#poetry and conclusion

[sheriiam]

Premise

Poetry and Conclusion.

As Dolores kept on reading his namesake Shakespeare's works, William rested his head on his chin and looked at the poet.

"You never read Shakespeare, Ressy," William said, in a low yet clear and echoing voice.

"Get your premise right, mister logician. I do read Shakespeare. I just don't read it out to anyone. Well, not just anyone."

"Then to whom?" William asked, leaning forward to hear the answer.

"what absurd question. I'm reading it to you right now, aren't I? Who else happens to be present in this room?" Dolores said with a slight frown.

William chuckled. "Yes, but you said 'not just anyone.' You're implying that there is a category of people that you read it to. And I fall in that category."

Dolores waited. "So?"

"So I wish to know how you perceive this category of people. Who are they of yours? To you? Colleagues? Rivals? Family? Strangers―"

"Everything," Dolores said.

"Everything? Now you're being absurd, Ressy. No one can be everything to anyone. It's not practically possible. You're being poetic. I don't understand poetry―"

Dolores mumbled with a smile. "Yet you hear me recite."

"―give me something logical. What does it mean that someone's your everything? Are they the mother that gave you birth? The teacher who beat you? The villain who slit your throat? The lamp above your head? The book you hold? How are they your everything?

Dolores smiled. "Even with your logical cranium, you do understand a lot of poeticism, my friend. They aren't my mother to give me birth but they are the sun that gave me life, were I to imagine myself as a sapling. They are my teacher not since they beat me but since no one who stepped in my life walked out without teaching me something. They aren't my villain, but were they to become one, I'd chin up and look with pride at the ruins they created around me. I'd chin up and let them slit my throat."

"Dolores..." William whispered.

Dolores ignored that, even though hearing his own name had become a painfully heartwrencing activity. "The lamp that brightens my little world― ?" Dolores gestured around his library― "Why, yes, they are that. The innumerable words and phrases of love, solitude, desire, and pain bound in this book? Aren't- aren't people like that too, William? Aren't we all... books? And doesn't that really make you my...

William urged. "My what, Dolores?" he whispered. "Everything?"

Dolores shook his head with a smile. "No, just that."

[celbrini]

"and now we are wounded..so deep and so well that no one can hurt us except Death itself"

[sivavakkiyar]

“The Exeter Book gives no authors and no titles to the 193 poems it now contains; nor are solutions given for the Riddles…Riddle 75 consists of a single line of verse: Ic ane geseah idese sittan. Literally construed, this reads: ‘I a single saw woman sitting’; the adjective ane (one) qualifies the noun idese (woman). My first translation of this read: ‘I saw a woman sit alone’. Initial vowels alliterate in Old English verse; ane and idese agree in sound as well as grammatically; both are in the accusative case.

Some scholars have thought this one-line riddle incomplete. It had no accepted solution. A woman might sit alone for various reasons. I received a postcard which suggested that the answer might be ‘A Hen’. Another reader wrote proposing ‘The Moon’, which was attractive, though Old English se mona is masculine. I remained undecided, assuming all the while that the woman must be the subject. She might be lonely, like the women who speak the Exeter Book poems Wulf and Eadwacer and The Wife’s Lament; or like the speaker of Ezra Pound’s version translated from the Chinese, ‘The Jewel Stair’s Greivance’. I was still looking in this direction when another postcard came with what must be the correct solution: ‘A Mirror’.”

—-Michael Alexander, The First Poems In English

[lena-oleanderson]

god - collected writings

from: side wounds | precious wound | stay away | against such things there is no law | shooting star

[edgymegatronus]

Megatron’s Poetry

In my mind

- this is beautiful work from Tove Ditlevsen.

[horriblewithwords]

Perhaps we never deal with the problem, only find ways to distract ourselves from the pain.

[lickthecowhappy]

Ineffable Prompt-a-thon - Unfinished

Ineffable Prompt-a-thon Repository | Main Poetry List

My dear I wanted to-  It’s important, I fear- That is to say- I hope you’ll hear I love-

Ineffable Prompt-a-thon Repository | Main Poetry List

This poem is also available on AO3.

@ineffablyruined

Don't read the tags on this one. They're far too desperate.

[pluggedintosaverockandroll]

Gay Is Not A Synonym For Shitty: Blackout Poetry Version

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I loved you that hurt let me see your lips pressed close True blue prince of a failing empire drive through the night Drive back home Things aren't the same I sleep with your old shirts it's strange I'm supposed to love you I've given up time is caution your shadows on the wall, I kiss them Things get so bad pick up the phone walk through this house you saved my life my heart my eye Photo-proofed kisses I remember it's strange I know to love you repeat

[sysig]

Hey, hey! RnR not requested! (Patreon)

[calamitys-child]

Something something the curtains are blue or whatever but underappreciated media analysis phenomenon is when someone else reads something you wrote and points out the blue curtains that you hadn't even noticed yourself hanging up while you built it. Like fuck they sure are I genuinely hadn't noticed I just flung em up I was concentrating on the carpet. Hey that shade of blue goes nice with the carpet huh. I should get more decor in that colour. Does this make sense to anyone

[thisismynarrative]

"So that the revolution does not completely rot I leave you with a message I am old And your utopia is for future generations There are so many children who will be born With a little broken wing And I want them to fly, comrade I want your revolution To drop them a piece of red heaven So that they fly." - Pedro Lemebel from A Last Supper of Queer Apostles

[poems-of-the-anentomologist]

Pride Poems Day #18 Theme: Agender

This poem is dedicated towards @leafgorge, a wonderful Agender Fellow and my sister in crime for this project

Broken Dawn

Fractured sun rising over a kaleidoscope sky A broken dawn over a patchwork world Made of stolen memories,

This isn’t our place

blue, pink, yellow, red broken machines broken things

Fragments of a metal world Dot the landscape

I’m grey, I’m not broken I don’t have their affliction

blue, pink, yellow, red broken machines broken things

A reminder of what could’ve been

[papastarion]

Astarion “I’m not one for literature” Baldursgate. Sir. You have a book in your hand literally every single second you’re at camp.

[squishykitty825]

What is this feeling in my chest?

Why does it feel so tightly wound like the string on a guitar

It pinches my lungs

Making it harder and harder to breathe

Why can’t I just breathe deeper?

This tightness squeezes harder,

Bringing spots into my vision,

Matching my darting gaze and my fidgeting fingers

Can’t stop moving

Can’t stop twitching

Can’t breathe

Nothing feels right

Everything is wrong wrong WRONG

It won’t go away

This feeling

This endless

Pit

Of

Nerves

Help me

I want to whisper

Scream

Cry out

But I can’t

I’m stuck

Frozen in time and space

Waiting for this feeling to go away

Waiting

Waiting

Waiting

Waiting

[liuisi]

okay you said to ask you about poetry so here goes: what is a poem that completely caught you off-guard?

HI THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTION!! okay okay ive posted about it but most definitely tend by margaret yapp . which is definitely one of the poems where im like i TOTALLY understand if this isn't up your alley but HEAR ME OUT

funny story i actually read it real fast at first and my first instinct was well this is silly. and i sent to my friend in a like get a load of this poem way but then SHE was like wait omg i kinda like it. and that forced me to look at it and Actually Try and Read it and then i was like oh well. im afraid i DO like it now (i am not immune to judging a poem by the first few lines).

anyways so! what do i like about it? now that i've had time to get used to it i really do like the way it's written! it's silly, yes, but i like how conversational it is and i love how you get comfortable in it only for it to punch you with the ending. i think it hits the same niche as helen of troy calls her sister --conversational while building upon a theme.

margaret yapp said : "tend is also a poem about missing a friend" and its really THAT that got me. like i get it. it kinda reads disjointed, a little bit. like little snippets of messages you would send to a friend, i think. but it also has that vibe of trying to not dwell on it (immediately shifting the focus off of the wondering): obviously i wonder about you/& the eggplant will need to be used by tomorrow/& the greens. ill go for ego murder unless nurture/sounds better? nature?

i dont know!!! one of those where i need to think about it more to really tear apart what it Means to Me but for now. i've settled on this. i really do like it. really fun to read out loud :]

[skid-the-mighty-poet]