#an introduction to our dreary actors

[randaccidents]

WELCOME ONE AND ALL. TO THE STAGE WHERE ACTORS PLAY UNFITTING ROLES. WHERE THE ENDING IS NEVER REACHED AND THE TRUTH REMAINS VEILED TO THE EYES. IS CONCORD EVEN POSSIBLE WHEN THE SOVEREIGN IS TYRANNICAL? WHEN THE ROLES SUFFOCATE AND WARP ITS ACTORS AGAINST THEM? WHEN THE TROPES ARE CRUEL AND WRONG YET ENFORCED?

WELCOME. TO THE LIE OF CONCORD AU.

<Im being cheesy about this :3. TWS for this AU will be in another post>

<FAIR WARNING: this au was initially written as a CRITICISM of fanon tropes I disliked. which means that you should expect some nasty tropes to show up, such as infantilization. expect it from this au, and expect to see it be broken down as well>

OUR ACTORS <warning: they are all unreliable. they do not truly know the script>

Heart (Juno)

He is the love, the hate, the emotional side. (he is tired of having to exaggerate his emotions for Host. having to observe and determine whether Host is satisfied with the amount of emotion he expresses and adjusting accordingly is exhausting. and troublesome. he has none left to give for others when Host isnt around. he'd rather sit in silence and think)

He is weak and vile, but unfortunately needed for survival. (being looked down upon for acting as expected of him to avoid punishment is, frankly, annoying. Juno cant tell if Host wants him to be emotional or not when both options may lead to harm. is he to be a child or is he to be mature?)

Resident Heart has to be kept in check, lest his impulse drives him to the wrong actions. (he and Ruler know that, if Host ever shows weakness, they would usurp him without thought. he doesn't want to be the screaming child Host wants. he wants to be quiet and allowed to think for once.)

Mind (Ruler)

He is the reason, the thought, the logical side. [he has not been allowed to express himself in the slightest if he cannot justify it with something Host deems logical. it is easier to bottle up entirely. it is also a lot harder to keep himself sane.]

He is cruel and cold and callous, but that is just how he is. [acting an unfeeling machine is suffocating. the emotions in his chest beg to be let out, but he is only allowed to do things if he is able to justify them, and he is not always able to justify them when he cant just say he is angry, yet he is expected to retaliate against Juno still. is he to be unfeeling or is he to be angry?]

Resident Mind has to be kept in check, lest he thinks of the wrong conclusion. [he and Juno know that, if Host ever shows weakness, they would usurp him in a heartbeat. he doesn't want to be the unfeeling machine Host wants. he wants to rage and break his fists against a wall]

Soul (Host)

He is the Soul Sovereign. {he cannot allow his Heart and Mind to have any power. he must control them at all costs. he knows knows knows they will usurp him the first chance they get. it has happened every single loop}

He intends to guide his Heart and Mind to becoming Whole, by any means necessary. {they all have roles to play. he will make sure that Heart and Mind follow their roles to a t. they are the Host, Juno and Ruler. that is what they must be, and he will punish insubordination}

He has been hardened by his loops and is dead set on finally becoming Whole. {he has never seen Concord. he does not know what it is. it has been ten thousand loops and counting. but he knows he is doing the right thing.}

{he is Sovereign. he is in control. he is not crazy. he is simply playing his role. he knows he is fated to die. he has died every loop one way or another. he swears that becoming Whole is possible if they Just. Play. Their. Roles. Right.}

#chonnys charming chaos compendium #cccc #cccc au #Lie of Concord AU #Lie of Concord stuff #and here we are folks! #an introduction to our dreary actors #two of whom are forced into ill fitting roles much too suffocating #this au is so fun to play with but its also such a deadended endless loop haha #fair warning to all: this au is a CRITICISM of fanon tropes #chonny jash

[inkofamethyst]

April 12, 2022

UGH when I remember to buy a slip it’ll be over for y’all.  I’mma transform into my skirt-wearin self just you wait (I maintain that the only reason I have not yet transformed into my skirt-wearin self is because my circle skirts keep bunchin up between my legs, and I haven’t made a simple petticoat yet and am tired of waiting).  Historybounding is IMMENENT, you hear me?

So my zooarch class had a bone ID test today but the prof had a meeting so the grad TA proctored it and let us out after like five minutes.  Since it was literally so beautiful outside today my dancer-friend and I decided to sit on the campus lawn for the remaining hour and ten minutes that the class would’ve lasted.  I told her about how I was asked out (and about the guy from last semester) and about how I was nervous about messing it up.  I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I was also usure of my place on the aro/ace spectrum and how that’s been causing a lot of anxiety, so I shoulder that one alone for now.

It was a lovely time chilling with her though.  I’ll miss that when she’s away next sem.  We talked about the musical from our old high school that she saw on closing a few days ago, and we were thoroughly in agreement about pretty much everything: its absurdity and fantastic actor performance alike.

Today I’m thankful for, well, today.  I’m thankful that I looked and felt cute.  I’m thankful that I didn’t end up having to sit through my last class.  I’m thankful that the weather was fantastically great again (should’ve gone rock climbing this evening tbh but it’s okay, I needed the rest).  It’s been very wet and dreary and chilly for a while, and this was a nice introduction to Spring.

[edit: sax guy texted, we chatted a bit]

[edit 2: looking back on it.. I think he might’ve been wanting to try to do something tonight and I just was not taking the bait.  Well, I went on my first late-night walk of the semester which was nice.  Just a mile, but it was enough to tire me out lol.]

[malcolmxessay978]

write my essay for me

About me

Examples Of Introduction Of Essays

Examples Of Introduction Of Essays However, I know that I need to do one thing distinctive. After sticking up my magnets on the locker door, I ran my fingers throughout the underside of the bag, and I realized that one remained. Through this expertise as a leader, I even have come to realize, as a neighborhood, we hope collectively, we dream collectively, we work collectively, and we succeed together. This is the phenomenon of interdependency, the interconnectedness of life, the pivotal reason for human existence. The Sonora Eagles have been college students of various grade levels, ethnicities, socioeconomic backgrounds, and academic capability. We joked and played football while volunteering. The most necessary moment occurred through the night time’s luminaria ceremony, throughout which cancer sufferers of the past and present were commemorated. I now perceive surgeons to be much more complicated practitioners of medicine, and I am sure that this is the sphere for me. Never before had I seen something this gruesome–as even open surgery paled compared. Doctors in the working room are calm, cool, and collected, making textbook incisions with machine-like, detached precision. It is a occupation founded solely on talent and technique–or so I thought. This grisly expertise exposed a completely totally different facet of this career I hope to pursue. The criteria are often relaxed if you show some extraordinary capacity at something the college actually wants. Accepted has been helping school applicants gain acceptance to high schools and universities since 1994. A Strong College Application essay Will make you stand out from the crowd. While pursuing research in California, I was also capable of meet many equally motivated, fascinating folks from across the United States and abroad. As I learned about their distinctive lifestyles, I additionally shared with them the varied views I actually have gained from my travel overseas and my Chinese cultural heritage. Our whole team gathered round, and I requested people to share how they have been affected by cancer. The Sonora Eagles have been my means for dealing with the death of my loved ones to cancer. When I was thirteen and visiting Liberia, I contracted what turned out to be yellow fever. I met with the local physician, but he couldn’t make a analysis simply because he did not have entry to blood exams and since symptoms similar to “My skin feels prefer it’s on fireplace” matched many tropical ailments. Luckily, my household managed to drive me several hours away to an city hospital, where I was treated. Finish your essay by making a wrap-up sentence and then end on some citation or some name of action. I even have used TutorDelphia for my two teenagers for high school math and SAT prep. I will always remember the invaluable opportunity I had to explore California along with these shiny individuals. As I sip a mug of hot chocolate on a dreary winter’s day, I am already planning in my thoughts what I will do the next summer season. I briefly ponder the traditional routes, such as taking a job or spending most of the summer at the seaside. Yellow fever shouldn’t be deadly, but in Africa it typically is. I couldn’t imagine that such a solvable issue might be so severe on the time—so I began to discover. This completely completely different perspective broadened my understanding of the surgical area and changed my preliminary perception of who and what a surgeon was. Each certainly one of us leaves discover a legacy as we for fill our purpose in life. I imagine my purpose as a pupil is to encourage others to turn into energetic neighborhood members and motivate them to reach new heights. The theme for relay for life is a hope for a cure. Adam is dedicated and reliable, affected person and inspiring, and actually goes the extra mile. I am happy with their progress and plan to proceed with him. Edmodo is a protected, collaborative online learning setting for academics, college students, parents, and directors. The Edmodo blog is where the Edmodo group makes bulletins and options articles written by top Edtech thought leaders. Top athletes, musicians, actors, artists, are all examples of the exceptions. I not solely want to help those that are unwell and injured, but in addition to be entrusted with tough selections the occupation entails. Discovering that surgery can also be a moral vocation beyond the generic utility of a educated talent set inspired me.

[mayasshitposts]

Alone- 365 Days Chapter 2

WARNING: THIS ONESHOT CONTAINS POSSIBLE TRIGGERS, SO DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO.Introduction to Alia Dragneel: Alia is an OC of mine who is the sister if Natsu Drageel (shout out to @_Natsu-Dragneel and y'know exactly why :D). So this one-shot takes place in a modern setting and they do not have magic.It's kinda based on a poem I wrote a while ago when I was going through a rough patch, and I decided to add Natsu's POV, just to make it somewhat related to Fairy Tail.

This one-shot is dedicated to Bollywood actor Sushant Singh Rajput, who committed suicide in his residence in Mumbai, India on the 14th of June 2020. Sushant's death feels like a personal one, he was an amazing man. Down-to-earth, talented, intelligent, and overall, someone everyone would have wanted to befriend. His death has taught us that depression does not look at one's social status, fame or talent. Sushant was alone when he died, but I want all the readers of this chapter to know that no matter what, you are not alone. I love you, each one of you. Reach out to your friends, family, acquaintances or even people you don't know, ask them how they are doing, listen to their story. Let them know that they are not alone.

Alone-Part 1 (Alia's P.O.V)

Is anybody home?

Have my parents returned from work?

What about my brothers?

Am I alone?

Today was the day

I was to end it all

End my pain, Accept my fate.

I sit down on my desk,

Write down a small note,

"I love you guys, but I'm sorry

I just can't find a reason,

my will to live."

I get up,

look out into the

quiet street below my window.

The neighborhood was empty,

just like my life, and

the innermost compartment of my heart.

A stray tear escapes my eye,

then another, and one more!

Soon I am a crying mess

All the 16 years of my life flash before my eyes

The empty moments I call my memories.

I tie a rope to the ceiling fan,

Make sure it is stable

unlike the shaky breaths, I take

and my conscience deep down inside.

It's then that they arrive.

The angel says, "Don't do it! You have so much to live for!"

The devil scoffs, "End it now, escape your misery."

I stare ahead, my mind races, heart paces

My vision goes blurry,

As my entire being is dreary.

Weary of the fate that lies ahead.

I step onto the stool,

Grab the noose

and slip it over my head.

Tightening the knot

I finally let go

of the breath

I never knew I held onto for so long.

I feel the noose tighten around my neck

and suck my life out of the empty pit I called my soul.

A searing pain in my lungs,

My head spins as my eyes close.

And then,

Alone- part 2 (Natsu's P.O.V.)

I walk into my house after hanging out with friends.

"I'm home!" I yell as I get no answer. I hear a loud noise from upstairs and figure that one of my siblings was home.

I live with my dad, Igneel, older brother Zeref and my younger sister, Alia. I loved my sister more than my own life. I would probably die if anything were to happen to her. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. We were a really happy and close-knit family, although I was closest to Alia.

I ran upstairs and dumped my bag in my room. My cat, Happy was clawing at Alia's door. Fearing the worst, my heart starts beating at an insanely fast pace. I opened my sister's door and almost felt my heart stop. My baby sister, Alia Dragneel, hanging from the ceiling fan, dead.

I go up to my sister and bring her down. I knelt down cradling my sister's lifeless body in my arms, as I cried into her hair. "Why Alia?"

I hugged her body close hoping to transfer some of my life to her.

My baby sister was dead?

I heard movement behind me so I turned to see Zeref, tears streaming down his face. He too sat beside Alia and joined the embrace.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Alia could not be dead. Why did she do this? She used to tell me everything, what stopped her now?

Months later, I still haven't accepted Alia's death. I still cry myself to sleep. Our family hasn't been the same. Dad immersed himself in his work. Zeref and I have become distant.

Alia's best-friend, Sting, and boyfriend Rogue did not take the news of Alia's death well. I have become closer to them, as I sense my sister's spirit with them. I have been less talkative in class. I reach out to whichever student I feel is depressed. I don't want them to suffer the same fate as Alia.

I spend most of my hours in Alia's room, as I sense her spirit there But this doesn't change the fact that Alia is gone. I can't give her hugs on the spur of the moment. I can't hear her beautiful voice when she sings. But most of all, I can't be the big brother I never was. It felt as though my entire life had been sucked out of me.

Sometimes, I blame myself for this. Maybe, I could have stopped Alia from killing herself that day. Maybe, if I walked home with her that day, I would have noticed that something was wrong.

I miss my sister, I really do.

No matter how much I think, speculate, wish, I can't change the past. I definitely can't change the fact that my sister is gone and won't be coming back.

Currently, I am sitting with my family at the dining table. I am talking to them, catching up on their lives. As there is one thing for sure, Alia wouldn't have wanted this family to fall apart. And it is my job, as her big-brother to ensure that.

#fairy tail #natsu dragneel #sushant singh rajput #mental health #you are not alone

[hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff]

IT’S AMUSING TO THINK of light verse as the gateway drug to poetry, something to sample before moving on to the hard stuff. As readers and writers, children favor rhymes, sing-song rhythms, and silliness. No kid asks for Charles Olson at bedtime.

Some of us never outgrow our childhood pleasures, guilty or otherwise. But only in the last half-century or so has light verse become less than respectable among readers, poets, and critics, and less ubiquitous in popular culture. The New Yorker featured it for decades, making Ogden Nash a household name. Millions of non-poetry readers can still quote him: “Candy / Is dandy, / But liquor / Is quicker.” Phyllis McGinley, one of the best-known light verse writers of her day, published in Ladies Home Journal (and The New Yorker), and won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1961. Kingsley Amis, himself an enthusiast and practitioner of the form, described the highest aspirations of light verse as “genial, memorable, enlivening and funny.”

Still, some readers and critics maintain that light verse isn’t real poetry. It’s kids’ stuff, doggerel, greeting-card fodder, unhappy echoes of Richard Armour, whose whimsical riffs appeared in Sunday newspaper supplements starting in the Great Depression. Definitions of light verse are notoriously slippery. Connoisseurs and detractors alike defer to US Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart’s threshold test for obscenity: “I know it when I see it.” As to the charge of frivolity, the poet Bruce Bennett notes that the best writers of light verse “not only verge on seriousness; at times they embrace it.”

Take X. J. Kennedy, for example, the éminence grise of American light verse. In his introduction to Peeping Tom’s Cabin: Comic Verse 1928-2008, Kennedy takes a stab at defining the genre: “[Light verse] suggests negligible froth, like the pitiful head you get on light beer. For the sake of clarity, I call funny things that rhyme and scan ‘comic verse.’ Maybe some are heavy enough to call poems. I hope that’s all right with you.” Kennedy’s cocky taunt says it all. In “Jews,” Kennedy, an Irish-American and a lapsed Roman Catholic, writes:

Excluding me from Talmud, Yom Kippur, Uncircumcised as I’m, born far from folks Who struggled in a ghetto. Different strokes, That’s us. But meat a rabbi’s blade makes pure,

Chopped chicken liver, challah, macaroons Nest in my hungry mouth like home sweet home.

[…]

They have one up on me. More centuries past Remain their heritage. My lucky kind Haven’t been herded, shipped to death camps, gassed.

Can verse address the Holocaust and similar weighty matters and still retain its light credentials? Tom Disch, who titled one of his volumes Dark Verses and Light (1991), thought so, as do other light versifiers. A. M. Juster, a poet and translator of poetry from Latin, takes the comic seriously. When starting out as a poet in the 1980s, Juster decided to “no longer be solemn all the time,” while also resolving not to descend into nonsense or “cheap political jokes.” According to him, “Light verse has to deal with the timeless issues the way that Martial, Horace, Swift, Byron, Dorothy Parker at her best, and Wendy Cope do, to have any longevity at all. Just wordplay and/or inside jokes on the issues of the day doesn’t last. Dialect poems, which were also popular in the first half of the 20th century, went almost immediately from funny to the elite to offensive to everyone.” (Which brings to mind the recent brouhaha over Anders Carlson-Wee’s dialect poem, which is certainly not light verse, in The Nation.) Light verse must judge itself and be judged as poetry, not as some second-rate imitation.

¤

For more than a quarter-century, light verse has found a sympathetic home in Light, the biannual journal founded by a retired Chicago postal worker named John Mella. When he started the journal in 1992, one of Mella’s goals was to salvage verse from what he called the “cheerless, obscure, and finally forgettable muck” of poetry written by and for academics. Mella gives autodidacts a good name. A Roman Catholic seminary dropout, he published Transformations (1975), an alternate-history sci-fi novel about a crossdressing actor that one reviewer described as “proto-steampunk” and another praised for its erudition and “dazzling prose.” His favorite book was Vladimir Nabokov’s Pale Fire, about which he once wrote, “Although not chiefly somber, the brightly amusing parodic exaggerations are nibbled at by incursions of inky sorrows,” which sounds a lot like light verse. Among those who contributed to Light during Mella’s tenure were Richard Wilbur, John Updike, Dana Gioia, Tom Disch, Dick Davis, Wendy Cope, and Timothy Steele. The journal also boasted a small but devoted following. As Mella told the Chicago Reader in 2004, “My subscribers are very faithful. There are about 750 to 850 of them. That’s not great, but not bad for a literary magazine with absolutely no funding but my retirement check from the post office.”

The poet R. S. Gwynn says that Light “filled a gap in American poetry, for there was almost nowhere that light verse could be published, then and now.” He notes that The New Yorker was the country’s leading venue for light verse until the 1960s, when the magazine began to disavow it in favor of more self-consciously “serious” poetry. “It’s a shame the sophisticated humor in its cartoons can no longer be found in its poetry, which is fairly dreary and has been for years,” Gwynn says. “Maybe the magazine is too high-minded to think that poetry can entertain.” Gwynn’s poem “Carpe Diem,” from the winter 1999 issue of Light, is an example of how light verse can address a weighty subject — in this case, time’s passage and the vanity of human wishes:

Don’t sweat it if your tresses gray Or if Time’s sands have shifted. Whatever starts to sag today Tomorrow can get lifted.

A. E. Stallings, a 2011 MacArthur Fellow and a translator of Lucretius and Hesiod, published early poems in Light, some of which later appeared in her first collection, Archaic Smile (1999). “Mella was a very gracious and warm editor, and always sent nice little notes,” she says. “Often, they were rejections, but always with something like ‘not quite’ or ‘I liked x best.’” Stallings, born in 1968, was also the youngest poet to receive a full feature in the journal (in 1998), a dossier consisting of poems and an essay. She says the honor “felt like an important promotion.” In 2005, she published “Lullaby for a Colicky Baby” in Light:

For crying out loud, It’s only spilt milk. The way your sharp cries rend The air’s thin silk, The way your blue skies cloud And take away our sun, You’d think the world about to end Instead of just begun.

Stallings recalls that Mella’s taste for mordant humor moved her to examine her own assumptions about the differences between light verse and other kinds of poetry. “I was often less successful in placing poems I truly considered ‘light’ verse with Light,” she says. “Rather, [Mella] seemed to like darker things with music to them. It was often a place where I would send in things that were quite polished, but perhaps didn’t have the scope or gravitas for a ‘serious’ magazine. But light verse requires a great deal of polish. It can be harder to turn out a perfect squib than a publishable page-and-a-halfer, the typical form around the millennium.”

When Mella died in 2012, at age 70, editorship of the journal fell to Melissa Balmain, an English instructor at the University of Rochester who had contributed to Light since 1999. “It quickly became clear that if no one volunteered to edit Light, it would fold,” she says. “The journal was running out of money, and the remaining staff couldn’t afford to work without a salary. John himself never took a penny.” The board of the Foundation for Light Verse, the nonprofit that publishes Light, as well as an advisory panel including Kennedy, Gwynn, and others, approved the choice of Balmain. (Before his death, Mella had asked her to be the next editor.)

As with most small literary journals in the digital age, Light operates with a skeleton crew staff and almost no budget. There are eight volunteer staffers, counting Balmain, and contributors are unpaid. To economize, Light became an exclusively online publication in 2013, a few years after it had switched from a quarterly to a biannual publication schedule.

Balmain estimates that she spends about 12 hours a week promoting Light on social media and corresponding with poets via email, on top of her family responsibilities and her job as an adjunct instructor. “That’s about 600 hours per year,” she adds, “including the scramble leading up to publication of a new issue.” For her, editing the journal is both labor and love.

Poems submitted by unknown writers are given the same attention and judged by the same criteria as those from established poets. Though better known as a novelist, John Updike’s first book, The Carpentered Hen (1958), is a volume of mostly light verse. About Updike’s dealings with Mella and Light, Balmain says: “He didn’t earn his spot easily. When he submitted a poem, [Mella] rejected it. His letter to Updike explained that he didn’t print poems that contained swear words. Then he said something like, ‘Just because you’re a famous and talented writer doesn’t mean we can make exceptions for you.’ Updike, I’m told, was amused. He resubmitted the poem, without the swear words, and [Mella] published it.”

In the wake of the 2016 presidential election, Balmain saw a growing interest in topical verse. “I hadn’t seen any journals that regularly published funny topical poems, so last spring we launched Poems of the Week,” she says. “Each week since, we’ve received a pile of poems inspired by the news.” The deadline for submissions is Friday, and every Monday the journal’s staff publishes their favorites. While most of the entries are about US politics, Balmain says she’s also “gotten poems on everything from Brexit to the Vatican’s refusal to recognize gluten-free communion wafers.” Mae Scanlan’s “Donald Trump Goes to the Grocery Store” is a recent representative example. The first stanza:

“I’d like to buy some applesauce.” “You need to show me your IDs.” “I left them home.” “You may be the boss, But I need proofs. Produce them, please.”

Several publications have since started running their own news-inspired poems. Some, such as The New Verse News and Poets Reading the News, are entirely devoted to topical poetry. For others — Rattle’s “Poets Respond” feature, for instance — newsy poems are just a sideline. “Poets themselves, galvanized by current events, have helped drive that change,” Balmain says. “This is true for both light and non-light poets. The Washington Post’s Style Invitational, a weekly humor contest that often runs light verse, is inundated with topical stuff. The same is true for Light, which is part of why I launched Poems of the Week.”

Balmain says that Poems of the Week has encouraged longtime contributors to write more, often with “a real sense of urgency.” For them, topical verse is a way to resist or support government policies, or simply an entertaining way to share their views. Light receives three to four dozen submissions a week. And while verse about Trump has tapered off, Balmain says that at least half of the submissions involve the president in some way, “including poems about people he’s fired or allegedly had affairs with.” Cody Walker’s “A Mad Gardener’s Lament,” a riff on Lewis Carroll’s “The Mad Gardener’s Song,” ends with this downbeat quip:

He thought he saw his Country’s Fortunes       Crumble — wait a minute: He looked again, and found there was       Another way to spin it “In eighty years we’ll be cadavers.       Kinda funny, innit?”

The digital world, technology, and social media are also recurrent topics for contemporary writers of light verse. Balmain’s “Nightmare,” for instance, was published in Light and appears in her collection Walking in on People (2014):

Your TV cable’s on the fritz. Your Xbox is corroded. Your iPod sits in useless bits. Your Game Boy just imploded.

Your cell phone? Static’s off the scale. Your land line? Disconnected. You’ve got no mail — E, junk or snail. Your hard drive is infected.

So here you idle, dumb and blue, with children, spouse and mother — and wish you knew what people do to entertain each other.

By encouraging the submission of political and otherwise topical poems, Balmain believes Light is remaining true to Mella’s original vision to help “restore humor, clarity, and pleasure to the reading of poems.” Today, though, the journal has embraced this secondary mission of delivering witty takes on the news of the day. Whatever one’s politics, the world since 2016 has been good for light verse. As Balmain says, “Every day brings the kinds of over-the-top, did-that-really-happen? stories that are catnip to funny people.”

¤

Light verse overlaps with the New Formalism school of poets that emerged in the 1980s with the work of Gioia, Kennedy, Brad Leithauser, and Marilyn Hacker, among others. The third issue of Light, published in 1992, includes “An Attempt at Unrhymed Verse” by Wendy Cope, which pokes fun at the free verse triumph among poets:

People tell you all the time, Poems do not have to rhyme. It’s often better if they don’t And I’m determined this one won’t. Oh dear.

Never mind, I’ll start again. Busy, busy with my pen…cil. I can do it if I try — Easy, peasy, pudding and gherkins.

Writing verse is so much fun, Cheering as the summer weather, Makes you feel alert and bright, ’Specially when you get it more or less the way you want it.

In her introduction to The Funny Side: 101 Humorous Poems (1998), Cope writes about the label light verse:

I don’t believe it is useful any more, and I wish we could scrap it. The word “light” seems to imply that a poem can’t be funny and serious (weighty) at the same time. Some people do believe that a humourous poem can’t be deeply felt, or deal with anything that matters very much. In fact, much humourous writing arises from despair and misery.

Barbara Loots, of Kansas City, Missouri, takes bemused offense at the way some critics denigrate light verse by likening it to greeting card verse. For 41 years, she wrote greeting card sentiments for Hallmark. “According to most literary publishers, this is the cesspit of poetry,” she says. “I got over it, since most writers end up writing something other than immortal poetry for a lot less financial security. I continued to write for Hallmark and pursued my literary ambitions with credible publishing success in magazines and anthologies over the years.” Loots describes her latest collection, Windshift (2018), as “a living, breathing expression of how light verse and serious intentions cross over.” A poem from the collection, “Colonoscopy: A Love Poem,” originally appeared in Light:

My love is like a red, red rose. I know because I’ve seen the photographs inside of him projected on a screen:

the petal-like appearance of his proximal transverse, his mid-ascending colon like a rose’s opening purse,

appendiceal orifice, a bud not yet unfurled — Oh, what a pleasing garden is my true love’s inner world!

How very like a red, red rose his clean and healthy gut. I love my laddie all the more since looking up his butt.

Deflation — reducing human vanity to its ridiculous or distasteful essentials — is a frequent strategy of light verse. Loots’s poem starts as the 10-thousandth Robert Burns parody and quickly turns Swiftian and more substantial. Critics risk killing the patient when dissecting light verse (or dissecting any kind of humor), but one can’t imagine Loots’s poem written as free verse. The rhymes are amusing — “proximal transverse/purse,” “gut/butt” — and the brevity and metrical regularity, albeit with variations, lend the poem its mock-formality.

“As a greeting card writer, I had to say something sweet, and invariably positive, in a highly restricted form,” Loots says. “Limited vocabulary, limited rhyme choices, limited ideas. Over the years, we began to push the limits of idea, while still retaining the strict form. How many different ways can you rhyme the word ‘you’? I got plenty of practice with meter and rhyme, which are the most important characteristics of the light verse genre. The point of humorous verse is not only to say something funny, but also to say it in a funny or clever way.”

¤

Gail White of Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, is a contributing editor at Light. She has published numerous chapbooks and four volumes of poetry, and in 2012 she received the Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award. “I’ve been writing poems ever since I could pick up a pen and print in block letters,” she says. “I wrote rhymed and metrical verse from the beginning, but it was other people who told me I was writing light verse. I just called it poetry. However, I don’t mind occupying this niche at all. Light verse is accessible and readily understood, and I’ve never aspired to obscurity.”

White doesn’t remember how her association with Light began. “I started sending them poetry when I learned of its existence,” she says. “Like other magazines such as Measure, Raintown Review, and The Formalist (now deceased), Light was of immense help to my career and identity. I was stuck in a midlife morass in which no one wanted anything of mine until the New Formalism came along, and suddenly there were markets for me. I associate light verse with formal verse because I have seldom read a light poem in free verse that I thought was a success.”

White’s work is tartly satirical and deftly crafted. There’s little happy talk or striving after the inspirational or therapeutic, and she prides herself on concision. Almost any subject, from domestic to cosmic, is fair game. Here is her epigram “On Louisiana Politics”: “The politician, like the tabby’s young, / Attempts to clean his backside with his tongue.”

Asked if her work has grown more political of late, White replies: “You bet it has. There has never been a subject for creative ridicule so ready to hand as the current administration. And laughing is better than constantly screaming in rage.” She isn’t worried about the demand for light verse ever petering out. “There will always be an audience for it. The question is whether there will be publishers for it. I hope there will always be journals open to light verse — and publishers for anthologies of it.”

As to the enduring appeal of light verse, Juster calls it “primal”: “Most offices, of course, have somebody who serves as the office poet.” In an age of entitlement and political strife, when memes and snark ad hominem assaults go viral, perhaps light verse is recapturing some of its broader appeal. “[Light verse] was not considered artsy or highfalutin,” Juster says, “and it certainly isn’t academic. It used to be a significant part of the popular culture. But it’s important to remember that a lot of it was God-awful.”

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Patrick Kurp is a writer living in Houston and the author of the literary blog Anecdotal Evidence.

The post “Cheering as the Summer Weather”: On the Primal Appeal of Light Verse appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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Sweeney Todd appreciation post

In the latter parts of my last semester, I signed up for my high school’s annual summer production. I’ve done a good bit of theatre in the past few years of my life, and it’s become a pretty important part of who I am. I’m by no means a good actor or a good singer (although I’d say I’m probably better at singing), but I manage to get pretty good roles most of the time. I’ve gotten attached to some of the roles I’ve had over the past couple years, particularly to George Banks of Mary Poppins. Other times, I’ve gotten attached to shows in general, such as The Secret Garden. From the moment I finished that show, I repeatedly claimed it as my favorite musical. It still is very dear to me, and I think that the music is almost as beautiful now as the first time I heard it. I’ll probably write at some point about why “Lily’s Eyes” and “A Bit of Earth” are some of my favorite songs not only in musicals, but of all time.

To my surprise, this summer, The Secret Garden finally got beaten. I had originally signed up to be a part of Titanic: The Musical. However, after auditions happened, the folks in charge found out that we were short on males. They ended up deciding to change the show to Sweeney Todd, and thank god they did. 

I believe the biggest reason I like The Secret Garden so much can be summed up in one word: melodrama. The powerful brass, the rises and falls in the music, the dreary plot that is almost too real. What kind of person can’t sympathize with a poor orphaned girl and her lonely father figure? Archibald is a truly tragic character: trapped in a mansion with no one but his bitter brother and overbearing servants to grace him from the haunting memories of his dead wife, the one person who ever accepted him regardless of his physical flaws. 

What I find amazing about Sweeney Todd in contrast to The Secret Garden is the way it breaks my heart and fills my soul with beautiful music while still incorporating plenty of humor. There are plenty of musicals that do this, for sure, but I wouldn’t say that Mary Poppins is on the same level simply due to it’s overall silliness. It has deep messages and good music, sure, but it isn’t harsh enough. It doesn’t hit you with that sense of relatability. I’ve never had a magical nanny show up at my window and save my family from its deepest conflicts, but I certainly have heard of orphaned children, wrongfully incriminated people, and poverty. All of these are present in Sweeney, but Steven Sondheim managed to create these somber situations all while incorporating Pirelli as comedic relief that actually makes a little bit of sense.

All in all, I just can’t help but feel that Sweeney Todd is extremely effective at everything it does. It still has the most important piece (to me), though: the copious amounts of drama. Not only do we have an almost Shakespearean tragedy as our plot, but the music itself is powerful throughout. I’m going to write a paragraph about a couple of my favorite songs from the show. My favorites are probably also the most popular, but whatever.

Firstly, let’s talk about “My Friends”. It’s definitely one of the most popular songs in the show, especially given that it leads into the famous “Lift your razor” segment. The song begins when Mrs. Lovett remembers that she hid Benjamin Barker’s razors, rather than selling them when he was deported. Although she humorously tries to justify this by saying that she simply didn’t sell them in case Barker showed up again one day, it’s an obvious clue-in to the fact that Mrs. Lovett is obsessed with Sweeney Todd. I’m not sure whether to call it love per se, but if the audience doesn’t realize that Mrs. Lovett has feelings for Sweeney after this introduction, the song itself will soon make it clear. Sweeney sees the razors, a symbol of his past life, of his happiness, and almost romances them as the music begins to play. He calls the razors his “friends” and caresses them as he sings. Soon, Mrs. Lovett joins in, but she isn’t quite on the same page as him. Throughout the song, Sweeney dominates with his powerful, reminiscent, yet dark and brooding tone, while Mrs. Lovett stands to the side and interjects her feelings of friendship, hopefulness, and beauty. It’s a very stark contrast, especially once the audience figures out that Sweeney is only pondering how his razors will help him to murder the Judge and the Beadle. My personal favorite quotes from this song are “You’ve been locked out of sight all these years. Like me, my friend. Well, I’ve come home.” and, of course, “You shall drip rubies”. The cryptic sound of Sweeney’s voice is truly disturbing. But, it’s cool disturbing, you know? As a side note, there’s a really neat video on Youtube somewhere of Steven Sondheim directing two theatre students (Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett) at performing this song. It’s definitely worth a watch.

“Green Finch and Linnet Bird” is another really cool one. I don’t have nearly as much to say about this one. My main thought is that the comparison between Johanna and the caged birds is very cool. I especially like how Johanna’s vocal style even mimics bird songs. 

“Kiss Me (Part 2)” also piques my interest. No one ever expects the Beadle to come out with a grand falsetto at the end, but it’s somehow not overly comical. The quartet is great, and shows a strong contrast between young and old. The funniest part about this quartet is how the Beadle is unknowingly leading the Judge to his death, and he’s so enthusiastic about it. Good stuff.

“Pretty Women” is the song that comes directly after, and, although I may be biased in liking it so much (I was the Judge), I might argue for it as my favorite song in the show. The song begins with a funny little impersonation of the Beadle’s apologetic advice from the previous song. Turpin sings in a commanding tone, giving him the upper hand. Sweeney is still in shock, surprised that the Judge who he wants to kill more than anything, randomly appeared at his shop. After the Judge’s instructions, Sweeney gets himself together and wittily affirms that the shave will be the closest he ever gave. Turpin, still with the advantage in the mental tug-of-war that the two will have throughout the song, begins to contently “bub dum” a tune. Todd, entering the battle, thinks “I can play your game, Judge”, and whistles alongside him. Todd has gained the upper hand, showing that he can keep up with Turpin. After some back and forth “banter” singing between the two, Todd asks “What more can man require than love sir?” But, it is a rhetorical question. Still with the upper hand, he answers himself and reveals the answer to be “women. pretty women”. The Judge, in agreement and still in the dark about Sweeney’s true identity as the father of the young girl he’s creepily forcing into marriage, continues his song. He gains ground here, but not long after the power is transitioned to Sweeney once more as we hear a short reprise of “My Friends”. However, the Judge interrupts him at the height of his song, telling Sweeney to stop goofing around and start working. Sweeney loses power as he replies “my lord”, and then he finds out that the Judge is planning on marrying his daughter. As if he didn’t already have enough motivation to murder Turpin! Todd, potentially out of spite, almost reveals himself when he asks if Johanna is as “pretty as her mother”. After this, which is really only the introduction to the song, Sweeney once again gains power as he begins shaving the Judge. The audience is supposed to believe that he will slit the Judge’s throat right then and there, but Todd instead decides to toy with Turpin and enjoy his moment of revenge. The remainder of the song is a straightforward yet beautiful duet, wherein Todd and the Judge sing passionately about pretty women. In this case, Todd is probably thinking of his wife, Lucy, while Turpin is singing about Johanna, Todd’s daughter. The music is truly beautiful, and we believe that Todd has gained complete control. Not only is he the only one who fully understands the song, but his razor is at the Judge’s throat, waiting for the perfect moment to exact his revenge. The song reaches it’s height, Sweeney’s razor is raised, and the tension is unimaginable. And then Anthony comes into the shop, giddily singing about his upcoming marriage to Johanna. Sweeney’s moment is ruined, and the Judge furiously storms out.

And those songs, ladies and gentlemen, are only the best from Act 1. Act 2 has plenty of powerful moments, such as the hugely disturbing “God, That’s Good”, the eerie “City on Fire”, the humorous “By the Sea”, and, of course, the heart-wrenching “Not While I’m Around”. 

If I was given the chance to be a part of Sweeney Todd again, I’d like to give Judge Turpin a second try, or perhaps take on the role of the Beadle. I personally couldn’t do Sweeney justice, but I do hope to one day revisit this show. For now, I will continue to praise it as my favorite musical.