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Poetry Thread


TheDwarfyOne

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Ooh! Poetry! Here's a sonnet style piece of mine about... Poetry.

 

To cite what I have penned, I shall decline;

From claim upon my work, I must refrain;

Lest, knowing well that character of mine,

You with it might my quotant verse disdain.

My worthy verse you yet may well respect,

That grudging, still the fool you shan't appear;

And truly, that my rhymes reflect

Upon my name I cannot doubt nor fear.

Implicit value seek I to ensure

Of what is writ not hi high, nor low, but middle

By making my true moniker obscure,

And leaving my identity a riddle.

I thus prevent my reputation's curse

From sullying the mettle of my verse.

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  • 2 weeks later...

I thought I'd try an epic-length Persephone and Hades poem. Here's so far:

Prologue

Beneath the rolling stone of time

Sleeps Hades in a wreath of memory,

While in her orchard-dream Persephone

Shakes stars from hair of blackbird wings.

Together, they could clap the skies

And bring its cradle close enough to kiss.

But on Olympus bitter gods

Would strum away awakenings

With words like whips.

And so reclined in shells like bombs

Persephone and Hades sleep

Their plans strawberry dreams held deep

Beneath the waves. They have not met.

But in the indigo a storm is strained

And lightning loves to hit the rod.

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Really nice @TheDwarfyOne!

Totally unsolicited advice spoilered below

Spoiler
On 7/8/2020 at 9:56 AM, TheDwarfyOne said:

Sleeps Hades in a wreath of memory,

I kept wanting to read this as:

Sleeps Hades in memory wreathed

(Something about the flow of the original line felt discontinuous with the rest of the poem)

There's only one other line that stuck out to me as not quite fitting in with the rest of your very beautiful prologue:

On 7/8/2020 at 9:56 AM, TheDwarfyOne said:

But in the indigo a storm is strained

It's that "the", I kept wanting to read the line as

But in indigo a storm is strained.

The previous line mentions the ocean, the continuity of the idea is established, the definite article only seems to break the cadence of the line.

On 7/8/2020 at 9:56 AM, TheDwarfyOne said:

And lightning loves to hit the rod.

I love this line!! That could totally be the name of your first collection of poems!

 

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  • 5 months later...

I’ve recently been dabbling in limericks. 
 

untitled (by me)

Here’s a look in my head.
As I sit here bored eating bread.
There are things I could do 
And few things I should do.
But I wrote a few limericks instead.


My Pen (by me)
I put my pen to a page.
And write what I wish I could wish.
A thousand thoughts 
Run through my head.
As I see what I drew was a fish.


A girl from Cancún (by me)

There once was a girl from Cancún
Who ate all her food with a spoon.
She ate straight from the pot
And spilled quite a lot.
And looked just a tad like a loon.


also, I post my poetry over on my writing Instagram in case anyone’s interested. @start_with_words

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I wanted to share this piece that I literally finished writing moments ago. 

Chains Unbroken

In a valley most silent a lone figure stands if just barely amidst the unmitigated destruction that gods may wreak. Up above thunderheads roar with a rage beyond nature’s might. Jove’s voice shakes the mountains that hide from sight this sanctuary and prison. His hands burn the skies with legions of blinding lances of light whose aim is always true. Winds sing violent and dangerous songs as they weave around one whose soul is cursed to see the carnage which comes. 

Divine power shields the traveler from the cacophony that drives even gods into a sort of insatiable frenzy. Mars clutches his head in agony and trembles while tears scar his battle worn flesh. Splintered weapons leech the earth as their fragments descend from on high. Their touch gives life to stone only to take it away again. They crumble plant life returning all to the semblance of corpses that predated the birthing of Flora. The cosmos seem to be waiting for something  as the stranger absorbs this chaos and is unmoved.

Garments once able to protect from all that exists in the world lack the lustrous beauty and unyielding strength that they once held. Pleading Minerva, Venus, and Juno call for mercy to keep the realms of mortal and primordials intact. Flames mightier than Vulcan could ever hope to control set alight the dying land. Protective heights melt away to form a sea that is choking the skies and all consuming. Leadened feet hold back flight as all cries fall on uncaring ears. 

Shackles that none could hope to break glow beneath the heat which spreads itself wide and yet does not warm their prisoner. Prayers of all kinds are ignored as a kind of numbness sets in. A sort of finality takes hold of Mars and all that he is and once was is vanquished.  Those who call for clemency bow their heads in submission as strange glints appear in their eyes. Destruction consumes itself and Jupiter falls into a dreamless slumber. Vitality returns to the one who was once trapped as all is remade and in silence all is restored forever more.

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  • 2 months later...

Son of Honor
Speak and rise
Stormlight streaming from your eyes
Protect those who cannot protect themselves

Nature’s Daughter
Dance and glide
Seek out those who flee and hide
Remember those who have been forgotten 

Cryptic Lady
Lies on lies
Deadly secrets in disguise
Speak your hidden truths 

Bondsmith Regal
Seal and bind
Leave your tortured past behind 
Unite them
Unite them
Unite them

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  • 4 weeks later...

Memory of Storms

Sometimes 
there are storms,

waterfalls thundering
from the iron-grey
sky, endless

Sometimes
there are storms.

I do not
remember the
blue, or birdsong

I do not know
if there will
be tomorrow.

Sometimes
there are storms.

Sometimes
I dare dream

of blue yonder.

Sometimes
I hear the nightingale
singing.

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  • 2 months later...

When dying seasons churn the restless sea
Into a foam-flecked frenzy, freed at last
Sane men are known to flee.

Some homeward to the hearths of family
Bring word that hope is necessary
When dying seasons churn the restless sea.

Others, feeling fear of sinning, to Holy See
Bring warning and a plea, for
Even sane men are known to flee.

Jaws taut, the brave leave quay,
Seeking untethered souls
When dying seasons churn the restless sea.

Yet more, while locking doors with silver key
Sigh to feel the wind which
Sane men are known to flee.

But I, feet edging sand, fling open arms
And laugh a challenge, though I know
When dying seasons churn the restless sea
Sane men are known to flee.

Edited by TheDwarfyOne
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  • 6 months later...

Need some honest feedback. I'm considering reading this aloud in public and I need to know if its any good.

                                                                Of Bewitching

Night so enchanted by gods and mortals alike filled with raucous laughter into the very soul of the untainted night. Midnight casts its mighty spell in vain against this faint shadow of Bacchanalia. Though the thyrsus wielder is nowhere to be seen the line splitting night and day is utterly shattered. A moon pure as quicksilver stands affronted by the smoke that rises and ascends to confront this hour chosen by foolish consent. Cool breezes float in a war like formation and seem to attack the inferno that disturbs the night yet the lions of flame are not cowed. I watched in shadow beneath the very pine where others in times long gone have gazed in bewilderment. The lord of winds spins in a dance more trance than conscious movement. Spiced spilled wine burns its way into the earth’s heart and makes Terra drunk and tremble. Jove almighty from his perch descended into a slumber not of this world. Revelry that weaves a song most mysterious wages a winning war against all the world. My eyes behold the shadows play in the depths of my mind as I too succumb to the strangest power of this strangest moment in time.

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18 hours ago, Nathrangking said:

Need some honest feedback. I'm considering reading this aloud in public and I need to know if its any good.

                                                                Of Bewitching

Night so enchanted by gods and mortals alike filled with raucous laughter into the very soul of the untainted night. Midnight casts its mighty spell in vain against this faint shadow of Bacchanalia. Though the thyrsus wielder is nowhere to be seen the line splitting night and day is utterly shattered. A moon pure as quicksilver stands affronted by the smoke that rises and ascends to confront this hour chosen by foolish consent. Cool breezes float in a war like formation and seem to attack the inferno that disturbs the night yet the lions of flame are not cowed. I watched in shadow beneath the very pine where others in times long gone have gazed in bewilderment. The lord of winds spins in a dance more trance than conscious movement. Spiced spilled wine burns its way into the earth’s heart and makes Terra drunk and tremble. Jove almighty from his perch descended into a slumber not of this world. Revelry that weaves a song most mysterious wages a winning war against all the world. My eyes behold the shadows play in the depths of my mind as I too succumb to the strangest power of this strangest moment in time.

Honest feedback, then! There's nothing wrong with the poetical prose at all. It's very descriptive/imagistic/referential, which can make a piece seem trite and artificial, but it comes across well here.

If you're reading it out loud, your main problems will be pacing and intonation. Try thinking of places where your voice could rise/fall or speed/slow.

Also, the audience is important too. If speaking to a group of classical student/Greek enthusiasts, it's perfect. If proclaiming it to your family, expect questions such as 'what the hell is a Bacchanalia'!

In short: The piece is good and evocative, but think about how (and to whom!) you deliver it. Good luck!

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                                                                                                                 Know

Tell me oh singers from where your song comes. Heaven and earth reverberate with most haunting music. The oceans rush forth as though to embrace those that they love. Cities are swiftly carried away into a realm of sounds so pure mortal lips could never have formed them. Each note clings to flesh and stone transforming all into a single form bound by chains beyond description. Had a single soul the power to see these bonds then they would behold a portal into the infinite. There are melodies bringing to the stars tears and sighing to the uppermost expanses. Beings of flesh gather in wonder and fall into the embrace of something so subtle only the depths of their hearts knew that they were trapped not by the will of a malicious deity. What this mysterious melody was is impossible for any to grasp. Immortality paints all with understanding. Souls chant and close their eyes. None wish to open their eyes and behold the end that approaches upon the winds. Swirling beauty holds them tight, comforts them before they awake, tear stained and longing for the faint chords that fade away. 

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dreams unspoken

I wake, sometimes, in the bright electric night
with orange bars unspooling on the bed

(having dreamt of lakewater catching golden
or a salamander breathing over coals)

and, rising to reality with the spark of speech
a-sizzle on my tongue,

pause. deflate. a stillness slides between my ribs, and coils
itself about my heart. my quiet bubbles

with sirens, parties next door,
or just the restless susurration of my breath.

and I am alone.

Edited by TheDwarfyOne
Slight format change
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  • 1 month later...

Brockmannstraße at Sunset

Underfoot the stream
stills. Only a trickle remains,
dirt mostly damp.
Above, rough gravel carves
a stretch through the long grass
as far as the blackbird flies.
Hazy violet, ochre-tips
gold-streaked in the last light.
Today, the lone tree, untouched
in the undulating grasses.
Here it stands. Noch.
Today.

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  • 1 month later...

A poem about the writing process,

 

in early morn I sit and write,
but through all my work it’s not quite right,
as the long noon hours shift to gray
and the evening showers come to play
still I toil, and tweak, and change.
because it might be better if I rearrange. 

you say it’s perfect, to let it alone.
I just don’t know, what if they condone?
you take my hand, look me in the eye.
and say the best we can do is try.

your words I hear inside my head,
as I lie down to bed.
so now in the darkness sleep
I close my eyes, your words I keep
and in the slumber of my mind
I flew
and dreamed silently

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Who am I?

Am I The beating heart
         The rushing blood
         The parts too small to see?

Who am I?

Am I The sparking nerves
         The racing brain
         The soaring thought?

Who am I?

         Am I defined by others’ thoughts?
         Bound by their assumptions?
         No.

I am
         Emotion
         Speech
         Thought

I am
         A loved child of heavenly parents

I am
         The racing spark of imagination

I am
         Split parts and a whole

I am
         My spirit, my soul

I am
         My truths and lies

I am
         My joys, my sighs

I am
         Diminish and increase

I am
         Chaos and peace

I am
         A beginning, an end

I am
         A child, a sibling, a friend

I am one with love in my heart

I am greater than the sum of my parts

Who am I?

I am you

You are me

We are family

 

Honest Feedback please!

Edited by EmulatonStromenkiin
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14 hours ago, EmulatonStromenkiin said:

Who am I?

Am I The beating heart
         The rushing blood
         The parts too small to see?

Who am I?

Am I The sparking nerves
         The racing brain
         The soaring thought?

Who am I?

         Am I defined by others’ thoughts?
         Bound by their assumptions?
         No.

I am
         Emotion
         Speech
         Thought

I am
         A loved child of heavenly parents

I am
         The racing spark of imagination

I am
         Split parts and a whole

I am
         My spirit, my soul

I am
         My truths and lies

I am
         My joys, my sighs

I am
         Diminish and increase

I am
         Chaos and peace

I am
         A beginning, an end

I am
         A child, a sibling, a friend

I am one with love in my heart

I am greater than the sum of my parts

I am you

You are me

We are family

 

Honest Feedback please!

I really like this! The tone is introspective and full of hope, and I’m always a sucker for repetition in poems. My only real critique would be that I think you could create more repetition by calling back to the lines “who am I” by adding that line again near the end.  Like maybe just before the line “I am you.” I think it might add just that little edge, that callback to the start that would tie the poem together. 

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7 hours ago, Enantiosis said:

I really like this! The tone is introspective and full of hope, and I’m always a sucker for repetition in poems. My only real critique would be that I think you could create more repetition by calling back to the lines “who am I” by adding that line again near the end.  Like maybe just before the line “I am you.” I think it might add just that little edge, that callback to the start that would tie the poem together. 

thanks!

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  • 1 month later...

The Standard

Skies painted with hues most divine shine with an inner glow that struggles to break free of bonds mightier than imagination. They cascade across the realm and awaken vitality that rests just beneath cold and unfeeling rock and dust. Forests spring forth from clay scorched and lacking in even the illusion of life. Fields of grain and vast orchards ascend and offer libations of thanks and praise. Nature sings and rejoices to a song unlike any that has ever existed in the realm of mortal flesh. Every note is a sculptor that carves regions into artistic forms that no mere frail human could hope to shape on their own. Forms so sinuous and beautiful shout from the heights the kinds of glorifying words that only divinities deserve. Souls by the legion are led into a state of joy that seems fleeting and yet extends into eternity. Halls of laughter sacrosanct, sanctified, and sacred are filled with tapestries born beyond the reach of comprehension of those that will one-day end rush into the vastness of time. That most amazing flowing incredible cloak of sovereignty whose rich colors chase darkness into the void is clasped to the back of the mistress of this place. Dancing birds and beasts celebrate as though they can never hope to again rejoice after this day has run its course. Steps and flapping wings penetrate the heart calling forth things that were thought to be buried in shadow. Light spinning and whirling so strong and at the same time fragile races to envelop all in an embrace that is from another plane. Even gods and goddesses gather to appoint their new ruler. Empress who awoke the slumbering spirit and reignited life in the desiccated and dried-out husk I crown you in laurels purer than the light of the twins of night and day. To you now is a greatness that cannot be undone. Forevermore, that which is said of you shall be the sign of your coronation.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Within the bleakness of the night 

A lonley swallow does take flight

still searching

heart lurching

 

and as it rises it does sing

throughout the darkness echoes ring

still soaring

exploring

 

The swallow dives unto the ground

I know it's quarry it has found

Prey squirming

returning

 

The bird returns to empty nest

with food fetched at dead chicks behest

still waiting

deflating

 

For predators they killed her chicks

And left their empty bed of stick

denying

still flying

This is a poem I just composed about a bird by our house. A few weeks ago her chicks were killed by an owl. However, whenever she goes hunting, she leaves a worm like she used to. Food for her dead children

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1 hour ago, HOID WANTS INSTANT NOODLES said:

Within the bleakness of the night 

A lonley swallow does take flight

still searching

heart lurching

 

and as it rises it does sing

throughout the darkness echoes ring

still soaring

exploring

 

The swallow dives unto the ground

I know it's quarry it has found

Prey squirming

returning

 

The bird returns to empty nest

with food fetched at dead chicks behest

still waiting

deflating

 

For predators they killed her chicks

And left their empty bed of stick

denying

still flying

This is a poem I just composed about a bird by our house. A few weeks ago her chicks were killed by an owl. However, whenever she goes hunting, she leaves a worm like she used to. Food for her dead children

Hey! That's a nice poem. The topic in particular - which you sum up at the end - is poignant. The bird mourning its children through food.

An observation on language, though:

This reminds me of the first poem I wrote. Which, incidentally, was about a bird. I used 'unto' and 'thus' and so on. Essentially, the words common in the romantic poetry I was studying at school. The thing about poetry, though, is that each word must be chosen with conscious intent. Archaic words shouldn't be avoided, per se, but like any other words in a poem they require justification for their presence. In this poem, they add nothing and distract the reader from that main, poignant message - the grieving mother bird.

There's a similar issue with 'does take flight.' You are conforming to a rhythm, but using an unnatural sentence structure which (once more) distracts from your message. Don't be afraid to break rhythm - variety often makes the poem more interesting, and is a useful tool for highlighting important bits! Just be sure that, like with your words, you do it with intent.

Forgive me for tampering with your poem, it's just to highlight my point:

 

Within the bleakness of the night 

A lonely swallow takes flight

still searching

heart lurching

 

and as it rises it sings

throughout the darkness echoes ring

still soaring

exploring

 

The swallow dives to the ground

Its quarry it has found

Prey squirming

returning

 

The bird returns to empty nest,

food fetched for chicks at rest

still waiting

deflating

 

Predators killed her chicks

And left their empty bed of sticks

denying

still flying

 

Obviously I've changed this, so it no longer accurately reflects your style or intent - but in so doing I hope I've drawn some things to your attention. Archaic words were distracting from your message, and exclusively choosing words to fit rhythm/rhyme schemes was disrupting the flow and pacing of your poem.

 

I look forward to reading your next one!

 

Edit: The above inspired me to rework one of my earlier poems. I'd post the original, but it's rather long - have the edited version instead!

I Paused Beside a Grave

Are you asleep with flowers overhead,
Martin Peibel? You have lain for many years
judging by the rust.

Your name is nothing but black
curlicues on stone, and I came for family
further down the lane.

Why pause? Perhaps for gravity inherent
in the grave. Perhaps your silence
stayed my feet.

Regardless. I am here, and hope
you sleep with flowers
overhead.

Edited by TheDwarfyOne
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2 hours ago, TheDwarfyOne said:

Hey! That's a nice poem. The topic in particular - which you sum up at the end - is poignant. The bird mourning its children through food.

An observation on language, though:

This reminds me of the first poem I wrote. Which, incidentally, was about a bird. I used 'unto' and 'thus' and so on. Essentially, the words common in the romantic poetry I was studying at school. The thing about poetry, though, is that each word must be chosen with conscious intent. Archaic words shouldn't be avoided, per se, but like any other words in a poem they require justification for their presence. In this poem, they add nothing and distract the reader from that main, poignant message - the grieving mother bird.

There's a similar issue with 'does take flight.' You are conforming to a rhythm, but using an unnatural sentence structure which (once more) distracts from your message. Don't be afraid to break rhythm - variety often makes the poem more interesting, and is a useful tool for highlighting important bits! Just be sure that, like with your words, you do it with intent.

Forgive me for tampering with your poem, it's just to highlight my point:

 

Within the bleakness of the night 

A lonely swallow takes flight

still searching

heart lurching

 

and as it rises it sings

throughout the darkness echoes ring

still soaring

exploring

 

The swallow dives to the ground

Its quarry it has found

Prey squirming

returning

 

The bird returns to empty nest,

food fetched for chicks at rest

still waiting

deflating

 

Predators killed her chicks

And left their empty bed of sticks

denying

still flying

 

Obviously I've changed this, so it no longer accurately reflects your style or intent - but in so doing I hope I've drawn some things to your attention. Archaic words were distracting from your message, and exclusively choosing words to fit rhythm/rhyme schemes was disrupting the flow and pacing of your poem.

 

I look forward to reading your next one!


 

Thank you so much! I really apreciate the feedback. I intentionally didnt include particularly archaic words. However I can see that the wording is a little bit clunky. My particular pattern in writing poetry is musical. For almost every poem I read or write, my head generates a tune that it could go along with. Because of this, I tend to go out of my way to make the verses rhyme. This poem was a combination of the bird that I had seen, and a particular mournful tune that my head had thought fit it. This wasnt something I heard, just a melody that seeing the bird had sparked. Part of why I see the world through such a music foucsed lens is my synesthesia. Images have sounds, tunes, songs. I actually found Brandon's portrayal of the singers and their tunes to be relatively accurate. It isnt that i hum like that when I talk or anything but moreso that my brain doesn't have the same block between sound and external factors many people do. I dont like hear music in my head when I see a painting but I do know what melody would fit it. The same applies to me for numbers, emotions, and events. They have a song, or color that can be found. I am experienced in writing songs to describe things that I see but am still pretty new to poetry. Thus when I started my poem I already had a tune, rhyming pattern, and sound in my head. This restricted me from leaving rhyming patterns as it felt wrong to leave them. Thanks for reading through my ramble and for critquing my poetry. I really appreciate it!

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Do you remember

When seventeen used to seem old

And years were long

Days longer

Before time whirled us by

On wings of silvered age

 

Feedback and constructive criticism is welcome!  I've put a couple of my own thoughts in the spoiler box, so they don't affect initial feedback, though feedback on those would also be helpful.

Spoiler

This was copied with verbatim punctuation out of my journal.  I know for a fact it was written rather late at night, but I can't remember if I meant to add punctuation later, so I've left it as is.

I did change 'silver age' to 'silvered age', though I'm also wondering if 'silver'd age' would work.  Probably not, I think that might be too pretentious.

I'm rather annoyed by 'Before time whirled us by'.  The idea I was going for was 'before time whirled by us', time being what is moving, but I don't think that came out clearly in the current version, but in my opinion the current version flows better.

 

 

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Enshrined in a Sanctuary

A fortress with walls that have been battered by legions filled with ire so untainted by mercy that even the most belligerent of gods would dare not ever oppose them. Thor bound in poisonous chains turns the storms against those who defend this keep. Spears of lightning smash at the gates and seek to set them aflame. Freya atop her boar charges the battlements and brings with her death never-ending. She weaves between those who would give their lives and do as their breathless flesh goes cold. Grendle smashes through and releases a horde of hell upon this place now wretched. Jormungandr circles in the skies and then descends as it crushes all of the defenses of this sanctuary in a single moment of raw strength. Hordes swarm seeking their prize and butchering any who have survived. Their screams and whimpers shake the very foundations of the world. Cries of frustration soon ascend as surely as any offering to gods both captured and those who care not for what is happening.

 

Fenrir who lept into the fray at the end goes still and then lets out a howl before a single pure note throws him into Grendle. He who is the world’s serpent shudders and begins to turn all who surround it. Orderly units break and those who were imprisoned are set free from their blood-forged shackles. Beowolf and Thor stand back to back as from above the ruler of all rulers comes bearing a song at her lips and an ax aglow with an inferno beyond comprehension. With a single cleaving blow, she takes the head of Odinson’s bane and spills its blood as a sea. All of this time Freya frozen in place turns on her enemies.  Soon only Fenrir lives as all else has been destroyed by these deities and the mistress of the cosmos. From the sovereign comes the complete song that banishes the wolf forever and purifies this place so defiled. Dirges become jubilant epics as she is enshrined and named Cheiften of Cheiftens and savior of all of creation

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Perception

When an insects merry dance

Becomes the fae folks revel

And when a distant thunder's rumble

seems a dragons roar

 

When a tired bycicle

becomes a mighty griffon

Then a nearby fallen branch 

 appears a mighty sword

 

When the closet dark at night 

can hide unspoken horrors.

And when a barking neighborhood dog

becomes a foul beast

 

Then the world seems full 

of wonder behind every corner

And who'se to say a childs

exited stories arent the truth

The basis for this was that I was a very immaginative little kid. I was recently told that when I first saw a mall I thought it was a castle

 

 

 

 

 

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  • 4 weeks later...

Here's a cryptic little number and a drawing too boot.

4 by 4 they gathered 'round
    and danced a merry jig.

3 by 3 they grabbed the spit
    to turn the roasting pig

2 by 2 they wandered on
    showing no remorse

1 by 1 we buried them
    in the spiny gorse

20220806_211453.jpg.6a7abc54a42c44f07d2563d3c44d3770.jpg

Another drawing of the Gorse.

20220806_221009.thumb.jpg.f7295c0fe28e816fd694ced534d2d013.jpg

Edited by Hoiditthroughthegrapevine
formatting and such
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