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Literature Text
1. you were probably
seventeen
that night
and there we were;
our eyes and
bodies
subdued,
we’d been spun out of white light.
there was only
a duffel bag
a cartography map
and a voice telling you to
come home
as you threw yourself down
on the old
summer yacht –
2. he’s
sitting
by the gravestones again
hospital eyes and
failed attempts and
poetry books lying
read more times than you could even think
of a thing being read.
there’s a line
somewhere and it goes
‘expectation of ancestors’ and it’s about
all the things you know
and all the things you don’t know.
they say he talks to the dead ; necromantic
but i know he just needs a friend –
3. your eyes
are not galaxies and
this milk powder
is not calcium
she painted the universe on the basement walls
while i slept concrete and listened to the hum of distant constellations
and days long past.
4. i watched you
watching me
from your bedroom window
your eyes drilled holes into my back
why were there
roses
in your mouth
why were your eyes
so sleepless, so black
so tired and worn out?
5. yes, i’m stabbing like a sunflower
but everything grows here, darling-
6. we’re still on the yacht and
we’re talking about the cities, about their
dull lights, their burning lives
the way they illuminate and blind, sometimes.
once we tire of this you read carl sagan
to the ocean, for the dolphins
and i can hear astrophysics and poetry
echo and reverberate in your voice
reflecting the very cause of creation-
7. the graveyard boy
says
home isn’t a place and it isn’t a person and
i think of the oceans in your voice
and i agree with him
he says, home is nothing at all
and i think of how the universe
is composed of
e m p t y s p a c e s
how we are all various forms and subgenres of one big nothing
and i am inclined to agree with him.
there’s never been a place like home
for kids like us, woven from disillusioned daydreams
and fallen stars.
seventeen
that night
and there we were;
our eyes and
bodies
subdued,
we’d been spun out of white light.
there was only
a duffel bag
a cartography map
and a voice telling you to
come home
as you threw yourself down
on the old
summer yacht –
2. he’s
sitting
by the gravestones again
hospital eyes and
failed attempts and
poetry books lying
read more times than you could even think
of a thing being read.
there’s a line
somewhere and it goes
‘expectation of ancestors’ and it’s about
all the things you know
and all the things you don’t know.
they say he talks to the dead ; necromantic
but i know he just needs a friend –
3. your eyes
are not galaxies and
this milk powder
is not calcium
she painted the universe on the basement walls
while i slept concrete and listened to the hum of distant constellations
and days long past.
4. i watched you
watching me
from your bedroom window
your eyes drilled holes into my back
why were there
roses
in your mouth
why were your eyes
so sleepless, so black
so tired and worn out?
5. yes, i’m stabbing like a sunflower
but everything grows here, darling-
6. we’re still on the yacht and
we’re talking about the cities, about their
dull lights, their burning lives
the way they illuminate and blind, sometimes.
once we tire of this you read carl sagan
to the ocean, for the dolphins
and i can hear astrophysics and poetry
echo and reverberate in your voice
reflecting the very cause of creation-
7. the graveyard boy
says
home isn’t a place and it isn’t a person and
i think of the oceans in your voice
and i agree with him
he says, home is nothing at all
and i think of how the universe
is composed of
e m p t y s p a c e s
how we are all various forms and subgenres of one big nothing
and i am inclined to agree with him.
there’s never been a place like home
for kids like us, woven from disillusioned daydreams
and fallen stars.
Literature
A storm in springtime
No draft of wellspring draws
the same effusive sigh
as wildflowers on the grass
when windstorms fly
in violent, happy, gusts
through speckled shoots of blooms
and cattail reeds bent over banks
cut deep with clouding plumes.
I feel in weathered breaths
this sudden shock of spring:
then drops of rain; your parted hair
to which they cling,
and suddenly the flush
of overburdened clouds
all rushing to the drier ground
to weep their desperate joy aloud.
The dampened scent of sweet
enthralling gentle flowers
enraptured in the air,
weighed low from bowers
of starlit blossom trees
now settles on your skin
and draws between your dusted touch
to cloud
Literature
The World's End
Where ravens feast on mortal sin,
The world ends at a clifftop inn
Whose greeting is a fleshless grin
From pirates' gibbet at the door.
This lonely structure is adorned
With bodies of those men unmourned,
With sign proclaiming Ye be warned,
And always room enough for more.
Our story, though, tells not of this,
This feared, this known, this bland abyss,
But rather of the promised bliss
A spyglass offers to these men.
For if, once fear has gripped his mind,
Our pirate's hand, then eye should find
The spyglass hidden just behind
The rotting gibbet post, well then...
Well, then he runs, or jumps, or flies,
(That is to say, the fellow tries,)
En
Literature
Shrouds for a ship.
The ship, and nearly all her crew and passengers with her, were lost on the 22nd of May. On the 24th, Dorothy started making model boats.
Her fingers hurt a little, of course. Red, cold, and sometimes even damp, they caught on the makeshift sails and left unsightly blotches on the hulls. The hulls were one of the hardest bits. Hours were consumed by the whittling and painting and drying. The rigging was even worse; the threading she used was almost impossible to keep a tight grip upon, and the variations of beige and brown and black meant they often vanished entirely if dropped to the dirt floor. As for the masts, these took an enormous amo
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i used this prompt, but the poem's all mine.
hi i'm sorry it's been 20 days since i last uploaded some lit??? how shocking
well here i am with this thing i wrote today as compensation hahahah forgive me
©a-girl-named-divine // ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!! (:
hi i'm sorry it's been 20 days since i last uploaded some lit??? how shocking
well here i am with this thing i wrote today as compensation hahahah forgive me
©a-girl-named-divine // ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!! (:
Comments33
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I think this is one of the most amazing things I've ever read.
Tried to think of a less generic way to compliment such a unique piece but the beautiful, superfluous words evade me.
It's simply incredible.
Tried to think of a less generic way to compliment such a unique piece but the beautiful, superfluous words evade me.
It's simply incredible.