#subject: poetry

[sissy-salon]

Transvestia, Vol. 01, No. 02 (March 1960) contains a reprint of a 1913 forced femme poem called "Roy Violet, the Boy-Girl", credited to "an English periodical called NEW RUN [uncertain transcription; first letter of second word illegible], April 15, 1913". No author name is included, though the word Another is featured in quote marks at the end of the poem like it might be a pseudonym. It fits into the "Bad Boy to Good Girl" genre, with a bullying teen boy being feminized as punishment, coerced into it by dominant sisters by withholding food, and him eventually settling into that role. It's reproduced below:

ROY VIOLET, THE BOY-GIRL

Roy was most unruly, in a most unpleasant way. At school, at home, he never would the simplest rules obey But when he was expelled his sisters' backs were up, They'd try another plan to tame this most unruly pup.

If he would not be pleasant and obedient as a boy, He'd have to learn to be a girl— Violet, not Roy. They would give him pretty lingerie and petticoats & frocks And the smartest of silk stockings, 'stead of trousers, shirts and socks.

They would lace him up in corsets, 'til he could barely sit They would train him to be dainty, to sew & mend & knit. At first there was some trouble, but this silly pup soon found That hunger wasn't pleasant and to give in he'd be bound.

So he got into his lingerie and petticoats and stays And as a girl in dainty frocks he learned to mend his ways. At first he did not like to be a boy dressed as a girl, To learn his face to powder, and his hair to neatly curl.

He was sulky and resentful, tried an air of the bravado, But he found tomboyish manners with girl's clothes didn't go. However, he behaved himself since as a girl he'd got to live He just made up his mind to that— there was no alternative.

Girl's clothes were rather nice if one forgot one was a boy, And in the future he was Violet, he'd ne'er again be Roy. So Roy gave up his struggle and gave up his boyish name And soon a very charming, fascinating girl the lad became

He learned to wear his pretty clothes in a pretty girlish way He learned to mend his sister's things, and dance and sing and play. He found that it was rather nice to be a girl, and so He resigned himself completely to the life he was to know

Nine years have passed, he's still a girl, a most complete success. And nothing would induce him in his boy's clothes now to dress. After frocks and dainty underclothes and petticoats awhirl No, Violet he'll always be, and proud to be a girl.

So ladies read and mark and learn, unruly males to tame, By making them wear petticoats and adopt a girlish name. For every boy and every man is female more or less. When other methods don't succeed, why try a change of dress.

..."Another"

(source)

[sleepyeule]

Deja vu 🥺

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The blazing sun

I cannot forgive           you my love                       for things that             wound me should not be              so tantalising                   yet still you stand like the blazing sun    twice as glorious                                      as pathetic little me.

(just wanted to try my hand at poetry that can be read multiple ways hehe)

[andstuffsketches]

a selection of robins

[liorlen]

Pyr y’n gwna ni byrhoedled? / Digawn llawryded, / kywestwch a bed.

[fictionadventurer]

After learning that it was Fibonacci Day and reading about the Fibonacci sequence and the Golden Ratio in nature, I just had to write a Fibonacci poem to celebrate. The syllables in each line follow the Fibonacci sequence.

Since I wanted it centered, you get the poem in an image, but I'll put the text under a cut.

Upon Learning About the Golden Ratio in Nature

God's

Math

Paints worlds

In patterns.

Spiral galaxies

Down to trees and flower petals

Showing off His love of beautiful arithmetic

[lifeinpoetry]

What to do now is clear, and wordless. / You will bear what can not be borne.

— Denise Riley, from “A gramophone on the subject,” Say Something Back & Time Lived, Without Its Flow

[scifikimmi]

Across bewitching cosmos,  darling emissary, fly. Guiding halo,  illuminate Juno’s kiss. Look! –  my navigator, observe. Pursuing quiet, rasping stillness,  the umber velum waits,  xanthic.  Your zenith.

[jesterbabey]

and you know what, it pisses me off when these dipshits are critiquing data's poetry and they're all like, "oh its too technical, its not emotional enough" fucking shocker? that it sounds like it was written by the guy that wrote it?? "it isnt deeply connected to you" or whatever, like ?? oh the guy writes a poem (first time btw like damn) that is technical and unemotional, when he struggles with seeing himself as technical and unemotional, and thats not connected to him?? god forbid he use poetry to process his thoughts and identity like the rest of us and you dont happen to like it, fuck off

[apoemaday]

Poetic Subjects

by Rebecca Lindenberg

The capital city. Arrowroot. Water-bur. Colts. Hail. Bamboo grass. The round-leaved violet. Club moss. Water oats. Flat river-boats. The mandarin duck.                         — The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon

The sky. And the sky above that. The exchange of ice between mouths. Other people's poems. My friend says we never write about anything we can get to the bottom of. For him, this is a place arbored with locust trees. For me, it's a language for which I haven't quite found the language yet. The dewy smell of a new-cut pear. Bacon chowder flecked with thyme. Roasted duck skin ashine with plum jam. Scorpion peppers. Clothes on a line. A smell of rain battering the rosemary bush. The Book Cliffs. Most forms of banditry. Weathered barns. Dr. Peebles. The Woman's Tonic, it says on the side, in old white paint. The clink of someone putting away dishes in another room. The mechanical bull at the cowboy bar in West Salt Lake. The girls ride it wearing just bikinis and cowboy hats. I lean over to my friend and say, I would worry about catching something. And he leans back to say, That's really the thing you'd worry about? We knock the bottom of our bottles together. How they talk in old movies, like, Now listen here. Just because you can swing a bat doesn't mean you can play ball. Or, I'll be your hot cross if you'll be my bun. Well, anyway, you know what I mean. Somewhere between the sayable and the unsayable, poetry runs. Antidote to the river of forgetting. Like a rosary hung from a certain rearview mirror. Like the infinite rasp of gravel under the wheel of a departing car.  Gerard Manley Hopkins's last words were I'm so happy, I'm so happy. Oscar Wilde took one look at the crackling wallpaper in his Paris flat, then at his friends gathered around and said, One or the other of us has got to go. Wittgenstein said simply, Tell all my friends, I've had a wonderful life.

[puckpocketed]

Maybe, if you're with a group of friends who'll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you'll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, "This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good."

Quotes: Meet the trio of linemates leading a fantastic USNTDP class into Nashville // Ryan Dixon || Familiar Line Will Lead Team USA in World Juniors // Russ Cohen || Meet the All-Star Freshmen that Could Boost Boston College Men’s Hockey to a Huge Year // Steven Principi || U-18 Worlds: USA’s Top Line a Match Made in Heaven // Tony Ferrari || Anticipatory Grief // Marissa Conrad || The Three Musketeers // Alexandre Dumas || The Light That Shines When Things End // Iain S. Thomas.

Headlines: x // x // x // x //

Photos: Rena Laverty || Richard T Gagnon via Getty Images || x // x // x //

Special thanks to @oensible my avocado dip my watermelon dish soap my vinyl sticker collection for the Iain S. Thomas quote <3

[caligarish]

The Choice by Nikolay Gumilev (transl. by Evgenia Sarkisyants) // The Terror, 2018

[lovethytendytenderly]

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs by Fall Out Boy // an edit a day til penguins hockey, a countdown (day 1)

x x

[fictionadventurer]

Two children at play An impressive display They've been going all day Always finding a way To go running and stumbling And racing and bumbling And wrestling and tumbling Both always in motion Like waves of the ocean High pitch of emotion Follow every stray notion To aid the promotion Of their locomotion In endless devotion To constant commotion Yet you never will see Such pure-hearted glee In a sec you'll agree It's well worth the debris For the day we forsee When they'll no longer be So wild and free And these moments will be For them and for me A bright memory

[cultpastorkevin]

aftg characters as button poetry quotes 🤲🏻

Andrew || Neil || Kevin

Nicky || Aaron || Renee

Allison || Seth

Dan || Matt

Riko || Jean || Thea

Jeremy || Robin

Wymack || Abby || Bee

[amalgamationink]

NAPOWRIMO24 #2: Come, Come to the Sunset Tree (dedicated to the album The Sunset Tree by The Mountain Goats.)