on poetry

By -
poetry is when you make perfect sense
and it's completely incomprehensible
or
is it the other way around?

[original post]

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

golding's narcissus and echo - modernized

By -
source: shakespeare's ovid being arthur golding's translation of the metamorphoses (edited by w.h.d. rouse.) Page 71 The first that of his soothfast wordes had proufe in all the Realme, The first in all the realm to receive proof of the truth of his words Was freckled Lyriop, whom sometime surprised in his streame, Was freckled Lyriop, who was once taken by surprise in Cephisus' waters The floud Cephisus did enforce. This Lady bare a sonne The flood god took her by force, and the lady bore him a son Whose beautie at his verie birth might justly love have wonne. whose beauty from birth justly deserved all love. 430 Narcissus did she call his name. Of whom the Prophet sage She called him Narcissus, and asked the wise Prophet Demaunded if the childe should live to many yeares of age, if the child would live many years, Made aunswere, yea full long, so that him selfe he doe not know. And he answered, Yes, a long life, as long as he does not kn...
Read more

role models

By -
Image
for fourteen years i wished my father dead at the age of eighteen i buried him it would take another six years to be rid of his physical body it's been a decade since he died, but he still sneaks his whispers through my throat whenever you and i fight grips my vocal cords and squeezes tight strangling tones i wonder sometimes if he thinks that he's defending me or if this is his revenge exposing himself to *my* loved ones sliding his arrogance and his violence beneath words that i'd intended to use soothingly the horror that i feel when i hear myself overridden and see my own responses reflected in yours is the stomp of his feet on my steps the thump-thump-thumping that says a beating's coming it's in the tightening in my chest when you put me in my place when you hold up a mirror for me to see his angry, desperate, lonely face but i'll never be like him i'll never burn myself to set fire to others never revel in the type of winning t...
Read more

ears, eyes and feet

By -
in this maelstrom of paradise fantasy turned reality becomes illusion a now forever all of the nows and this now, forever becomes the reality, is the reality for it's more real than the figment of fantasy than those outside our cabal of communication our whirlpools of discourse swirling in droplets of rainbow pleasure drizzling over our prehistoric primeval sunset [ original post ]
Read more