readables

Mar. 11th, 2015 12:30 am
xenologer: (one)
I have a friend who writes amazing poetry. I am linking some of it here because it means Things to me.

Janus Lady -- One

Womandroid, for obvious reasons. Related not-poetry thing: The Android Collections -- File: Journal Entries Weekly Report alpha3

So good.

So much good.
xenologer: (happy!)
If I were a toon, this would be easier.
My feelings could escape however
whenever
as whatever
they needed.

When you tell me nobody has called you adorable since 1999
but in 2000 I started carrying a torch for you and never stopped
I cannot prove you wrong.

Tamping the secret down inside
this well-worn bottle of mine
resistance of compromising confidences is unconscious
I cannot speak of this
but that's all right,
because I cannot speak this.

As a secondary measure my body
gives way to strange impulses
it wants to split open and
spray joyous trilling organs from its cracks,
raining candied memories in your lap.

If I were a toon, this would be easier.




*...two bits
xenologer: (vagina)
Advice to a Discarded Lover
by Fleur Adcock

Think, now: if you have found a dead bird,
not only dead, not only fallen,
but full of maggots: what do you feel -
more pity or more revulsion?

Pity is for the moment of death,
and the moments after. It changes
when decay comes, with the creeping stench
and the wriggling, munching scavengers.

Returning later, though, you will see
a shape of clean bone, a few feathers,
an inoffensive symbol of what
once lived. Nothing to make you shudder.

It is clear then. But perhaps you find
the analogy I have chosen
for our dead affair rather gruesome -
too unpleasant a comparison.

It is not accidental. In you
I see maggots close to the surface.
You are eaten up by self-pity,
crawling with unlovable pathos.

If I were to touch you I should feel
against my fingers fat, moist worm-skin.
Do not ask me for charity now:
go away until your bones are clean.

via GreatPoets
xenologer: (Ravenna)
For months my daughter carried
a dead monarch in a quart mason jar.
To and from school in her backpack,
to her only friend’s house. At the dinner table
it sat like a guest alongside the pot roast.
She took it to bed, propped by her pillow.

Was it the year her brother was born?
Was this her own too-fragile baby
that had lived—so briefly—in its glassed world?
Or the year she refused to go to her father’s house?
Was this the holding-her-breath girl she became there?

This plump child in her rolled-down socks
I sometimes wanted to haul back inside me
and carry safe again. What was her fierce
commitment? I never understood.
We just lived with the dead winged thing
as part of her, as part of us,
weightless in its heavy jar.

great poem

Jan. 9th, 2013 08:03 pm
xenologer: (angel/11)
"mississippi drowning" by saeed jones

I’ve lined my throat
with the river bottom’s best
silt,
allowed my fingers to shrivel
and be taken for crawfish.

I’ve laced my eyelashes with algae.

I blink emerald.
I blink sea glass green.

I am whatever gleams
just under the surface.

Scoop at my sparkle. I’ll give you nothing
but disturbed reflection.

Bring your ear to the water
and I’ll sing you

down into my arms.

Let me show you how

to make your lungs
a home for minnows, how

to let them flicker

like silver

in and out of your mouth
like last words,

like air.
xenologer: (bye bye)
Love's Not the Way to Treat a Friend by
Richard Brautigan via greatpoets on LiveJournal.

Love’s not the way to treat a friend.
I wouldn’t wish that on you. I don’t
want to see your eyes forgotten
on a rainy day, lost in the endless purse
of those who can remember nothing.

Love’s not the way to treat a friend.
I don’t want to see you end up that way
with your body being poured like wounded
marble into the architecture of those who make
bridges out of crippled birds.

Love’s not the way to treat a friend.
There are so many better things for you
than to see your feelings sold
as magic lanterns to somebody whose body
casts no light.




I have known a lot of people who seem to cast no light. They grab at anyone else's that they can see through the trees and they do it for their own survival, but the really frightening thing about them isn't that they suffer so badly. The really frightening thing about them is that they used to be just like you, wandering through the woods with a light until they were mugged and left in the dark. They're scary because unless you have some way to defend yourself from them, they're your future.

No thank you.

So sometimes it means going without that desperate grasping love that reduces the one so desired into a faceless and nameless carrier of lanterns, but I am really not too sorry to miss out. What I can't understand is how many people seem to think that making it through with a little light left of my own would mean I gave nothing. There are more ways to give than to die.
xenologer: (Ravenna)
When you are sitting and waiting and bracing for a thing
even if for once it doesn't come
you are
already
living it.

Maybe she doesn't break anything tonight
like you thought
she would.

Maybe just this once,
you find out that he had
anything
good
to say about you when you weren't there
this once.

And maybe, just for tonight
it matters to somebody
anybody
when you say no
and however much you're
willing to give is good enough
because
you're
enough
without anybody needing to steal
parts of you
without anybody needing to hold you
still
and silent
and cut out of you what they think
they
have earned.

But when you are
sitting and
waiting and
bracing for a thing
even if for once it doesn't come
you are already living it.

Even if it doesn't happen tomorrow
this tomorrow any tomorrow
or every tomorrow
it has
already.

Even if it doesn't come
it will always
have always
been there
waiting
in the nothings you worried about.

Ha!

Sep. 27th, 2009 08:33 pm
xenologer: (stupid questions)
So, this guy who goes by "Cuttlefish" has a habit of replying to comment threads in verse, and near as I can tell has become something of a legend around ScienceBlogs for this gift.

Check out his reply to someone's tips to atheists on how they ought to critique Christians so that they won't seem so mean.

Props to [livejournal.com profile] mothwentbad for linking this. I wasn't watching Cuttlefish's journal, and really ought to have been.

Ha!

Sep. 27th, 2009 08:33 pm
xenologer: (stupid questions)
So, this guy who goes by "Cuttlefish" has a habit of replying to comment threads in verse, and near as I can tell has become something of a legend around ScienceBlogs for this gift.

Check out his reply to someone's tips to atheists on how they ought to critique Christians so that they won't seem so mean.

Props to [livejournal.com profile] mothwentbad for linking this. I wasn't watching Cuttlefish's journal, and really ought to have been.

Ha!

Sep. 27th, 2009 08:33 pm
xenologer: (stupid questions)
So, this guy who goes by "Cuttlefish" has a habit of replying to comment threads in verse, and near as I can tell has become something of a legend around ScienceBlogs for this gift.

Check out his reply to someone's tips to atheists on how they ought to critique Christians so that they won't seem so mean.

Props to [livejournal.com profile] mothwentbad for linking this. I wasn't watching Cuttlefish's journal, and really ought to have been.
xenologer: (dolorosa)
THE MUSE AS MEDUSA

I saw you once, Medusa; we were alone.
I looked you straight in the cold eye, cold.
I was not punished, was not turned to stone.
How to believe the legends I am told?

I came as naked as any little fish,
Prepared to be hooked, gutted, caught.
And I saw you, Medusa, made my wish,
And when I left you I was clothed in thought.

Being allowed, perhaps, to swim my way
Through the great deep and on the rising tide,
Flashing wild streams as free and rich as they
Though you had power marshaled on your side.

The fish escaped to many a magic reef;
The fish explored many a dangerous sea.
The fish, Medusa, did not come to grief
But swims still in a fluid mystery.

Forget the image: your silence is my ocean,
And even now it teems with life. You chose
To abdicate by total lack of motion,
But did it work? For nothing really froze.

It is all fluid still, that world of feeling,
Where thoughts, those fishes, silent, feed and rove,
And fluid is also full of healing,
For love is healing--even ruthless love.

I turn your face around! It is my face.
That frozen rage is what I must explore.
Oh secret, self-enclosed, and ravaged place!
This is the gift I thank Medusa for.

If we go with the version of Medusa's origin that seems to dominate (that Poseidon raped her in Athena's temple, and so Athena punished Medusa), then she becomes a really sad figure. Still. Being treated unjustly on multiple fronts gives some one-time victims a destructive power that people can't understand who haven't been handed the means to pass on their pain to others. Medusa was wronged by a man, and wronged again with a curse from another woman. But that curse gave her the power to turn anybody to stone who got close to her ever again.

It protected her, but if she couldn't stop herself... well... it is a curse to be unable to lay down your weapons, isn't it?

Not much more going on than me finding a poem and not wanting to lose it. I'm not a big reader of poetry anymore, though I used to enjoy it. I'm not thinking as deeply about this poem as I ought to, but maybe if I don't lose it...
xenologer: (dolorosa)
THE MUSE AS MEDUSA

I saw you once, Medusa; we were alone.
I looked you straight in the cold eye, cold.
I was not punished, was not turned to stone.
How to believe the legends I am told?

I came as naked as any little fish,
Prepared to be hooked, gutted, caught.
And I saw you, Medusa, made my wish,
And when I left you I was clothed in thought.

Being allowed, perhaps, to swim my way
Through the great deep and on the rising tide,
Flashing wild streams as free and rich as they
Though you had power marshaled on your side.

The fish escaped to many a magic reef;
The fish explored many a dangerous sea.
The fish, Medusa, did not come to grief
But swims still in a fluid mystery.

Forget the image: your silence is my ocean,
And even now it teems with life. You chose
To abdicate by total lack of motion,
But did it work? For nothing really froze.

It is all fluid still, that world of feeling,
Where thoughts, those fishes, silent, feed and rove,
And fluid is also full of healing,
For love is healing--even ruthless love.

I turn your face around! It is my face.
That frozen rage is what I must explore.
Oh secret, self-enclosed, and ravaged place!
This is the gift I thank Medusa for.

If we go with the version of Medusa's origin that seems to dominate (that Poseidon raped her in Athena's temple, and so Athena punished Medusa), then she becomes a really sad figure. Still. Being treated unjustly on multiple fronts gives some one-time victims a destructive power that people can't understand who haven't been handed the means to pass on their pain to others. Medusa was wronged by a man, and wronged again with a curse from another woman. But that curse gave her the power to turn anybody to stone who got close to her ever again.

It protected her, but if she couldn't stop herself... well... it is a curse to be unable to lay down your weapons, isn't it?

Not much more going on than me finding a poem and not wanting to lose it. I'm not a big reader of poetry anymore, though I used to enjoy it. I'm not thinking as deeply about this poem as I ought to, but maybe if I don't lose it...
xenologer: (dolorosa)
THE MUSE AS MEDUSA

I saw you once, Medusa; we were alone.
I looked you straight in the cold eye, cold.
I was not punished, was not turned to stone.
How to believe the legends I am told?

I came as naked as any little fish,
Prepared to be hooked, gutted, caught.
And I saw you, Medusa, made my wish,
And when I left you I was clothed in thought.

Being allowed, perhaps, to swim my way
Through the great deep and on the rising tide,
Flashing wild streams as free and rich as they
Though you had power marshaled on your side.

The fish escaped to many a magic reef;
The fish explored many a dangerous sea.
The fish, Medusa, did not come to grief
But swims still in a fluid mystery.

Forget the image: your silence is my ocean,
And even now it teems with life. You chose
To abdicate by total lack of motion,
But did it work? For nothing really froze.

It is all fluid still, that world of feeling,
Where thoughts, those fishes, silent, feed and rove,
And fluid is also full of healing,
For love is healing--even ruthless love.

I turn your face around! It is my face.
That frozen rage is what I must explore.
Oh secret, self-enclosed, and ravaged place!
This is the gift I thank Medusa for.

If we go with the version of Medusa's origin that seems to dominate (that Poseidon raped her in Athena's temple, and so Athena punished Medusa), then she becomes a really sad figure. Still. Being treated unjustly on multiple fronts gives some one-time victims a destructive power that people can't understand who haven't been handed the means to pass on their pain to others. Medusa was wronged by a man, and wronged again with a curse from another woman. But that curse gave her the power to turn anybody to stone who got close to her ever again.

It protected her, but if she couldn't stop herself... well... it is a curse to be unable to lay down your weapons, isn't it?

Not much more going on than me finding a poem and not wanting to lose it. I'm not a big reader of poetry anymore, though I used to enjoy it. I'm not thinking as deeply about this poem as I ought to, but maybe if I don't lose it...
xenologer: (pistol)
I'm trying out a new poetic form (since I'm not ready for villanelles just yet), so here's one in terza rima. Yes, I'm a lazy slant-rhyming whore.

I wonder why some things get posted
That we all know no one wants to read
The author thinks we're so engrossed and
Can't critique for there's no need.
The real problem here is apathy
Not their poetic style or creed.
If there were something good to see
Perhaps the doggerel would get help
And we'd improve their writing for free
Instead of ignoring untalented whelps.

And yes, in case you were wondering, there is a lot of bad poetry getting posted on RP forums. If I'd wanted to spend more than five minutes mocking these people, I would have tried my hand at the big one. Villanelles. D:

I can't post this to the forum in question, since I don't really want to discourage them from writing. The best way to get better is to be bad for a while and keep working. At the same time... I had to post it somewhere because I got a giggle out of writing it. And now, pizza!
xenologer: (pistol)
I'm trying out a new poetic form (since I'm not ready for villanelles just yet), so here's one in terza rima. Yes, I'm a lazy slant-rhyming whore.

I wonder why some things get posted
That we all know no one wants to read
The author thinks we're so engrossed and
Can't critique for there's no need.
The real problem here is apathy
Not their poetic style or creed.
If there were something good to see
Perhaps the doggerel would get help
And we'd improve their writing for free
Instead of ignoring untalented whelps.

And yes, in case you were wondering, there is a lot of bad poetry getting posted on RP forums. If I'd wanted to spend more than five minutes mocking these people, I would have tried my hand at the big one. Villanelles. D:

I can't post this to the forum in question, since I don't really want to discourage them from writing. The best way to get better is to be bad for a while and keep working. At the same time... I had to post it somewhere because I got a giggle out of writing it. And now, pizza!
xenologer: (pistol)
I'm trying out a new poetic form (since I'm not ready for villanelles just yet), so here's one in terza rima. Yes, I'm a lazy slant-rhyming whore.

I wonder why some things get posted
That we all know no one wants to read
The author thinks we're so engrossed and
Can't critique for there's no need.
The real problem here is apathy
Not their poetic style or creed.
If there were something good to see
Perhaps the doggerel would get help
And we'd improve their writing for free
Instead of ignoring untalented whelps.

And yes, in case you were wondering, there is a lot of bad poetry getting posted on RP forums. If I'd wanted to spend more than five minutes mocking these people, I would have tried my hand at the big one. Villanelles. D:

I can't post this to the forum in question, since I don't really want to discourage them from writing. The best way to get better is to be bad for a while and keep working. At the same time... I had to post it somewhere because I got a giggle out of writing it. And now, pizza!
xenologer: (Default)
Being around other people
is like eating bad-tasting candy.
You eat it because it's candy,
and if there's any more
you'll eat that too.
It's addictive because all your life
you've been told
that children like candy
so here you go little girl!
And we eat it.

Then one day,
when we're 30-something years old,
we see that candy in the store.
We almost buy it from force of habit and
for old-times' sake.
It's then that we realize.
We can get whatever the hell we want.

I hid the candy in my pocket.
xenologer: (Default)
Being around other people
is like eating bad-tasting candy.
You eat it because it's candy,
and if there's any more
you'll eat that too.
It's addictive because all your life
you've been told
that children like candy
so here you go little girl!
And we eat it.

Then one day,
when we're 30-something years old,
we see that candy in the store.
We almost buy it from force of habit and
for old-times' sake.
It's then that we realize.
We can get whatever the hell we want.

I hid the candy in my pocket.

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