#sappho amidst the waves

[astroarcane]

I never thought I'd be in love with an NPC (let alone a boss one) but I'm head over heels

[kitsunabi]

Help I'm getting bullied by a lesbian with he/him pronouns

[that-random-ink]

Behold, the ultimate femboys in genshin

Localization errors are fun (They also spelled "Shattering" as "Shatterering")

For those too lazy to pause, it says "Defeat Sappho Amidst the Waves without being hit by HIS Shatterering Ice attacks."

[electric-plants]

sappho amidst the waves hitting me with her dumb shattering ice right as she dies so i can’t even try to get the achievement again until tomorrow

[hervecomeau]

The Power of Protest: Examining Political Poetry Throughout History with Herve Comeau Syracuse

Poetry has long served as a powerful medium for expressing dissent, challenging authority, and advocating for social change. From ancient civilizations to modern societies, poets have wielded their words to critique injustice, amplify marginalized voices, and inspire collective action. In this blog, we'll delve into the rich history of political poetry with the help of poetry buffs like Herve Comeau Syracuse, exploring its evolution, impact, and enduring relevance in shaping movements for social and political reform.

Ancient Origins: Poetry as Resistance

The tradition of political poetry traces back to ancient civilizations, where poets used their craft to comment on the injustices and power dynamics of their time. In ancient Greece, poets like Sappho and Homer addressed themes of war, democracy, and tyranny, offering poignant reflections on the human condition and societal norms. Similarly, in ancient China, poets such as Li Bai and Du Fu wrote verse that critiqued corrupt rulers and advocated for moral governance, capturing the struggles of the common people amidst political turmoil.

As societies evolved, so too did the role of political poetry, with poets across cultures and continents using their words to challenge oppression and advocate for change. From the troubadours of medieval Europe to the griots of West Africa, poets have served as chroniclers of history, bearing witness to the triumphs and tragedies of their time. Through their verses, they have sparked revolutions, inspired movements, and given voice to the silenced and marginalized as appreciated by poetry lovers such as Herve Comeau Syracuse.

Enlightenment and Revolution: Poetry of Liberty

The Enlightenment era ushered in a new wave of political poetry, as thinkers and writers championed ideals of liberty, equality, and justice. Poets like Voltaire, Rousseau, and Blake challenged the divine right of kings and called for the empowerment of the masses through their stirring verse. The American and French Revolutions further galvanized poets to lend their voices to the cause of freedom, with works like Thomas Paine's "Common Sense" and Évariste de Parny's revolutionary anthems inspiring revolutionary fervor and shaping the course of history.

As the struggle for liberty unfolded across continents, poets continued to play a pivotal role in advocating for political reform and social justice. From the abolitionist poems of Phyllis Wheatley and Frederick Douglass to the feminist verses of Mary Wollstonecraft and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, poets used their art to challenge prevailing norms and demand equality for all. Through their courageous activism and impassioned rhetoric, they helped pave the way for the rights and freedoms we enjoy today as highlighted by poetry enthusiasts including Herve Comeau Syracuse.

War and Resistance: Poetry Amidst Conflict

The horrors of war have often been a catalyst for political poetry, with poets bearing witness to the brutality and injustice of armed conflict. From the trenches of World War I to the battlefields of Vietnam, poets have captured the human cost of war with haunting clarity and raw emotion. Wilfred Owen's "Dulce et Decorum Est" and Langston Hughes' "Let America Be America Again" are just a few examples of poems that expose the senseless violence and suffering inflicted by war, challenging the glorification of militarism and nationalism.

Amidst the chaos of conflict, poetry has also emerged as a form of resistance and resilience, offering solace and solidarity to those affected by war. Poets like Anna Akhmatova and Mahmoud Darwish have chronicled the pain and perseverance of their people, bearing witness to the atrocities of war while affirming the enduring human spirit. Through their evocative verse, they have given voice to the silenced and preserved the memory of those who have suffered injustice at the hands of war as mentioned by poetry buffs like Herve Comeau Syracuse.

Civil Rights and Liberation: Poetry of Protest

The civil rights movement of the 20th century sparked a surge of political poetry, as poets joined the struggle for racial equality and social justice. From Langston Hughes' "Harlem" to Maya Angelou's "Still I Rise," poets of the Harlem Renaissance and beyond used their art to confront racism, oppression, and systemic injustice. Through their words, they challenged the status quo and inspired a generation to demand equality and dignity for all.

Similarly, in countries around the world, poets have played a central role in liberation movements, using their verse to resist colonialism, apartheid, and other forms of oppression. From the anti-apartheid poems of Dennis Brutus and Keorapetse Kgositsile to the Palestinian resistance poetry of Mahmoud Darwish and Samih al-Qasim, poets have used their words as weapons in the fight for freedom and self-determination. Their poetry not only bears witness to the struggles of the oppressed but also offers hope and inspiration for a better future.

The Enduring Legacy of Political Poetry

Political poetry has been a powerful force for change throughout history, giving voice to the marginalized, challenging injustice, and inspiring movements for social and political reform. From ancient civilizations to modern societies, poets have used their craft to speak truth to power and advocate for a more just and equitable world.

As we continue to confront the challenges of our time, the legacy of political poetry serves as a reminder of the enduring power of words to shape hearts, minds, and societies. By embracing the tradition of political poetry and amplifying the voices of those who speak truth to power as encouraged by poetry lovers including Herve Comeau Syracuse, we can continue to advance the cause of justice, equality, and human rights for generations to come.

[russiansappho]

The Infinity of Destinies ~ Dedicated to E.

The Infinity of Destinies ~ Dedicated to E. "The storm is coming!" So the tidal waves utter, crashing into cliffs and spattering their violent embraces across the roaring shore...

Sappho by Miquel Carbonell i Selva (1881)

“The storm is coming!” So the tidal waves utter, crashing into cliffs and spattering their violent embraces across the roaring shore. There is only one dark silhouette standing quiescently amidst the oncoming water. A young lady with dark, shadowy eyes fixed on the edge of the Earth is singing, as her raven hair wavers in the forceful gusts of poignant…

[drowning-in-dennor]

could we get some fluffy 21 for the dennor?

  Okay holy crap this is LONG so if you want the whole thing it’s under the cut

Warning: Extremely sappy, too many changes of perspective and too much poetry

  Maren stares down at the little black box. “I can’t do this. Ouch!” She rubs the back of her head, glaring at Agata. “What the hell was that for?”

  “For being stupid.” Agata glares back. “Of course you can do it.”

  Her hand trembles as she squeezes the box tighter, her knuckles turning white as she does so. “Is it too late to back out of this?”

  “Yes, it is.” Tille smiles encouragingly at Maren, waving her right hand and letting her own wedding ring glint in the light. “You’ve already told her to meet you and you’ve already bought the ring. Everything’s ready, so all you need to do is ask.”

  Feeling queasy just by looking at the box, Maren says, “what if she says no?”

  Sula crosses her arms. “Bullshit. Ever since I was born I’ve been subjected to watching you and my sister moon over each other. You’ve been dating for almost ten years now, there’s no way she’d say no.”

  “But-”

  She claps a hand on Maren’s shoulder, a rare smile on her face. “Just do it,” Sula urges, “you'd be an amazing sister-in-law.”

...

  The first envelope Maren hands to Linnea earns a blush as she reads the poem out loud. 

  “O soft and dainty maiden, from afarI watch you, as amidst the flowers you move,And pluck them, singing.More golden than all gold your tresses are:Never was harp-note like your voice, my love,Your voice sweet-ringing.

  “That’s one of Sappho’s poems, isn’t it?” Linnea carefully slips the card back into the envelope. 

  Maren nods, kissing Linnea on the cheek. “Glad you liked it.”

  Linnea gives her a strange look. “You’re being strangely romantic today.”

  “Aw, it was nothing!” The little box in her pocket suddenly feels glaringly obvious. “Just wanted to show how much I love you.”

  Holding hands, they walk, the sun bright in the sky. They arrive at their destination in no time at all, and Maren pushes the gate open. “Remember this?”

  Looking around the garden, she smiles. “This is where we had our first date, nine years ago. You got me a bouquet of flowers and screamed when you found a wasp inside.”

  “In my defence, I was fourteen and it was unexpected.” Maren, still holding Linnea’s hand, leads her to a bench over patches of violets and little twinflowers, running her fingers over a small carving in the stone. “Look, we even carved our names here.”

  “I’m surprised you remember.” Linnea gazes fondly at the carving, at the amateur work of Maren’s carving knife that promptly broke afterwards. “That’s very thoughtful of-” a small envelope, taped to the armrest of the bench, catches her eye. “What’s this?”

  Thy form is lovely and thine eyes are honeyed,O'er thy face the paleClear light of love lies like a veil.Bidding thee rise,With outstretched hands,Before thee Aphrodite stands. 

  For the second time during the day, Linnea feels her face heating up and leans over to kiss Maren. “You hopeless Sapphic,” she mumbles.

  “Hey, I wouldn’t be in love with you if I weren’t a hopeless Sapphic.” Maren bends down and brushes the twinflowers on the ground with her fingers. She picks a few of them and weaves them into Linnea’s hair, watching as both the lilac petals and golden locks are toyed with by the wind.

  Linnea touches the flowers in her hair absentmindedly. “You know me too well.”

  Her girlfriend pulls another envelope out of her pocket and pulls out the card. “To match your favourite flowers.” She starts to read the poem out loud.

  “With flowers fair adorn thy lustrous hair,Dica, amidst thy locks sweet blossoms twine,With thy soft hands, for so a maiden standsAccepted of the gods, whose eyes divineAre turned away from her--though fair as MayShe waits, but round whose locks no flowers shine.”

  She feels like her face is about to explode. Linnea buries her face in her hands, her heart beating so fast she might as well be a hummingbird. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you too.” Maren gestures towards the centre of the garden, only a few steps away. “Say, do you remember that rosebush? I got in trouble for picking one too many flowers for you.”

  Linnea gets to her feet and approaches the rosebush, running a finger along the soft petals of the roses. An envelope, bordered with gold calligraphy is nestled on top of the bush. She pulls it out, retrieving the card inside and reading its contents.

  Ever since that fateful day twenty years ago,I feel as though I can leave not your side,Imagined, I did, ten years ago,If you would be my one and only bride.So waited, I did, for you to returnMy love so next to me you could stand.And for many more years our love will burnIf you say ‘yes’ as I ask for your hand.

  “I, uh, wrote that one myself. I’m not as good as Sappho, that’s pretty obvious, but I hope you like it.”

  She drops the card and whirls around, suddenly feeling faint. 

  Maren has bent down on one knee and holds out a box. She smiles at Linnea, that same smile she’s seen since she was four. “We’ve been dating for ten years now, and I’ve thought about this for so, so long. I’ve loved you the moment we met and I love you even more now.”

  Linnea rubs her eyes, but can’t stop a few tears from escaping.

  “We’ve fought, we’ve laughed, we’ve done a lot of things together, and I want to do even more with you.” Maren opens the box, revealing a silver engagement ring. “Linnea Norsdottir, will you marry me?”

  She’s sure that if she speaks, she’ll start crying. So Linnea, looking right into Maren’s bright, beautiful smile, nods a definite yes.

...

A/N: The poem that Maren used to propose wasn’t written by Sapphos so it’s kind of shit but oh well it was the best I could doThe rest of the poems are all by Sappho. 

[boyslaughplus]

Brassica Valentine's Day Special

Hello Tumblr! What a day to start this off! <3

Because it's Valentine's Day, we decided to release a little short story set in the Brassica universe. It takes place a few months before the game but aside from some recurring characters it's independent of the main story (though maybe not insignificant...)

If you haven't played the game, don't worry, this story doesn't need any knowledge of its plot. If you have played the game, you might appreciate some of the details and hopefully enjoy this story that is a little more Ode-centric than the currently released acts.

But without further ado, here's the Brassica Valentine's Special:

Walking into the room, it felt like entering another world. The festive decoration stretching through the entirety of the castle foyer, the exquisite looking food stacked on the tables in the main hall, and of course the colorful crowd of royals, dressed in extravagant suits, robes, and dresses—everything seemed to shimmer and gleam in the light of the chandeliers. Ode certainly wasn’t new to these kinds of events but he still experienced a mild culture shock whenever he attended.

His cousin, Lord Valentine of Barah, had once again invited him to one of his famous birthday parties, or Valentine’s Day as many people called them. It was an event that was famed for the bonds it created, both interpersonal and political, due to the gathering of many young royals and the chance to confess to a crush or to court someone you fancy. Valentine himself chose among about half of his guests a select few who were given a rose. This rose should then be given to someone else who caught your interest and it was looked down on people who left the event not having given away their rose. Similarly, not receiving one marked you as being socially inept, undesirable even as some harsh voices would put it.

Ode did not care much about this custom. Especially this time his mind was set on other matters because more than just attendance, gifts, and well wishes were expected of him: he had been asked to perform for all the guests.

His parents, the king and queen of Barah, liked to boast about Ode’s musical talents since he rarely concerned himself with politics and state affairs. Ode didn’t like to play the role of a musician, less so that of a performer. He liked music and singing, but his audience was usually just the local wildlife and his best friend Friedrich. And that was it. He had never meant to make music a defining part of his public persona.

Even so, Ode didn’t mind the request. If his cousin wanted to hear him sing, he would gladly rise to the occasion. Or so the prince thought before he arrived. Now that he was amidst the cheerful crowd that was basking in the joy and the glory of attending an event as high-class as this one, Ode couldn’t help but nervously eye the stage he would soon be on, under the piercing gazes of everyone in the room.

Searching for his cousin to give his regards and discuss the details of his performance, the young prince of Barah looked around the hall. But with little success. It surely didn’t help that this was a masquerade ball!

In his search for Valentine, Ode passed many eccentric figures. Among them, a dashing royal in a dark suit embroidered with gold and complemented by his long turquoise hair and the rainbow of colors that was his crystal covered mask. A large group of what seemed to be avid admirers, flocked to the man and Ode made sure to steer clear of them as he rarely fared well with such people. He could still hear them laugh as he passed the vegetarian side of the buffet where a lone, lean, golden figure stood. Between most other outfits his wide pants almost seemed exotic though they were still overshadowed by his lack of shoes.

“What a bold choice for a ball in February,” Ode thought to himself.

Taking another look at the dainty royal’s outfit and his mask full of triangular ornaments, Ode wondered where he might have come from to be dressed this way. But there were more pressing matters at hand!

His search continued for a while and subdued the nervousness regarding his performance. When he finally found Valentine, the festivities were already well underway, and it didn’t take long until Ode found himself behind the stage, talking to the string quartet that had already been playing for most of the evening. Now too they would provide the backdrop for his song. A ballad that had resonated deeply with Ode and so he wanted to recite it this evening. Clutching his flute to his chest and with a pounding heart, Ode walked onto the stage to Valentine’s excited announcement.

For a moment he looked at the audience that was quieting down, their expectant gazes locked onto the tall prince who was more than glad to be wearing a mask himself right now.

His nervousness spiked briefly before disappearing completely once the sound of a cello resonated through the hall, indicating the start of the song.

It was the first time they performed it together, but the string quartet was well practiced and it didn’t take long before Ode went along with their rhythm. Unsteady as his flute play was sometimes, Ode had also been told it had character. He stopped to think and just played without worry; A melody a little solemn, if hopeful, he thought, to preface the first verse.

O friends, now I see, the morning draws near The moon looks upon us and all we hold dear

How we will part ways, nobody could say, How long we have left, no one could explain

The end though ’tis sure, is nothing to fear.

We sing and we dance despite illness and death Make most of the time until our last breath

When lost and in pain, we shall not lose hope, Stay resolute still at the end of our rope

’Cause as long as we breathe, there’s still some time left.

The deep voice of Barah’s youngest prince carried well throughout the room and by the time the next verse came around, Ode had nearly forgotten there were other people present, simply getting lost in the song.

But before too long it came to an end and for what felt like forever, the audience stayed quiet. Whispers began to spread among the guests and Ode could feel a wave of tension sweep through the entire hall.

Just then a thought entered the prince’s mind. Had this song really been suitable for such a celebration? What if he just embarrassed himself… his cousin… his kingdom? Lord Valentine initiated a polite if quiet applause as he took the stage.

“My dear cousin, the fledgling prince of Barah, everyone! Now after such a… unique performance, how about we welcome tonight’s main act? I’m sure you have all heard the tales of the bard who single-handedly—”

Ode felt his fears confirmed as he was led off the stage. He really didn’t like gatherings where people valued tact above genuineness. Where a single misstep could mean one’s social death. Had he cared more about the opinions of others, he might have been glum, but seeing Valentine trying intently to salvage the mood of his guests still made him feel like a disappointment.

The prince walked down the room, hearing the whispers and quiet sneers of other Royals behind him as he passed their tables.

Ode needed fresh air.

He left the hall just as the bard began to play and immediately felt relief as he stepped into the cold evening air. This wouldn’t have happened had he sung for the animals. At least they didn’t judge him and appreciated whatever he sang as long as it had heart!

Once he returned home, his parents would surely berate him for tonight’s events. If he could, Ode would just let go of all etiquette and responsibilities and leave the royal world. But whenever he came close to actually doing so, Friedrich told him to reconsider. Told him he was being rash.

Now was another of those moments. Anger rose within Ode that nobody seemed to have cared about his intentions. That nobody seemed to have seen what Ode saw in the song and instead focused only on its melancholic exterior. Without his friend to talk to him, the prince took off his mask, sat down on a bench in the gardens, trying his best to calm down on his own.

Though he would only stay alone for a short moment.

Soon Ode could hear the footsteps of someone else approaching in the distance. They came ever closer before abruptly stopping just behind him.

“Oh… hello. You are Prince Ode, correct?”

The mellow voice enchanted Ode immediately. He turned around and saw a slender, red-haired woman in an elegant dress decorated all over with pearls and flowers.

“Y-yes. That is correct lady, uh—” he hesitantly replied, wondering why she would want to talk to him.

“Sappho. Though you might know me as Seraphina of Radix.”

Indeed, he had heard of her, the crown princess of Barah’s most powerful neighbor land. Although he had never imagined that the heiress of such a mighty kingdom would look so delicate and sweet.

“Don’t you want to listen to the bard, Princess Sappho?”

She snickered and sat down next to Ode.

“Oh no. I needed to go outside for a bit. I have little patience for such mindless racket.”

Ode’s heart jumped at hearing this. Was he maybe not alone in this after all?

“I see. I feel much the same way! Although this wasn’t the main reason I left…”

He stayed silent for a moment, trying his best not to think about the political consequences this conversation could have should he mess up again.

It wasn’t by any means an uncomfortable silence, but to his relief Princess Sappho broke it soon, anyway.

“Well, I have to say I enjoyed your little performance earlier. Genuinely, I mean.” The princess took off her shimmering, cat-like mask before continuing as Ode got lost in the gaze of her bright eyes.

“Few people would have had the courage to perform it here, let alone do so from the bottom of their heart.”

The last thing Ode had expected to be met with this evening was kindness, and he smiled enthusiastically at Sappho, feeling the confidence to openly speak his mind.

“Thank you, Princess Sappho! I was worried that I made a mistake, but your words reaffirm me that the others’ reaction was not my fault! Although… Maybe I am nonetheless unfit for such festivities.”

The princess laughed.

“So what? I have talked with many a royal tonight, but this is the first enjoyable conversation I had. Just because you are not like the rest, you are not any less valid! Contrary so. You should be proud of yourself, Prince Ode!”

Never before had Ode experienced anything like ‘love’. Not in the way it was always sung about. But this very moment he thought he had gotten a glimpse of what it was like. As this realization set in, he took a deep breath to respond to the princess just to be cut short when she continued once more.

“But anyway, I’d happily go on with this conversation but I’m afraid I have to go. There is someone who is waiting for me right now and I cannot spare much more time.”

She stood up, turned to the prince and held out a rose towards him. The one she was supposed to give to someone special. Prince Ode could hardly believe it.

“Farewell Ode. I’m sure we will meet again some day.”

Hastily, Ode straightened his back and gratefully accepted the rose, looking at the princess with a multitude of feelings he could not yet fathom entirely. One of them disappointment that she was already about to leave.

“Farewell Princess Sappho! And thank you!”

A smile flashed on the Princess’s face just long enough that Ode could feel her grasp on his heart tighten. She turned around and walked away further down the path she had come from.

Ode watched her disappear in the shadows of the garden and just now noticed the quickened tempo of his heartbeat.

Long after she had left, Princess Sappho was still ever present in the prince’s mind. For a while he stayed outside, lost in his thoughts and the stars shining brightly above him.

It truly was the most special Valentine’s Day he had ever experienced. Full of determination, Ode made a silent vow. He would see her again.

And he would act upon the feelings that stirred up inside of him that day. For they were far too precious to leave alone.