June 19, 2018, 09:06:40 PM

Author Topic: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society  (Read 8822 times)

Online The Gem Cutter

  • Captain Analogy
  • Writing Group
  • Khaleesi
  • *
  • Posts: 2781
  • Total likes: 2229
  • Gender: Male
  • We've exhausted all possibilities - time to begin.
    • View Profile
    • The Gem Cutter Tales
Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #90 on: February 16, 2018, 04:22:25 AM »
A little something I mashed together on my 50th Birthday:

The sixteenth of the third month is quite a day a for me,
Once a day of presents, cake and jubilee
Many days have come and gone and some have left their trace,
They grayed my hair and bent my back, left lines upon my face

This sixteenth of the third month is quite a day a for me,
Many things I’ve said and seen in half a century:
Quiet days and busy ones, and days that didn't end,
Crowded days and gloomy ones, with rules that wouldn't bend,
Weighty days of import, of risk and draining trials,
Days of rest and meaning, of laughter love and smiles.

The sixteenth of the third month is quite a day for me,
The end of my beginning’s gone - where did the swift time flee?
Just where my middle starts and stops I won’t know til the end,
When final fading moments close with no more left to spend.

The sixteenth of the third month, is quite a day a for me,
My mind it likes to wander down paths that cannot be,
My eyes have ever seen the world not as it is but could be,
My heart has loved what was and is and isn’t now – but should be.
« Last Edit: February 16, 2018, 04:27:57 AM by The Gem Cutter »
The Gem Cutter
"Each time, there is the same problem: do I dare? And then if you do dare, the dangers are there, and the help also, and the fulfillment or the fiasco. There's always the possibility of a fiasco. But there's also the possibility of bliss." - Joseph Campbell

Offline Bradley Darewood

  • aka Barley Redwood
  • Writing Group
  • Gentleman Bastard
  • *****
  • Posts: 1838
  • Total likes: 1077
  • Gender: Male
  • Zork. And it was all downhill from there.
    • View Profile
    • Bradley Darewood on Tumblr!
Re: Poems and Prose-Poetry here!
« Reply #91 on: February 16, 2018, 04:53:22 AM »
Wow how did you get to 6 pages without me noticing this thread? Some serious talent here.

Why didn’t you think of this sooner ? Go you, Bradley ???? top idea.
Why not ask a mod to make it into its own part of FF Writers Section, like Writers’Corner ? Call it Poets’ Corner? Perhaps not as they are buried there. Live Poets’ Society?

Hmmm maybe after 7 pages we should seek a boon from the moddess @ScarletBea  to grant us a place among the threads pinned atop mount FF olympus

Offline ScarletBea

  • Cruise Director, Positive Invisible Fighter, and bringer of Cake. 2nd in Command of the Writing Contest
  • Powers That Be
  • Big Wee Hag
  • *
  • Posts: 9295
  • Total likes: 5478
  • Gender: Female
  • Geeky Reading Introvert
    • View Profile
    • LibraryThing profile
Re: Poems and Prose-Poetry here!
« Reply #92 on: February 16, 2018, 08:04:39 AM »
Hmmm maybe after 7 pages we should seek a boon from the moddess @ScarletBea  to grant us a place among the threads pinned atop mount FF olympus
I forgot that I could do that now ;D Pinned!!
At home in the Fantasy Faction forum!
"It's time we steered by the stars, not by the lights of each passing ship" (general O.N. Bradley)

Also called Ashorvaed, in the Immortal Language of Henry Dale!

Offline Skip

Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #93 on: February 16, 2018, 06:28:28 PM »
Remembrance on a Starship

When at last, green mother,
you have withered to dust and old air
and the one eye falters and fades,
when we stand at last
under other suns
we shall not forget that it was you who bore us.
We shall not forget
your sweet water
your fragrant soil
the sound of your breath upon the sea.


Online The Gem Cutter

  • Captain Analogy
  • Writing Group
  • Khaleesi
  • *
  • Posts: 2781
  • Total likes: 2229
  • Gender: Male
  • We've exhausted all possibilities - time to begin.
    • View Profile
    • The Gem Cutter Tales
Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #94 on: February 17, 2018, 08:11:59 AM »
This one hit me in the middle of the night. Fresh poem. Git yer fresh poems here!



She flew away from the sea tower
high across the salt hills.

White horses bore her among the gardiens,
through the brown marsh of the marais,
to the Arelat city,
where young men dare the horns of black bulls.

She rode with routiers,
the wagoneers,
along dusty roads, over wide rivers,
into the mountains where lives the fierce tarrasco.

She was the silver gull,
the child of great promise.
With her came the gnome,
the trovador
and the elf chevalier.

Mighty wizards trembled at their tread.

I keep re-reading this and I want to suggest a tiny but impactful (or so I imagine) suggestion: to add "and" at the front of the last line.

"And mighty wizards trembled at their tread."
The Gem Cutter
"Each time, there is the same problem: do I dare? And then if you do dare, the dangers are there, and the help also, and the fulfillment or the fiasco. There's always the possibility of a fiasco. But there's also the possibility of bliss." - Joseph Campbell

Online JMack

  • Hircum Magna Rex of the Fabled Atku Temple, and writing context regular
  • Writing Group
  • Ringbearer
  • *****
  • Posts: 6528
  • Total likes: 4427
  • Gender: Male
  • ridiculously obscure is my super power.
    • View Profile
Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #95 on: February 17, 2018, 12:44:41 PM »
Okay, only mostly dead poets, here is @Eli_Freysson’s request:

Quote
I just thought I'd ask: Are there any amateur poets on this site? I'm piecing together my next series, set in a city inspired by Victorian London, and I thought it would be cool to spice things up with some simple folk poems about various creepy things. Most notably a local boogeyman called the Smiling Man. And I have no talent for poetry at all.

And here’s my first try. This is a children’s circle game, they hold hands and turn in circles.... When they’re done, they grab one of their number and shove him into the center of the circle and all point at him. That child roars and chases them all away, and they all laugh and call out “Here, Smiley!.”

Smiley makes a red line
Smiley makes a white line
Sharp steal and meat hooks
All ‘round the town

« Last Edit: February 17, 2018, 12:47:34 PM by JMack »
Change, when it comes, will step lightly before it kicks like thunder. (GRMatthews)
You are being naive if you think that any sweet and light theme cannot be strangled and force fed it's own flesh. (Nora)

Offline Eli_Freysson

Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #96 on: February 17, 2018, 12:53:30 PM »
Well, since people offered to help:

As I mentioned in The King's Paws, I thought I'd spice up my new setting with some creepy poems, but I am no poet myself.

The setting is an expy of Victorian London. Dark slums, manor houses, rivers, narrow, winding streets, cobblestones, fog, and there is a network of very old underground tunnels.

It would be cool to have something general about fearing the dark. I'm also thinking of a scene where a character walking alone at night starts to suspect he's being followed, and thinks of a particular poem on the subject. Something about footsteps. "Whose steps are those I hear..."

And then there's the Smiling Man. He's a local boogeyman, a creepy figure with a rictus grin and wide, unblinking eyes. He is said to skulk in cellars and tunnels, and venture up at night, crawling rather than walking and snatching those who are out late. Or he crawls into a bedroom, staying just out sight of the person on the bed as he makes his way towards it. Any time an improperly closed door opens by itself it could be him...

Does any of this give you guys ideas?

EDIT:

Okay, only mostly dead poets, here is @Eli_Freysson’s request:

Quote
I just thought I'd ask: Are there any amateur poets on this site? I'm piecing together my next series, set in a city inspired by Victorian London, and I thought it would be cool to spice things up with some simple folk poems about various creepy things. Most notably a local boogeyman called the Smiling Man. And I have no talent for poetry at all.

And here’s my first try. This is a children’s circle game, they hold hands and turn in circles.... When they’re done, they grab one of their number and shove him into the center of the circle and all point at him. That child roars and chases them all away, and they all laugh and call out “Here, Smiley!.”

Smiley makes a red line
Smiley makes a white line
Sharp steal and meat hooks
All ‘round the town


Oh, I was still writing my post when you made yours.
I'll notify your next of kin... that you sucked!

Offline Skip

Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #97 on: February 17, 2018, 05:13:16 PM »
This one won't help Eli, I'm afraid, but here it is, fwiw.

For Revolutionaries Real and Imagined


Don't ever think
they'll forget all about it or
write you off like a bad debt.
They don't have memories, those
sunglassed eyes and trigger fingers
those humorless smiles.
But they have miles upon miles of top secret files and
they keep you there
and they keep you there
for the day of Federal Resurrection.

Don't ever think
they know forgiveness;
they only know indifference.
Statutes of limitations may stand in the courts
but in those featureless halls
with featureless walls
your shouts still echo in little glass jars
and they have all the labels.
The other side comes around now and then
and shakes the jars to hear the shouts
to see the fists clench
to re-open the wounds
to watch the blood.

Don't ever think
you are quite beyond reach.
If it's safety you want
if it's comfort you want
if you want to remain forgotten
don't ever think.

Online The Gem Cutter

  • Captain Analogy
  • Writing Group
  • Khaleesi
  • *
  • Posts: 2781
  • Total likes: 2229
  • Gender: Male
  • We've exhausted all possibilities - time to begin.
    • View Profile
    • The Gem Cutter Tales
Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #98 on: February 17, 2018, 05:38:59 PM »
Just a first sketch


It would be cool to have something general about fearing the dark. I'm also thinking of a scene where a character walking alone at night starts to suspect he's being followed, and thinks of a particular poem on the subject. Something about footsteps. "Whose steps are those I hear..."


Whose steps are those I hear,
Although I tip-toe lightly?
Whose steps are those I hear,
Following me nightly?

Whose steps are those I hear,
That always seem to find me?
Whose steps are those I hear,
Nearer now, behind me?

Dare I run or dare I hide?
Dare I wait while they grow near?
Dare I seek the footstep maker,
Whose steps are those I hear?
The Gem Cutter
"Each time, there is the same problem: do I dare? And then if you do dare, the dangers are there, and the help also, and the fulfillment or the fiasco. There's always the possibility of a fiasco. But there's also the possibility of bliss." - Joseph Campbell

Offline Eli_Freysson

Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #99 on: February 17, 2018, 06:22:52 PM »

Whose steps are those I hear,
Although I tip-toe lightly?
Whose steps are those I hear,
Following me nightly?

Whose steps are those I hear,
That always seem to find me?
Whose steps are those I hear,
Nearer now, behind me?

Dare I run or dare I hide?
Dare I wait while they grow near?
Dare I seek the footstep maker,
Whose steps are those I hear?

Cool. :)
I'll notify your next of kin... that you sucked!

Offline Alex Hormann

Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #100 on: February 18, 2018, 12:04:03 AM »
I was digging through some of my old notes and I found this. I can't remember what I wrote it for, but I kind of like it.

You're my anaesthetic against the world:
 A fiction I retreat to when day dies
 And I lie awake 'neath twisted sheets, curled
 About a worrying mind I deny.

Darkness is an opiate for the horde
 Of rushing thoughts that tumble through my head.
 That blessed laudanum happ'ly is poured
 'Til my tumultuous mind lies cold. Dead.

Then at last to slumber I do succumb
 And only in dreams do I find release
 While in reality I am struck dumb
 With Morpheus I find something like peace.

This hopelessly repeated exercise -
 Chasing that spectre from set to sunrise

Online The Gem Cutter

  • Captain Analogy
  • Writing Group
  • Khaleesi
  • *
  • Posts: 2781
  • Total likes: 2229
  • Gender: Male
  • We've exhausted all possibilities - time to begin.
    • View Profile
    • The Gem Cutter Tales
Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #101 on: February 24, 2018, 10:24:12 PM »
Self-Evasion

I feel I’ve dropped a burden, that I’ve somehow turned a key,
I feel I’ve slipped my chains for now, and find that I am free.

I’ve every cause for confidence, I’ve earned the hope I’ve found,
There are no cracks or fissures here, I stand on solid ground.

The hope I feel this morning is not a risk or chance,
It’s neither a fool’s errand nor a fairy’s whimsy-dance.

I’ve paid my dues and ransoms, paid forward and paid back,
Those times I left the higher road I stopped and doubled-back.

I don’t need my forgiveness, my sole victim has been me,
The worst crimes I’ve inflicted were to let the needy be.

I’m sure I’ll try to catch me, I’m sure I’ll swing the whip,
But I’ll hide myself away from me and give myself the slip.

The harm I did to others was done without intent,
I did the good that I could do and now I stand content.

I hope that I don’t find me, I hope I’ll let me be,
I hope I let my trail go cold and let myself run free.

I deserve this spot of sunshine, I waited out the rain,
That washed away my grandest plans so that only I remain.
The Gem Cutter
"Each time, there is the same problem: do I dare? And then if you do dare, the dangers are there, and the help also, and the fulfillment or the fiasco. There's always the possibility of a fiasco. But there's also the possibility of bliss." - Joseph Campbell

Online The Gem Cutter

  • Captain Analogy
  • Writing Group
  • Khaleesi
  • *
  • Posts: 2781
  • Total likes: 2229
  • Gender: Male
  • We've exhausted all possibilities - time to begin.
    • View Profile
    • The Gem Cutter Tales
Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #102 on: March 02, 2018, 01:08:55 AM »
While boxing my things I came across this scrap of paper that dates back at least to the 90s, perhaps earlier. I dreamed this scene and the words - perhaps the only poem dream I've ever had:

Spoiler for Hiden:
Fate

Fate
Favors but the blind who seek it,
Who welcome it breathless in off the street,
Tolerate its half coherent mumbled jumbles of modern art critiques,
Pay for its shotgunned cappuccinos before, with rolling eyes,
It explodes back out onto the street, into the hustle and bustle, and is gone.
Then,
Beneath a soiled saucer,
On a scrap of paper in fortune cookie font,
Success's phone number,
And the words: 
"Call me."
« Last Edit: March 02, 2018, 01:13:20 AM by The Gem Cutter »
The Gem Cutter
"Each time, there is the same problem: do I dare? And then if you do dare, the dangers are there, and the help also, and the fulfillment or the fiasco. There's always the possibility of a fiasco. But there's also the possibility of bliss." - Joseph Campbell

Online JMack

  • Hircum Magna Rex of the Fabled Atku Temple, and writing context regular
  • Writing Group
  • Ringbearer
  • *****
  • Posts: 6528
  • Total likes: 4427
  • Gender: Male
  • ridiculously obscure is my super power.
    • View Profile
Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #103 on: March 06, 2018, 12:02:07 AM »
Drove home today listening to Dylan Thomas recording, him reading “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.” Reminded me why I love that poem.

And makes me wish Gerard Manley Hopkins (my favorite poet) had lived to record his poems. Which he wouldn’t have done, because, repressed Jesuit that he was, he felt the poems were a sinful waste of time and energy and asked his best friend to burn them after his (early and untimely) death. Thankfully, the friend disobeyed.

My favorite poem by my favorite poet:
Spoiler for Hiden:
AS kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;   
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells   
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s   
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;   
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:           5
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;   
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,   
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.   
 
Í say móre: the just man justices;   
Kéeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;           10
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is—   
Chríst—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,   
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his   
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.   
 

And another favorite:
Spoiler for Hiden:
31. Spring and Fall
 
 
to a young child
 
 
MÁRGARÉT, áre you gríeving   
Over Goldengrove unleaving?   
Leáves, líke the things of man, you   
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?   
Áh! ás the heart grows older           5
It will come to such sights colder   
By and by, nor spare a sigh   
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;   
And yet you wíll weep and know why.   
Now no matter, child, the name:           10
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.   
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed   
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:   
It ís the blight man was born for,   
It is Margaret you mourn for.           15
 

And because I love them, one more:

Spoiler for Hiden:
16. In the Valley of the Elwy
 
 
I REMEMBER a house where all were good   
  To me, God knows, deserving no such thing:   
  Comforting smell breathed at very entering,   
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood.   
That cordial air made those kind people a hood           5
  All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing   
  Will, or mild nights the new morsels of spring:   
Why, it seemed of course; seemed of right it should.   
 
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,   
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;           10
  Only the inmate does not correspond:   
God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,   
Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,   
  Being mighty a master, being a father and fond.   
 
« Last Edit: March 06, 2018, 12:05:08 AM by JMack »
Change, when it comes, will step lightly before it kicks like thunder. (GRMatthews)
You are being naive if you think that any sweet and light theme cannot be strangled and force fed it's own flesh. (Nora)

Online The Gem Cutter

  • Captain Analogy
  • Writing Group
  • Khaleesi
  • *
  • Posts: 2781
  • Total likes: 2229
  • Gender: Male
  • We've exhausted all possibilities - time to begin.
    • View Profile
    • The Gem Cutter Tales
Re: Only Mostly Dead Poets Society
« Reply #104 on: March 13, 2018, 04:29:22 AM »
I finished the second part  :D

My Two Hearts

There are two hearts, not one, inside of my chest,
That heat me and beat me from beneath the same breast,
Two hearts here inside me all of my life,
Two hearts that divide me and lead me to strife.

One heart is cold and it beats slowly but strong,
It only wakes from its slumber when things have gone wrong.
It cares not a bit for the details or pain;
It just does the math, sees the truths that are plain:
That the lesser evil of several is the right path to take,
Even when what is lesser is bad enough to break,
My other, warmer heart, that would quake and refuse,
To weigh grisly horrors and could never choose,
To live or to act when all acts are impure,
And strength is what’s needed to overcome, to endure.
No fear has my cold heart, just a grim, evil grin,
It just shrugs and it nods when the bad things begin.

When the path to compassion and mercy leads through,
Ruthless action and endurance and dreadful deeds I must do,
My cold heart only smiles as the bad news comes in,
When the delicacies all die and it’s time to begin.

Immune to distraction, it’s that heart I trust,
When strength is what is needed to do what I must.
To do things that no one ever wishes to do,
To make tough decisions that I will come to rue,
To prevent what is worse, to save all that can be,
Knowing that one day those actions will damn me,
When my warmer heart suffers long after the danger,
Sees memories of horrors, and in my mirror, a stranger.

There are two hearts, not one, inside of my chest,
That heat me and beat me from beneath the same breast,
Two hearts here inside me right from my start,
Two hearts that divide me and tear me apart.

One heart is warm, its beats swift and sure,
With a rhythm that’s stronger when my conscience runs pure.
It burns me and turns me from cold deeds to kind,
It slows me and shows me the grief and its signs.
It hears the hurt that lies hidden in laughter,
Sees the wounds and the bruises and the scars that come after.
It wakes me and makes me reach out my hand,
To soothe and to comfort, to guide, and to stand,
Between what is weak and the things that mean harm,
It lends speed to my mind and strength to my arm.

It cares a great deal for the details and pain,
It adds them all up, sees the truth that is plain:
Limits don’t matter when choosing the right path to take,
Better to try and to fail or to break.

I try to live up to my warm heart’s ideals,
Though it shames me and blames me when things that are real,
Defeat me and beat me with my own good intentions,
Or haunt my mind with my own dark inventions.

Its my warm heart’s tender notions that make life worth living,
They sustain me and restrain me and prompt me to giving,
Recalling the days I spent on my knees,
And the moments of mercy and the wisdom shown me.
« Last Edit: March 13, 2018, 04:32:28 AM by The Gem Cutter »
The Gem Cutter
"Each time, there is the same problem: do I dare? And then if you do dare, the dangers are there, and the help also, and the fulfillment or the fiasco. There's always the possibility of a fiasco. But there's also the possibility of bliss." - Joseph Campbell