Back again with more poetry
Horrid little blog, but I intend to keep it. It's so easy to let such a thing slip, especially when people demand that you do such awful things as 'work' and 'socials'. It would be better for the sake of the blog to become a sociopath. Alas, I would lose contact with my readership, the world and food. I could live without the world, but food is necessary. As is readership. Please keep reading, I will try to be faithful to you.
Here is some poetry that I wrote for the sake of it. I liked playing around with the associations we make with nature.
I asked the willow
(whose form was steeped
In form of sleep)
Why did she cry at the water’s edge.
‘Forgive me if you thought I cried,
I am bent from laughing
Which, like sorrow, leaves you spent
So I left her by the river side
With mirth. But had she cried?
Can it be that trees can lie?
Now for the week's assignments that I failed to put up. Sorry for the wait.
The first two are from the perspective of someone very small looking at something that appears massive to them. I wrote the first about something organic, the other about an inorganic.
Such mighty trunks
That reach out
Into the greater world.
Such as you can grab,
With branches and boughs
Dark deep-rooted green.
A forest of befuzzled arms,
That reach out
To the outer world.Red Planet
This way that way
This way to eternity
That way to eternity
But less of an eternity
Much less of an eternity
Than the other one
But outstretching eternity
But moulded in a way
The green walls the hang
On the edges, high and green
Yet not as high as the sky
The ground beneath my feet pocked
There is a great white blob
Turned grey and printed with
The great meteor from above
That shoots down.
Here is the great mass monster
Behemoth that walks walks walks
Shining green backed with black shell
It might not recognise you
Hope it doesn’t
Look at it waddle
Then watch the stones
Set in stone, the whites
Whites but mostly greys
And darker, but not black
Not black by a long way
Not in traditional forms that tower
But the sharp forms beneath your feet
The feet that walk on eternity.
Finally, something written by someone who is massive, seeing a gigantic thing as small. I wrote this in the style of one half of a phone chat. Enjoy.
It’s just a little thing I foun.
Oh, nothing special.
It fits on the end of your finger.
No, it doesn’t bite.
I don’t know: not exactly pretty.
Small doesn’t mean cute.
Kinda sparkly, I guess.
Not shiny, just sparkly.
And it’s warm, too. Not hot, not cold.
I don’t know either. Maybe the sparkles do it.
Lots. I can’t really count them all.
They’re dots. If you lean in close, you can see them.
It’s not just sparkles. There are other things.
Fine then. I won’t let you see it.
No, no people.
Cause I’d be able to see them.
What, small people on grains?
Well, so am I.
I’d like to believe in candy rainbows, but I haven’t seen any of those.
Come aruond later, you can look for them yourself.
Ok, see you next week. Then you can look at
That little blob of space.
That's it for the moment. Aside from the assignments given for reading week, I'm working on a prequel to Aeschylus' Agamemnon that examines the departure of the Greeks with Cassandra in tow. You see, I'm one of the people who felt that Cassandra is a great character to examine, and that Aeschylus really touched only the surface of her story, one which I feel complex and worth investigating. Plus, I'll be able to write some feminist style rants about the unyielding dominance of men in Greek tragedy. Stay tuned, the intro is coming well and may be displayed for ridicule soon.