, a shining beam:

the search bar where i type your name

you’re slow to load, my laptop groans

log in, breathe out,

oh wait,

you froze

log in again,

this time,

please work,

third time lucky,

this is beserk

but now the sound won’t fucking work

i press refresh, you glitch and jerk

i’m slamming my head against my desk

a loyal fan’s most gruelling test

your blue screen taunts me time again

i’ll just give up, i think,

but then!

finally, you’re sailing true

the screen no longer buffers blue

the picture? grainy

the commentary? shit

but, with the game, i don’t mind one bit

and yet you’re never quite on track

the buffering starts, the glitch is back

refresh, log in, okay, on a roll!

except now i’ve missed

a fucking goal

this is the wsl lament

the endless reams of time misspent

staring at your log in page

my watching interspersed with rage

you buffered then, you buffer still

braved only by the strong of will

your loading screen, abhorred by all,

was football’s greatest obstacle

and yet i’ll miss your shitty site

fa player,

my friend,

goodnight

[adventuresofalgy]

The bright, cold, frosty weather, which in most years visited the wild west Highlands of Scotland for a short period in February, continued to render Algy's home environment a great deal less wild than usual. But it was also very chilly, and Algy found that despite the increased light, the crocuses in his assistants' garden were feeling reluctant to open their jewel-like flowers.

Resting briefly on the frosty grass, Algy tried to coax them a wee bit, but despite his flattery the lovely "stars of earth" remained firmly closed for the time being, complaining that it was altogether too cold for flowering just now:

Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above; But not less in the bright flowerets under us Stands the revelation of his love. Bright and glorious is that revelation, Written all over this great world of ours; Making evident our own creation, In these stars of earth, these golden flowers.

[Algy is reciting the first four verses of the long religious poem Flowers by the 19th century American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.]

[garadinervi]

Neide Dias de Sá, Untitled, (ink and letraset on vegetal paper), 1967 [Galeria Superfície, São Paulo. © Neide Dias de Sá]