aesmael | Entries tagged with poetry

Dear diary,

With the impending collapse of tumblr it seems to me I should write to you more often. Not, that is, that I have been writing so very much there that I feel a need to displace that writing elsewhere. Tumblr's reblog system leaves me rather too worried of losing control of my words and their being passed around to assorted strangers who will eventually find me failing some hidden standard and so bend all their will and energy to destroy me. It's an irrational fear since the same could happen no matter where I speak if I let my words be seen. But it is a large part of why I do not speak on that platform and stick instead to reblogging what I find cute or funny or think another would enjoy encountering.

This isn't exactly true either. I write to you at intervals but can never quite capture a day within the day, and then next day that has become the past, unimportant, and we skip the stage of anything like publication. Maybe a fifth? I can't remember and don't care to check.

Today featured a big trip across town to get a new oestrogen implant put in, plus prescriptions. I picked something up for the library's secret santa next week. Later, having breakfast at a café and reading Batgirl/Robin Year One, had a little conversation with the person waiting my table and managed to get some poetry recs out of em.

The names:

- R. H. Sin
- Michael Faudet
- Lang Leav
- Rupi Kaur
- Robert M. Drake

Been thinking, recently, again, of exploring some poetry. Likely to take a while. There are still several books to read in my current exploration of comics.

In the material world I'm pleased to say that this year I've managed to pass my classes for this year. Combine those with next year's enrolments and I'll finally be done with what I failed in 2016. Hate to admit that.

In gaming terms the Fatefinder Society has been going well. Lots of fun deviations from and elaborations on the scenarios. Looking forward to where we go in the next few sessions which I'm hoping will get to actually advance some character stories. Not everyone has a backstory I can readily find a forward direction for, but it's fun keeping those in mind and looking for opportunities to tie in with each scenario we play.

Unfortunately the Rise of the Runelords game I was so excited about running last year looks like it won't be happening, thanks to our old friend non-participation. I know that's the typical fate of role-playing games but still disappointing. Maybe I could recruit some other people to play instead.

For the moment, however, my main excitements are to try and write some adventures of my own. Especially the Star Wars sequel game that I've been considering for a few years, using Starfinder as the system, but also enjoying trying to find a circumstance inspired by each creature in the Pathfinder bestiaries and exploring where those ideas take me.

Current Mood: blank
Current Music: none

I derailed
the point
that you made
while arguing

and which
you were probably
hoping
to convey

Forgive me
it was persuasive
so pointed
and well-formed

- derived from the original by William Carlos Williams

People
in glass cells
may be farther than
they appear

Current Mood: creative

Power makes you proud, and power
Comes in many fine forms
Supple and rich as butterfly wings.
It is music
when you practise opening your mouth
And liking what you hear
Because it is the sound of your own
True voice.

It is sunlight
When you practise seeing
Strength and beauty in everyone,
Including yourself.
It is dance
when you practise knowing
That what you do
And the way you do it
Is the right way for you
And cannot be called wrong.
All these hold
More power than weapons or money
Or lies?

Remember, you weren’t the one
Who made you ashamed,
But you are the one
Who can make you proud.
Just practise,
Practise until you get proud,
and once you are proud,
Keep practising so you won’t forget.
You get proud
By practising.

from You get proud by practising by Laura Hershey, poet and disability activist.

The previous was to assignment relevant, this was turned up on the way.

Current Mood: touched
Current Music: Fraser Cain & Dr. Pamela Gay - Episode 53: Astronomy in Science Fiction

(5:45:48 AM) Ele: I think the truest answer is that poetry is about exploding form and exploring sound to arrive at a meaning that is the truest possible iteration of what is inside your head.

Current Mood: creative

Ghostly spirit,
moving on strange curves through unknown space.
Sometimes crossing sometimes passing,
sometimes sparking sometimes lighting.

* * *

Things unseen grow in
to branching crystal shapes.
They flower, blossom and bloom.
They flutter and fly.

Sometimes aided by
unexpected cross-time-wound
meetings passing by.

Thank you. =^.^=

Current Mood: rejuvenated
Current Location: current location
Current Music: nomusic

I saw an image, once.
I thought it might be you.
I thought you fine,
I thought you high,
I thought you wonderful.
I wanted to be you.

Now I know you better,
Now I know the image is not you.
You are fine, you are high,
You are wonderful.
You seen clear
Are worth the knowing.

But still I see that image
Which once I thought was you
And still I look at it to wonder
Could that ever be me?

Year's dark days arrive
Our home becomes
all hours, all places,
immersed in winter's shade

* * *

The hour of birds
Dominion theirs
Magpies, crows,
Dark-winged birds
About their business

Squawking lorikeets
Perched above in rightful protest
Of a fox like me
But they are too pretty to eat

* * *

Night comes early
Blending shade and light
Earth and air, water falling
Guides our path
Charges, exultant

Wanting to reach out
Call to lightning
But not yet

Current Mood: anxious

Winter is a chill
which drifts within the air
Sprites waken cool, clear and mist and frost
caress my bones
Earth, water, cold and air
and opening up to savour

Current Mood: cold
Current Location: 'neath bony trees
Current Music: Various/Classic Moods Meditation - J. S. Bach -- Orchestral Suite No.3 BWV 1068 - Air

Little bird, little bird,
See you shift and sprout.

Step on grass, stalk about,
Stare with watchful eye.

Feathers black, feathers white,
take to air alone.

Flap and soar,
glide and find your tree (today).

See through leafy veil of green,
shifting wind on creaking bough,
world of cool and desolate life.

Not here today,
not there tomorrow,
flying ever on.

Current Mood: crushed
Current Music: nomusic

Fire and ice
if considered opposite,
might be apposite.

If you call this churning,
if you call this roiling,
a mess in reaction.

It is a well of great depth,
into which is plunged,
things which may withstand.

Or not.

Beauty going down,
beauty coming up,
immersion in (dark water?)

Pulling forth from every way,
an urgency to weave
their threads of silver-gold

Surface lost,
depths forgotten,
passing through the space between

--------------------------------------------------------

Glorification is scoffed; free-fall exhilarates.

Current Mood: peaceful
Current Location: suspended - a void
Current Music: Melody (Salva Nos version) - Yuki Kajiura

Time kills us all
It does not even realise
Because it is not in itself
It cannot even think, to realise
For it is not in itself
Time happens
And that is that.

Current Mood: creative
Current Music: Way to Eternity/Hallelujah/The Rivers of Belief - Enigma [MCMXC a.D.]

Oh my.

Chain:

pecunium : Making Light :

evilrooster

Current Mood: impressed

    Today I got to cover a hard-cover (Reader's Digest, Great Short Tales of Mystery and Terror) plus dust jacket. I also discovered that the teacher for that class did not enjoy Perdido Street Station, which I have yet to read. She did have a copy of Stephenson's The Diamond Age on top of her handbag. I have not read that either.

    In a day of little note you get trivialities or, perhaps better, nothing at all.

    Last night's writing counted 422 words to cap an amount of study that was insufficient. Today's best was continued work on Uncountable. Currently it is stopped in the act of metapoetry (I make no claims to quality, only to what I see it as).
    Project Ambidexterity is proceeding well too. I am writing Uncountable right-handed and it is still slower than my usual script but also neater (I attribute this to the care I need to take to form letters at all). I noticed today right-handed it is easier to form letters the way I was taught in primary school. I have never found it to be so left-handed and I wonder if anyone reading this has something relevant to add.

Of Targets and Totals
    Like

whimsical_esper, I feel August has been mostly lacking writing. I do not know if I have sufficient momentum to manage three hundred daily words next month; I believe I will aim for them and accept two hundred instead if that is what happens.
The idea is not specifically to build quotas. It is to build project momentum and a habit of producing. This must not be forgotten.
I am not, for that reason, entirely satisfied with the system I have now. It encourages the pouring out of new words, even poor ones, over the refinement of existing content. Until I find a better system or decide I am better off with none, it stays.

This heap of paragraphs was brought to you by the letter 3.

Current Mood: creative

Form Rejection Letter - Philip Dacey

We are sorry we cannot use the enclosed.
We are returning it to you.
We do not mean to imply anything by this.
We would prefer not to be pinned down about this matter.
But we are not keeping—cannot, will not keep—what you sent us.
We did receive it, though, and our returning it to you is a sign of that.
It is not that we minded your sending it to us unasked.
That is happening all the time, they come when we least expect them, when we forget
we have needed or might yet need them, and we send them back.
We send this back.
It is not that we minded.
At another time, there is no telling. . .
But this time, it does not suit our present needs.

Click for full poem and link to the artist's website. Thanks BondGirl|Shaken & Stirred.

Current Mood: Delighted
Current Location: floor
Current Music: Toccata and Fugue in D Minor - Bach [Ukrainian Symphony Orchestra/Peter Machevski]

Last night I dreamed that

pouringsand turned out to actually be Lindsay Beyerstein|Majikthise.

Yesterday while looking through the newspaper for jobs I came across an ad for the army, talking about Australia's proud military history from WWI-WWII and beyond. I immediately thought of this:

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!–An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Current Mood: awake

So thanks to

udonman's suggestion I have another line for that poem; for now it is:

knight faces knight/across the bloody field
eyes locked upon/that blade the other'd wield

I don't think I will find, when my research continues, that this is fitting the form of the sonnet I had originally hoped to weave. So now it is likely to be a poem of a structure invented in the writing.

The forward slash originally was meant to signify a break between lines. Now it has evolved to be a feature in the middle of each line. With the language used already it looks best to continue in a style I shall - without education to know the proper terms - label as epic and declamatory. I think also that the rhyme must change after this couplet, which is looking more and more like the beginning and not part of the first third as I thought, but there will probably be good cause to echo it later.

And now, with the vague shape of the next line percolating at the back of my mind, it is off to sleep.

Current Mood: artistic

knight faces knight/across the bloody field

Current Mood: creative

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aesmael

May 2022

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You know what? This
[this is just to say]
Caution:
Found some words
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Day in summary
(no subject)
Little bird
The Crashing Well
Impromptu
It is because I love you, really
Late, late, not ruined
This is Lovely
A box with shuffled contents
Lyrically Place Held, Expansionist
Placeholder Lyric

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