We are gathered here to mourn the passing of November. It died silently in the passing of night, and we shall miss it dearly.
I have little excuse for this. All I did was do a show or two and some essays. I'll try and keep this blog for the winter.
Here's some of the stuff I did in November for ICW. To start with, a malediction or cursing poem.
Most would be content
To live at peace, in ease
Of simple pleasures,
Never striving or demanding
How others should act.
You would measure virtue with a ruler,
Say, ‘Here you miss the mark,
There you need more effort.
You lack the precision needed.
Try again with more passion.”
But who are you?
Who gives you right to command
With no franchise in yourself?
Why not measure yourself with your
What punishment could serve you, toad?
The proscriber should be neatened:
Extremities removed. Fingers and toes,
Then hands and feet.
To pin your arms up, people would say
‘Such a right angle! Set that square!’
And plant a compass in your heart.
But to correct your gluttony?
Maybe it’s fitter to choke on excess
Let your pleasure become your gag
Of heavy bondage.
No: to be stretched and torn in two
Is the fate of a hypocrite like you.
Ok, there's that one done. The second half of that assignment was to read this poem again and write its antonymic equivalent, blessing someone. It wasn't my best work, but if there's room in someone's heart for this, enjoy.
Some can’t be usurous:
To die in war, in spite
To knowing hardships?
Always yielding or bending –
‘Why are you idle?’
- Are they.
You don’t value sin on the Bible,
Ask ‘Where do they gain a loss
Where they want less slack?’
You have a faith, desired,
Won. Never without some reason.
But who are you?
What steals their wrongs of conquest
By one poverty of their souls?
How can you love others at one
Why do I demand much less
If you achieve charity?
Which blessing would be unfit from them, dear?
A liberator must be freed.
The innermost gained, heart and mind,
Then grasp and soul.
To pull their legs down, I would ask
What’s this wronged, smooth flow, this circle
Or seed? A compass in your heart.
And from sancitons, their charity?
Certainly that’s excess: from breath of poverty
Deny their penance, being their voice
For light relief.
Yes: to be loosed and saved as whole
Will be a blessing by this saint of all.
I know that it is not a masterpiece. No hating please, just submitting what I came up with.
Working on some projects at the moment. One of them a Cassandra project I may have mentioned before, the other is just the editing of a previously written story.
Will talk later.