#poem is all over the place

[dove-chan32931]

*Rainy Days With You*

Dreary, dull, bleak

I imagined they would be vibrant with you.

But instead I was disappointed.

I thought that we would remain forever.

But I'm no fortune teller.

So instead, as it rains, I imagine what could have been.

I remember the good times.

The memories.

The promises.

Our plans.

The love we had for one another.

My mind is pure static as it scrambles to envision you.

But you're gone.

Your face is blank.

How could I have forgotten so easily?

Did I ever love you?

Did I ever mean the words I spoke to you?

I erased all memories of you from my mind.

How could I forget?

The pain was unbearable,

As the rain dripped against the window.

To forget was easier.

To remember was painful.

My feelings were all over the place for you, similar to how this poem is.

Moments I loved you.

Moments I resented you.

Moments I never cared for you.

Moments that you were just a stranger to me before I met you.

Not the person I loved.

Is this poem even for the person I envisioned?

Or is it for you?

The woman I loved?

The man I loved?

Who is it for?

Is this poem meant for you both, to hear, to read?

I wish I could go back.

To show you my true feelings.

To choose the correct option.

The rain drops slide down this bleak window.

The drops race one another.

Just like how my feelings raced for you both.

One would be ahead of the other, until the other caught up and overcame it.

They would continue in this endless race, until they merged into one rain drop together.

A raindrop was just a metaphor for my tangle of feelings.

You loved the rainy weather.

You loved the rainy weather as well.

Rainy days with you.

I imagine them all the time.

Staring out the window, while in your arms.

While cuddled under the blankets.

I started this poem for you, yet I think of you both.

The both of you had a hold on my heart.

But you had a tighter hold.

The late night talks,

While the other slept.

I could never replace them.

The whispering of sweet words we shared while the other cried for the attention I always gave them.

I could never replace it either.

I was divided.

And would always be.

Or so I thought.

To you both, I don't love you equally.

I stopped loving one.

I continue loving one.

Who would it be?

The one who returned my feelings?

Or the one who never would?

I started this poem for you.

I continued it for the both of you.

Yet I finished it for me.

The sun would soon come out.

To take away these dreary, bleak, dull rainy days from me.

[isabellaofparma]

cold case rewatch (16/∞)

I came up from the dark without you and every day has been in shadow. I have begged the tide to wash away my sin and take me to you in the dark but every day I surface again.

2.22 - 'Best Friends'

[setevulpo]

feeling very green and yellow light in this dungeon tonight

angústia, florbela espanca (translated by me)

interview with the vampire, s02e05: "don't be afraid, just start the tape"

i lock you in an american sonnet that is part prison, terrance hayes

island of the sequined love nun, christopher moore

beautiful short loser, ocean vuong

kinnporsche, s01e11

red doc>, anne carson

[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

[herheartdisplayed]

He felt glorious, he grabbed my hand

Showed me lies I couldn’t understand

I fed him time wanting to become something

Empty pride, in return for nothing

He fed me lies, so I gave him fear

I gave him time, so he gave me tears

So much lost time wanting to become something

Empty pride, in return for nothing

[nowandthane]

for poem asks: 1) three snipers and a shotgun/building a home together, 2) mars and kaidan/kaidan falling in love w mars 3) sarani/self-forgiveness

thank you for the ask!!!! i got similar prompts for the first two so i'll tag you in those when i do them :3 this is for sarani/self-forgiveness

send me prompts and i might write a poem <3

[nenyabusiness]

"I am Nothing; You are Everything" by @youwearfinethingswellwriter

Just the finale at this point. I might do the whole thing, but no promises. I love this poem so much, and to me, it's always been music. All I did was find the right chords. (And do a duet with myself, which was... something. I need a soprano.)

How certain are you? Can you be? Trust you in fate to let it go? You cannot know you will be free, Until indeed you’ve stabbed your foe. It will feel good, as those things should. It will feel right, a righteous blow. It will feel sweet, I know it will- What are you- Stop! Let my wrist go. No comfort will you find in there, For vengeance I know well, you see, I warn you now, it’s only fair, To kill him will not set you free. You cannot know, now cease your clasp. You do not even know this foe! You hurt me, please release your grasp. Please stop it, Halbrand. Let me go. I’m nothing if without your light, Now bind to me, it is a sign. Galadriel, you are so right. Galadriel, now you’ll be mine.

Seriously, check the full poem out on AO3 or tumblr. It's a gorgeous dialogue that tells the story of Halbrand/Sauron and Galadriel in iambic tetrameter. Insane.

[sadghostgirl14]

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

My feelings about the Timothee Chalamet poem...

So, Josh Brolin (one of the actors starring in Dune) known for playing the Warmaster Gurney Halleck— wrote a poem that is about another one of his costars, Timothee Chalamet.

...And it has kind of been going viral on the internet...for multiple reasons.

For context, here's the infamous poem:

My take personally, is that people are taking this poem way too seriously. I think we as a society see any type of romanticism or affectionate descriptors as something inherently sexual, especially when said sentiments are being exchanged between two males. Is the poem somewhat romantic and full of flowery prose? Yes. Yes it is.

Do I believe it's meant to be sexual or predatory in nature? No. No I don't.

Josh has a deep personal connection to his costars, he's worked on two different movies and has gone on at least two press tours with them.

And as someone who likes to express his feelings, they will inevitably be misconstrued or misinterpreted.

To some, this poem is seen as something unusual and perhaps a bit strange. It's an older man gushing about and appreciating his much younger costar, after all... And while I understand how it might have set off some 🚩 🚩red flags 🚩🚩 in a certain amount of readers who interpreted it as potentially romantic nature... (Trust me, I get it.)...

I've also noticed the majority of them (the naysayers) weirdly seem more bothered by the subject, and his gender—rather than his age... Which comes across as homophobic more than anything else.

(There's already a bunch of tweets and YouTube videos saying as much...)

But like I said earlier, I don't think this was MEANT to be romantic or sexual.

Poets use descriptive language and "sensual" prose to keep the attentions of readers in general, and people misconstrued the meaning of the poem entirely and just melted it down to: "Josh wants to fuck Timothee Chalamet, I guess."

Which is straight up stupid and disappointing if you ask me...

I think it was supposed to have more to do with seeing acting and the art of acting, through his much younger coworkers' eyes. Watching as someone comes into their confidence within the craft, and begins to come out of their shell. Making a name and niche for themselves.

Like this tweet states:

"Everyone in here saying this is on some sexual attraction shit when really he just seems disillusioned with his craft and that’s a much more interesting angle".

But anyways, I'm gonna go sleep people's ignorance off...

[moonchild-in-blue]

Oh, and I know I can tell I'm falling further again But I won't turn away It's far too late for me

(It's too late for me / It's too late)

I can't really put into words how much of an iron grip this song has on me. Especially that last part, where he repeats "It's too late for me" - I can't listen to it without tearing up and waiting to sing along from the top of of my lungs. It's one of those where I desperately wish I didn't relate to it, but in a weird, sick way, I'm glad I do.

It's SUCH a cathartic feeling to just put in on full volume and sing along. I just know Vessel must've had such a visceral moment recording this (all of their songs really, but yeah).

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

can anyone help me understand this

so this post is going around mocking this poem which is fine if you think its not good or whatever but i dont understand making it about catholic usamericans? im genuinely asking i dont understand how the notes are taking all that from this one poem.

screenshots below the cut

the poem:

the original criticism:

[the-poetry-dump]

What do I want?

I don't know who I want to be anymore. I thought I wanted to guide others along their path, but now I can't even find my own. What do I want?

Deep down, I know. I want to see the sunlight filter through branches. I want to feel the sting of cold in the winter. I want to feed myself with the bounty of the Earth. I want to live free.

I don't want to live the life the world has set out for me. I want to live my own life.

I just don't want to live that life alone.

[fictionadventurer]

By the Shores of Silver Lake was my least favorite Little House book as a kid, and upon starting the reread, I could see why. Earlier books had Laura as a child observer--not engaging in or totally understanding the wider world of the adults, but still engrossed in the simple joys of childhood. In this book, Laura is neither child nor adult--she's too old to play like a child, but she's too young to take an active part in adult life, so she's stuck in this awkward middle ground.

Yet as the book went on, I started to see that that was the point. This book is about growing up, about being on the brink of adulthood and trying to hold onto childhood while also becoming someone new. Laura's growing-up is paralleled with the "growing up" of the country around her. Both the old and the new ways of life have their benefits and their downsides, and Laura has to figure out how to hold onto the best of both.

The prairie is beautiful, wondrous, free. Laura would love to just roam forever, always traveling west, always seeing new places. She doesn't want to marry, doesn't want to teach school, doesn't want anything to change about her way of life. But one can't stay a child forever. Eventually, the infinite possibility of childhood has to turn into the definite identity of adulthood. She has to take responsibility and settle down. The arrival of the town brings that adult life to the prairie, and in doing so, it destroys the innocent wonders of nature--the majestic wolves lose their home, the buffalo are gone, and the ducks no longer land at Silver Lake. Laura has to wrestle with this--is childhood, for herself and the prairie, gone forever? Does she have to let go of childlike wonder and embrace the mundane responsibility of adult life?

This theme is resolved when Laura finds Grace in the buffalo wallow. It's a place of impossible magic and beauty, a carpet of fragrant violets hidden away from the world with butterflies flying overhead, so perfect it seems like a fairyland. Of course Grace, the innocent child, is the one who was able to find it. When Laura asks Pa about it later, he explains that the "fairies" that made this magical ring were buffalo. There's a mundane explanation for the phenomenon, but that doesn't destroy the wonder and beauty of the place--adult knowledge enhances, rather than destroys childlike wonder. The buffalo might be gone, but there's still beauty left behind. Laura can move forward into the future and know that there are still wonders to find. She can be an adult and still maintain a childlike wonder, can take responsibility and still find comfort in the safety of home and family.

This thematic resonance made so much about the book so much deeper. It's the message of the entire series distilled into story form. Remember the past, children, but go forth boldly into the future. It's a message much easier to see with an adult's eyes, so I'm so glad I gave this book another chance.

[cuntservant]

— everything is alive, alive, alive

from way up here by malvina reynolds & pete seeger / desert eye by elliot mcgucken / the relation between nature and human being: agnieszka lepka / photo by reddit user karzdan / sea dogs by darlingside / little prayer by leonardospoetry / promenade at sunset by ivan aivazovsky / woody guthrie: songs and art • words and wisdom by nora guthrie and robert santelli / wikipedia page for desire paths / sea dogs by darlingside / little joys by tom rosenthal + art by autumnalwood / petersburg romance by joseph brodsky (ft. my own very rough translation since i couldn't find a professional one lol)

[britneyshakespeare]

Much Ado About Nothing, II.i

[queen0funova]

The other day I had someone say they thought it sounded like I would be happier focusing on writing instead of coding (they're not really wrong but we're not getting into that)

I mentioned the comment to my dad yesterday and he responded with something that really pissed me off: "Well writing is going to become pretty obsolete soon thanks to AI like Chat GPT"

First of all, GPT is a stupid idiot. It can't even write a poem that doesn't rhyme when specifically directed to do so, or when it's told to remove the rhyme after failing to write a free verse poem in the first place.

It's never going to top human creativity. It won't make a rant about romantic attraction wrapped in a prayer to frozen yogurt. It won't pull off Amphibia's Rube Goldberg machine of Chekov's guns. It won't do a good job telling the story of a Latina, neurodivergent, bisexual girl. These are all human things that humans will do better than the stupid AI. I'm tired of people having more faith in Chat GPT than other people