#poem aside

[wyrmfedgrave]

Pics: Topographic poetry.

1. Another great bust of the Great Old Writer.

2. Another map of Lovecraft Country - this time, with pertinent remarks.

3. Howard's Mythos mixes together the mundane world with intrusions from the 'outside' - his more cosmic viewpoint.

4 thru 7. Various RPGs that further explore HPL's settings & tales.

Lovecraft thought that a story's back- ground was important in augmenting a weird story's atmosphere.

But, Howard sometimes took this to a further level, where the setting itself overpowered the plot!

Because of this, HPL's characters suffered more than just a horrific end - they were mostly non-existent in their own stories...

But, this might have been a strategic move on Lovecraft's part.

A way of further minimizing humanity before the ugly truths of Howard's cosmic view of existence.

Intro: HPL's topographical poetry occurs thruout his whole writing 'career.'

The 1st, "Quinsnicket Park," appeared in 1913. His last, "An Unspoiled Rural Prospect," is from 1931.

This kind of background info spanned the majority of Lovecraft's years as a poet & writer.

Yet, this kind of poetry is only briefly mentioned in S.T. Joshi's bio of & his encyclopedia on Howard.

Even though some of these poems have proven literary merit, they are usually neglected.

More studies are needed to account for Howard's themes. And, why some of these works failed - or, more rarely, succeeded...

This would help redress the lack of critical attention shown to HPL's poetry in general.

In his poetry, 1 can more easily trace the elements of Lovecraft's writing success, as he matured in the use of diction & technique.

Howard was enamoured of the heroic couplets of the 1700s & used them to excess.

But, HPL didn't seem to understand that poetic form's full abilities nor its true strengths.

Lovecraft's topographic 'poesy' forms only a small part out of his overall poetic works.

Yet, they demonstrate Howard's growth as a versatile writer.

Major among HPL's themes is the contrast of an idealized landscape to a more decadent 'now.'

Another major theme concerns the preservation of the past - opposed by its threatened destruction!

Then, there's the escape from reality - usually to an idealized past. This is related to the survival of the past into the 'present' day.

Another favorite theme of Lovecraft's is the idealization of a rustic present.

Finally, we begin to see Lovecraft add the Colonial past to his repertoire of themes.

All these poetic ideas share common ties that bind them together.

Some of these works fail for the same reason that most of Howard's poetry fails - the heavy mix of lifeless images & heroic couplets.

Most of HPL's early works show that little thought was given to the editing process.

Also, the use of abstract diction kills any freshness or vividness in the work.

Lovecraft's obvious racism occurs enough times that it mars whatever personal feeling he was reaching for.

Worse of all, Howard restricted him- self - for the most part - to using a rigid poetic rhythm & structure.

Just as bad, HPL's wooden diction arrests the flow of thought - breaking up a reader's attention.

Lovecraft's 'handicap' fails, in many cases, to alleviate the reader's growing boredom.

There's no sense of rhythmic progress - just a succession of stilted lines.

In some of Howard's 'poesy,' however, the heroic couplets lend a sense of stately cadence.

But, sadly, they usually form a long collection of dull statements.

Then, there's HPL's use of padding - which dilutes his works's immediacy. And, renders such pieces stale & life- less.

Of course, all is not doom & cosmic gloom.

Lovecraft does encode emotional images in some of his poetic works.

Howard learned how to strengthen our interest in most of his later poetry & stories.

Yet, HPL rarely adds moral or ethical 'lessons' in his works. So, most of his works lack any real justification or purpose, beyond its main point.

As his writing skills improved, Love- craft's use of alliteration & resonance (occuring at infrequent intervals) helped enliven interest in his weird plot lines.

Howard's topographic poems form both, a dream-like narrative & an examination of his feelings upon various subjects.

It was thru his efforts at poetry that HPL kept improving his skills - as he wasn't writing any stories at this time.

So, Lovecraft's diligence at poetic forms would ultimately help him become a true master of language, tone & diction.

And would help Howard with the creation of the literary genre that we all know & love - cosmic horror.

End.

[loregoddess]

fic writers are insane (compliment) bc that shit's hard

[sagessge]

A play pretend

Sense of duty demolishs who you were

I've seen it happen

It makes your mind weak

It makes you mad

Losing yourself is painful

Yet the world do not see the demise

If there were to be funerals for how many people had died inside

We wouldn't be able to keep the details

Yet people prefer the facade

For they can't handle the truth

People die knowing they haven't lived

Some wish for death

Its peace and stillness

Its safety

That's how poisonous the world has become

People wish death

I've seen them live,push through life

Not for themselves though,for others

Life has become not an act of living

But an act of acting

So many masks

So many facades

And when they see a real face

The envy enrages them

That's how the life stays

A play pretend

[pinetree-poet]

2024 NOVEMBER POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE: DY 17 ~ SHORT SLEEVE WEATHER

SHORT SLEEVE WEATHER © 2024 G. Smith (BMI) =================== Cold and gray and rainy, Ice forming in the ole downspout, I’m Jonesin’ in my bones ‘n’ I don’t know if I’ll hold out.

Addicted, afflicted, My will power’s caving, And if you know me like you say you do, You know what I’m craving.

I need to take the coat off, And get into short sleeve weather; Head for sun and fun, As long as we’re together. Winter’s barely started, And I’m already chilled to the bone; So come on with me to the sand and the sea, I don’t wanna go down there alone.

Let’s pack and hit the highway, Before the snow starts falling. Listen closely and I know you’ll hear, The same snowbird a-calling.

I need to take the coat off, And get into short sleeve weather; Head for sun and fun, As long as we’re together. Winter’s barely started, And I’m already chilled to the bone; So come on with me to the sand and the sea, I don’t wanna go down there alone, alone; I don’t wanna go down there alone, (But I will), I don’t wanna go down there alone.

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

hmm liu bang being a verified member of the baby-tosser's club is not as cut and dried as i thought, apparently it's only mentioned in xiang yu's biography but is omitted in his. that's a conflict of interest if i've ever seen it. that being said, u gotta admit nothing about han gaozu make this seem at all out of character for him.

[northern-passage]

i wrote a 500 word dynamic poem for neo-twiny jam :-)

i rewrote this in a few different ways with a handful of different drafts before settling on just doing a poem; this originally came from a full branching narrative i've had stewing for a while, and i might come back to it one day. but for now i enjoyed channeling that into this poem, which has also been very influenced by the fact that i've been writing hungry vampires for almost 2 months now.... it was also my first time messing with audio in twine, which ended up being way easier than i expected (i'm sure it helped that i only used one audio sample tho)

faith does contain sexual content, and while not super explicit, it is the main theme of the poem.

anyways hope you enjoy and check out the other entries here!

[cy-gogglin]

2024 NOVEMBER POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE: DAY 16

For today’s prompts:

From Poetic Asides:

take the phrase "Poem for (blank)," 

replace the blank with a new word or phrase, 

make the new phrase the title of your poem, 

and then, write your poem. 

Possible titles might include: 

"Poem for the Moon," 

"Poem for My Parents," 

"Poem for a Rainy Day," 

"Poem for Mike Tyson," 

and/or "Poem for Procrastinating on Folding the Laundry (Again)."

From Charlotte Rains Dixon:

"So what if I don't?"

And of course:

These prompts are springboards to creativity. 

Use them to expand your possibilities, not limit them.

𝖌

[twentyfunnybunnies]

My boy Fitz throws fits all the time

I also like to throw fitz

off cliffs

[vickyvicarious]

Have you read any of the books on the Pre-Dracula Vampire Literature Masterpost that you liked?

Yeah, I've read a bunch of them! And I'm gradually working my way through others that I can find, as well.

My personal favorite stories from this list would be Wake Not the Dead, Clarimonde, The Family of the Vourdalak, The Vampyre (Polidori), and Ligea. The Black Vampyre is a fun read too, though lots of it reminds me more of Varney the Vampyre (which I'm currently reading) in writing style, and thus feels less serious/creepy than the above ones.

As for poems, I quite like the second stanza of Der Vampir (Ossenfelder), and Lenore is great (and as a bonus Dracula quotes it so DD enjoyers will probably like that).

.

I just reblogged the second list as well, so I'll share my favorites of those too.

In terms of prose: Obviously Carmilla and The Horla, they're absolute classics for very good reason. I also really like Good Lady Ducayne, and enjoyed The Parasite. What Was It? is a short but kinda wild read, funny and sad at different points. The Castle of the Carpathians isn't really a vampire story in my mind but I do like it. Similarly, The Cold Embrace feels moreso like a ghost story than a vampire one, but I enjoyed it.

Poems: The Vampire (Baudelaire) The Vampyre (Meredith), The Vampire (Dahn)

[milfbrainrot]

if pinterest ever deletes my old account it's all over for me

[inertia-writes]

in another universe

I scroll past your pictures,

Replay all the tapes,

A montage runs in my head

Whenever I hear your name.

I wonder if you miss this life,

Or if you remember the joys.

I'm afraid I'm starting to forget

The sound of your voice.

Maybe in another universe,

You were someone I did not lose.

I assure myself that grief

Is just love that continues.

[coconut530]

Letting y’all know I’m still alive with the fancy thing I made to commemorate allontheboard’s poem at the O2 ritual last night :)))

[pinetree-poet]

2024 NOVEMBER POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE: DAY 11 ~ HOMING PIGEON INSTINCT

HOMING PIGEON INSTINCT © 2024 G. Smith (BMI) =================== I was a wandering child, In the neighborhood where I was raised. Crossing the street on my own, exploring, Back in my pre-teen days.

Taking a hike, riding my bike, Seeing what’s there to be seen. Knowing there was more to the world than my yard, Where I knew the grass was greener, Where I knew the grass was green.

It always seemed I could find my way back, No matter how far I’d roamed; I knew where to turn on a different tack, And found myself at home.

Dad said it was a simple thing, Not everyone understood, Some don’t need map to know where they are, And nobody’s lost for good, for good, Nobody’s lost for good.

Homing pigeon instinct, Somehow I just know, Even if I’m turned around, Which way I should go. It irritates my better half, Sometimes leading to a fight, When she says I should go left, And it turns out I was right.

There’s really no trick that I can share, And it works inside or out, Maybe it’s just paying attention, Maybe it’s having no doubt.

It might be as simple as knowing your true north, Or following a guiding star; Or simply paying attention to things, And knowing who and where you are, Knowing who you are.

[iphigeniacomplex]

you could make a riverdale out of this

[queeresthellhound]

My mother always loved Jesus more than she loved me

And my mother hears me say I was drafted into a holy war I never wanted to be in

Expected to ostracize myself with joy because if the other children hated me it’s because they were Satanic

And sees nothing wrong with it except that I defected.

And she reads the essay I wrote in the third grade before I even knew where babies came from

Saying that if I were president abortion would be illegal everywhere

Because I had been groomed to be a Christian Nationalist ready to ruin lives for the lord

And thinks not that it is horrific a child of not even 12 would write that but rather how horrific it is I do not believe it anymore.

My mother always loved Jesus more than she loved me

And if she was called to do as Abraham, and if I was called to become her Isaac she would have done it

And on the long walk home she would have told me that it was god’s will and that he had a plan that’s bigger than all of us

And at one time I would have believed everything she said on the long journey home, nodding my head silently

Because if she loved Jesus more than me, he must know something that I don’t.

And when my very life was saved by EMTs and doctors and nurses and so many others

Who worked their asses off to make sure my mother’s only begotten son would not be lost

My mother thought of a different only begotten son, the son of John 3:16

And when I survived she praised him for saving her wayward, rebellious child who had hardened his heart to her precious Jesus

Instead of the sinful humans who did all of the work.

And when I had finally gotten up the courage to sit on her bed, bawling my eyes out, a river spring up from the spot I occupied

Telling her that her darling Jesus made a mistake, that I was a mistake,

She decided that god had not made a mistake but that my sinful existence was a part of his holy plan

And then days later shoved me back in the closet with the force of a summer thunderstorm

Because the mouthpieces of Jesus decided that I could not decide for myself what a life of joy looked like

And after all she always loved Jesus more than me.

And my mother still thinks that I will come back to the flock

Despite the fact that I have a crisis every time I step in a church

Despite the fact I see myself as chewed gum, licked cupcakes, dirty duct tape for being alive

Despite the fact that at lectures which remind me of sermons I feel trapped behind a window in my brain

Despite the fact that her church would vote me out of existence tomorrow if given the choice

Despite the fact that her church friend’s “love” for me is predicated on me coming back to their cult

Because my mother has always loved her abusive, manipulative, absentee, deadbeat son Jesus more than the son standing right in front of her

Because Jesus can be anyone and anything she needs him to be

And I can only ever be a goat standing in a flock of sheep, hoping no one ever looks close enough to notice the differences.

[gtunesmiff]

2024 APRIL POEM-A-DAY CHALLENGE: DAY 22 ~ SIMPLY WHERE WE ARE

SIMPLY WHERE WE ARE ©2024 G. Smith (BMI) ================== Underneath the pavement, Underneath the steel, Underneath the ever-present, Ever-turning wheels.

Underneath the plastic, Underneath the fumes, Underneath the ever-present, Everlasting gloom and doom.

Underneath the concrete, Underneath the grass, Underneath the gravel, And the artificial grass.

Underneath the heavens, Underneath the stars, Underneath the sun and moon, Is simply where we are. Underneath the sun and moon, Is simply where we are.