#does this count as poetry. it is to me.

[queenangst]

The Moment, Laura Gilpin / In Blackwater Woods, Mary Oliver / Life After Death, Laura Gilpin

Text version under the cut:

Screenshot 1 (The Moment, Laura Gilpin):

And I thought: this is what it means to be alive: one moment to surrender everything and the next moment to begin again.

Screenshot 2 (In Blackwater Woods, Mary Oliver):

To live in this world

you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it

against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.

Screenshot 3 (Life After Death, Laura Gilpin):

The things I know: how the living go on living and how the dead go on living with them

#web weaving #eh i dont know if it counts lol #if more laura gilpin pops up on my blog it's because i've been reading and thinking and crying about the weight of the soul #almost included the meaning in this set but i liked life after death better #im not sure this makes sense but it does. to me. #words #poetry

[tindove]

I know this has probably already been said but….the fact that there is that little bit of static/noise when they are (most likely) lying just adds to the feeling of us as the viewers being a part of the fears(?)—more than tma every did even with the connection to the Web. Because that tiny deviation just solidifies that we are this thing listening them, and knowing things about them, that they have no control over. They supposedly can’t even lie. For we will simply know. We know them. They aren’t allowed to be unknown to us and longer it goes on the further we encroach.

Again this is all based on the idea that we are more so representing/actually are something of note. Other than the tapes. Mostly because I really enjoy the idea of that.

The littlest things, such as following them around, makes what is functionally us…feel more alive.

Not even can their words be concealed to the things that are slowly being filtered through, for we are a filter too.

#yea I like to do silly as little poetry sometimes too #I gotta have a little bit of fun with it #if I wasn’t so busy focusing on writing god would I be drawing these guys #I adore this so much so far I swear I do #they consume me #tmagp #tmagp speculation #does this count as a theory? #I’m more just talking out my ass lmao #the magnus protocol

[forkpigeon3146]

youre my friend, i love you

i want to dance with you in the kitchen

a thousand more times

and go grocery shopping

on the weekends

and listen to loud music as we clean

atleast once a month

because youre my friend

and i love you

#platonic love #my beloved <3 #it genuinely makes me so happy though #like #i love you for you #and you love me for me #what could be better than that? #poetry #spilled thoughts #my thoughts #spilled ink #poem #does this count as a love poem? #sixty second post

[windermeresimblr]

This weekend, having sulked sufficiently and licked my proverbial wounds, I'm going to try and finish the gameplay portion of the Bachelor Beaumaris.

#the bachelor beaumaris #because i have a new project and i owe it to all of you who sent me sims to finish it out #like i've already actually written an entire poem about it level of new project #if cento poetry counts as writing which i suppose it sort of does

[ranpoautism]

Why can't I kiss my friends on the lips platonically why must I hide the love I carry for strangers' eyes and not scream it out loud like the sun that burns and blinds me

#does this count as aromantic #im aromantic and this relates to aromantisicm to me #aromantic #sunnys silly thoughts #platonic #poetry #somewhat #idk its nex years eve babyyy #happy new year #new years

[vadapavani-13]

#so um #this happened?? #anyways this is my first time writing poetry pls don't come at me- #i wrote this down like 1 minute ago and i needed to share it somewhere #and i figured tumblr was the most un-judgy place i could post it #idc if anyone sees this or not but i just needed this to be on the internet somewhere ig #in other news #im mentally unstable #poetry #does this count as desiblr? #desiblr #desi #tw abuse #ig #tw trauma #tw mommy issues

[cardworksartblog]

The Lord Of The Wilds. The Beast. Wahteva u wanna call her. She doesnt care she just wants to let you hold a totally normal dead dove that she caught. Why does it look like you can see how its very atoms move and shudder when you grasp it ? Dont worry abt it haha

#not rw #not rainworld #monster design #werewolf #(? does she count as a werewolf? i guess kinda?) #Cardwork Poetry #The Beast #i felt like experimenting with my brushes. her eyes made me want to kill myself they were needlessly hard to get right #but im Satisfied with her now i think #tw dead bird #tw dead animal #tw mild blood

[excavatinglizard]

Little Beast | Crush by Richard Siken

I may not like much poetry, but sometimes that imagery gets to you

#excavatinglizardsart #art #poetry #Richard siken #queer art #original art #sometimes an art piece just Works and it’s the best feeling #like I’ve been struggling with art so much but this one came to me last night and I had to #also: wow not fanart??? #or does this still count as fanart??? #I might do some other quotes from this book #got the book for my birthday and it made me feel some things #lizard makes a queue #blue <3

[septembersung]

We had Instapoetry as a topic in class, and we had a long discussion about what poetry is, etc., and the professor said, "everything that claims to be a poem is a poem." This reminded me of the book "How poetry means" by John Ciardi, which you recommended a while ago. Having read a lot of Instapoetry, I'm not sure my prof's definition is valid: if everything can be poetry, then nothing is. Just because something's structured in lines and stanzas doesn't make it a poem. What are your thoughts?

Your professor is as wrong as wrong can be. If I claim to be a pencil, does that make me one? Self-identification means nothing if it's not based in reality. If words don't have meanings, they... don't mean anything. So you're quite right. If any particular thing is a poem, poetry is nothing in particular.

The last century's experiment with changing the definition of art from "a work meeting specific criteria for creation and excellence in a given medium" to "this is art because I am an artist" and "it's art because I say it is" is a case study in degeneracy. "Anything is art" is a failed experiment. You can't get anyone to admit it though because it is so tied to a worldview - like all claims about art, it's really a claim about the nature and purpose of human beings and reality. And people get defensive when you question their religion.

The New Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics entry on "poetry" discusses versification, lineation, and heightened language as essential to this "verbal art." "Prose is cast in sentences; poetry is cast in sentences cast into lines."

Poetry is an art crafted of words that are extremely ordered. As Coleridge said, prose is words in the best order, poetry is the best words in the best order. Contemporary "free verse" like instapoetry, even if it contains incidental rhythm or the occasional rhyme or some other individual characteristic of poetry, is usually a single emotion, thought, or political statement stripped of the very layers of kinds of order that poetry is made of - meter, lines (distinct from inconsequential hits of the enter key,) heightened language, image (concrete, metaphorical, or imaginative), beautiful sound, "an experience irreducible to paraphrase," or even that delicate triangle balance of thought, emotion, and image that constitutes what's considered good contemporary free verse. It's not just about the content, but about what the physical (as it were) words are doing, and - this is where Ciardi comes in - how they do it.

I think the point about lineation is worth coming back to. You said "Just because something's structured in lines and stanzas doesn't make it a poem." Exactly this. Take this paragraph; I could go back through and format it to "look" like a poem, with shorter lines and stanza breaks, but that would not add anything to the content. Poetic lines have actual function in the meaning and experience of the poem.

"True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance. 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offense, The sound must seem an echo to the sense."

Thanks for this ask!

#look at me quoting alexander pope lol #my poetry thoughts #i don't think instapoetry counts as poetry generally speaking #interestingly enough you know what does get closer: lyricism by certain contemporary music artists #but that's another rabbit hole #well let's say more accurately *a certain class of contemporary musical artists

[poppythroat]

And upon the rising ruins she stood,

her claws digging into the bones of what was built before, ripped and damaged from the treacherous climb. Blood followed her every footstep, but not her own. The sun scorched the smogged-out sky, demolishing any sign of a once-friendly blue. Truly, the sight was to behold a god amongst catkind, as her caterwaul echoed the dying lands before her… I, her loyal servant, repeated the call, and thousands more cries of mimicry rose from the grounds around her pillar of despair. There was no going back. The world as we had known it was gone, and in its wake stood the face of our new ruler, for the rest of all we would ever know.

#warrior cats oc #xenomoggy #warrior cats writing #xenomoggy oc #warrior cats #xenomoggy writing #random blurb #random inspiration #does this count as poetry or regular prose #idk but i was going for a kind of ozymandias vibe #the first segment came to me like a vision and i had to expand it #lowkey tho this would make a killer story

[wonderbreadog]

"my life is moving at a snail's pace. that's okay. at least I get more time to watch the scenery."

-me

#prose poetry #kind of #does this count as poetry at all #i dont know what im doing #sharing this stuff scares me a little

[elhowe]

Perdita of Sicily and Bohemia

Princess, Daughter of a Shepherd or Shepherdess, Daughter of a King?

The Winters Tale. post - Act 5. Scene 3.

All but Perdita exit. She looks off. 

Perdita speaks.

I wonder if there is more story here.

[a pause] 

There is, of course. There always is.  A story cannot stand alone -  Not one line holds the next line back For fear his time will not be shown.

A man writes words, woman recites Here we go, never-ending plight

And yet I stand here,  Woman, wife, daughter, princess And even now I wish for more -  Or else, perhaps. A shepherdess,  With the name of royalty.

 [Another pause. She laughs without humor.] 

A shepherdess! A shepherdess, or a princess?  Who can tell the difference now.  I stand here with red skin and calloused fingers

I use lanolin to treat them, but here! Where are my sheep, my care? Sicily’s cold coast holds me away  And my wool will be fine now -  Spun by someone far away,  Carded and combed and washed  By a woman I will never meet.

A farmer in the employ of my father - My father, a man called Leonates - a king - Not the shepherd of my upbringing,  Not my beloved carer, but a man in a castle Who cast me away, doomed my mother to death,  At a glance which he now knows was nothing

Leonates claims me as his own daughter, now But as an infant - fresh from the womb,  The most innocent of gods creatures He set me to die, to be left for the wild. 

And I am lonely, here - I have a husband, my dear, Florizel, but I knew him by another name not weeks ago, And I knew not of his father - the King, Another king, who now calls me daughter While my own father stands there, beside me,  Dressed in finery I could never have imagined in my youth,  My brother beside him, his own fine clothes that do not fit The fool I know him to be.

Here, they too, are called kin - Leonates calls my father ‘brother,’ my brother ‘son’.  My mother, a woman I knew not of and then believed to be dead in only a minute,  Now suddenly stands tall, marble come to warm life. 

And a brother, too - not that which has been with me through my childhood, But another, dead from when I was hardly a day old. Shall I mourn him too? A child, so much younger than I am now, dead nearly all my life,  but with blood and lineage the same as mine. He fell with grief, for the woman he called mother his whole life, and I wonder where my grief should be? Should it be long gone, with the rest? Should I be celebrating this joyous reunion?  I should, I know! I know, I know, I know!

And still there are more to know - Paulina, who must be my mother’s -  (‘the queen’, instead, for I cannot find it in myself yet to call her mother,) Handmaiden, a woman loyal beyond words.  She embraced me upon recognition, gave me words of comfort,  And so I am grateful to her,  And the man Antigonus, her husband, whom they tell me is long dead,  Killed while saving my life. My life, worth that of this noble man’s. 

But Paulina stands as if she is indebted to me - she bids me bow to my mother,  As if I was not mourning her death but a moment ago - This, I think! I am told I have a mother, told she is dead, told we are to see her likeness, told she is alive And now Leonates wishes us to speak To know one another, our lost time -  Must I? Must I know this life?  I am happy with my love, and with the wealth my father and brother, the shepherds, have received I would not deign to lack forgiveness, for the gift I have been given In love, and wealth and family, both old and new. But here I stand and I miss my sheep! One, I had raised since its birth An ewe, by the name of Dorcsa - a light joke, a tease amongst friends.  Dorcsa now, I wonder, looks for me.  I know full well she does not - I know the nature of sheep,  So long as one is feeding them,  they have no wist for those who have fed before So perhaps she looks not for me, But I for her - I see her, and myself, a youth,  Embracing her warm coat, picking burrs out of the wool  which I would later help my father to carefully shear.  I had imagined I would do this - shearing and burr-picking  - And feeding and grazing and corralling -  For the rest of my life, and now I know not if I will do it ever again It is hard work, for certain, but it is the work I know. Will the calluses on my hands go soft?  Will my skill with the sheep waver?  Will I know no-longer how to create yarn from the raw wool,  will I remember only bits of my once treasured profession?

[A pause. She is imagining her sheep, and then she looks back towards where Hermione’s ‘statue’ had stood.] 

I had dreamt of my mother, throughout my youth, And yet even today, with Kings and Lords pronouncing the power of dreams,  I know that this visionary image was not the woman who has now come to life,  As a child, and, I must confess, even so recent, I did not picture The Queen Hermione, who stands before me now and tells me I am her own.  I saw, in those dreams, another woman, a working woman,  who shared my freckled skin and sun bleached hair,  not the pale visage and carefully arranged locks of the Queen, and this woman, my imagined mother,  wore a crown of daisies, not gold, as Hermione does even now,  As the man my father Leonates takes her away from this old house.

I am old enough now, I know now well enough,  That this was not some ought but natural vision But only the imagination of a youth  Who had never known from whose breast she came.  Somehow, though, I think that woman from the dream  May have made more sense as the mother to me,  A woman who now stands as a Princess - in two ways,  That of Bohemia and that of Sicily!  And yet wishes for the fields and labor that she has always known.

My new father-in-law, at the feast which I hosted, Which seems ages ago now, in my lost home of Bohemian fields,  Said that I appeared noble, despite my poor family. “She smacks of something greater than herself,” he said, When he did not think I could hear, “Too noble for this place,” He called me, and I heard, and at the time, I thought it a compliment. 

I am noble, I had thought, while I danced like a child, I do appear great.  Now I think of how he must have meant it - a girl pretending,  Imagining she could be good enough, noble enough,  to marry the Prince to whom I am now wed. Well it is alright now, Polixenes must have said,  now that I know from whose loins she came.  The noble Leonates,  who would cast an infant away for no crime of its own,  who would send his noble wife to prison because of an anxious thought.  It is his daughter, his offspring, who may marry Florizel,  Not the daughter of the poor Shepherd, Who would find a baby alone and take her in with no question,  Who would raise her as his own, with all the love in his heart. 

I told Florizel, back in Bohemia,  “I told you so,” I told him,  That nothing good could come of our relationship.  I told him, “I’ll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes and weep.” And now I do not weep, and I am without my ewes, And I am likely to someday be Queen,  Alongside the king of that man I met by chance,  When I thought my life would be only ewes and pastures. 

So now I stand here in this empty hall.  Soon enough I shall rejoin my family -  those who have lived by that name for many years,  and those who have not.  But for just a moment I will mourn.  The shepherdess Perdita, who is named for loss,  With the red cheeks and freckled skin and mess of hair And the shepherd family and the rural home and the sheep named In gentle teasing of friends. 

And I will allow her to leave, sail away on the west wind,  Back to her rolling hills and her sheep and her childhood,  As I step towards the Princess of Sicily and Bohemia. 

I wrote / made this for class lol but I was proud of it. Perdita is a character in Shakespeares The Winters Tale, who is a princess abandoned by her royal father as an infant and raised by a shepherd and his son. At the end, she has very few lines but basically seems to just accept her new life, and I wanted her to have something to say - my first stage direction here is meant to sit at the very end of the play.

I photoshopped the image myself - it's from a painting by Frederick Sandy's that's just called Perdita. The flowers are all ones she mentions in (one of? I can't remember) her first appearances in the play.

I wrote a bunch about this because it was my final project for this class, but it's mostly rambling so I didn't put it here lol, probably already rambly enough.

#writers #shakespeare #the winters tale #perdita #pastoral scene #pastoralism #romanticism #my writing #my artwork #:) #does this count as digital art (me photoshopping real art) #poetry #soliloquy #my bs art

[moltengoldveins]

. old bones .

(Went for a dig and found another old notes app poem. It’s about dysphoria, so heads up.💜)

.

There is a little girl I’ve hid beneath my bed in boxes, dressed in big clothes.

She’s tucked away within the stacks of old unfolded letters, pressed and tied closed. 

(And there are things I wish someone had known to tell her.) 

She shrieks and rattles the bed frame most nights, she’s a loud one. 

She knows she wasn’t right when she walked the world, she was a proud one. 

(She knows she was not made a cavern-dweller.) 

She did not like her name then, when called aloud. It hurt her senses,

To feel the world bear down and roar like thunderclouds. She was defenseless. 

She did not like the way her body felt lit from without, under the sunlight. 

Within she begged for something else, a name for times of drought, a tougher birthright. 

(It felt absurd to live set up beside the walking dead.) 

But I could live life alive like she was not allowed, her plan backfired.

She gets quiet quickly now, the raving stops and starts. She’s growing tired. 

(‘Take over, just for a little while’ is what she always said) 

I stole this from her, the body lit without, the sunlit road. 

I put her beneath my bed, I stuffed her skin, my fingers borrowed. 

(She was the first one here. She has always owned this head) 

I crawl down there to meet her there some nights when she is quiet, I tell her stories. 

Of college classes, Waffle House, our latest book, those little glories. 

She likes them. She’s not sure how she feels about the way we dress, 

But that sick uneasy swoop that came with skirts is there with her. It’s laid to rest. 

(There are so many things I’ll have to build and learn and witness in her stead.) 

#Hm yes three guesses as to whether I have borderline personality disorder #The first two guesses don’t count #Do I have a gender? Yes. Is my relationship with that gender really rocky? Also yes #Do I fundamentally believe I was beautifully and wonderfully made? Yeah #Has it taken me two decades to wrestle my way to a passable acceptance of that fact? Very much so yes #Just because I love the Church (Bible edition) does not mean I always support the Church (fandom edition) #I’ve got more trauma than a tied bag of wet cats fished from a river #Poetry #Bpd #gender dysphoria

[forkpigeon3146]

theres almost always two of everything

two hands

two eyes

two legs

two ears

and yet theres only one of us

maybe thats why some people

are drawn together

as if even the universe itself

couldnt keep the two apart

#i dont even remember what prompted this but #it intruiged me #how there always seems to be two of everything #and i had to write about it obvi #love my polyamourous ppl tho #yall are lovely #poetry #spilled thoughts #my thoughts #spilled ink #poem #does this count as a love poem? #love poem #fortieth post

[glitchback]

#something I made fast in a haze of frantic sudden inspiration #anyways. I am an artist please god forgive me so and so forth #glitchback edits #glitchcore #feverdreamcore #ventcore #poetry? does this count as poetry? #I took the same writing course like four times I know it technically does I'm just insecure #ena shinonome #project sekai #project sekai colorful stage #hatsune miku colorful stage

[astrxealis]

okay rambles but i started creatively writing in like ... 5th grade? and. oh god just a little encouragement to anyone looking to get into writing or insecure or whatnot, but HELLS, maybe it's to he expected with my (obviously) very young age and inexperience with writing then, but my writing was really. yeah. Yeah. but then i'm what... a lot older now, obviously, and my writing has gotten leagues better. i'm probably not a good example for this bcs childhood years development stuff are different etc etc BUT practicing writing more and whatnot really does go a long way :]

#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚ #my writing in 2020 is a lot different than my writing now even! especially so compared to my writing from 2010s #reading a lot of media is also really important :] i always read a lot of books BUT i only started to really read poetry since the pandemic #which were uh basically my early teenage years so idk if i'm a good example for this bcs childhood brain development and stuff (???) #BUT STILL ..... playing games like ffxiv and being really invested in the lore and writing + reading more poems and being fascinated with #more authors and pieces of literature + expanding my general vocabulary knowledge whatnot ... it all really goes a long way! #oh man i'm pretty proud of myself actually. i do love my writing. as imperfect (as all things are) it is. #i had a lot of Pauses with writing throughout my uhh relatively short life thus far since i'm NOT yet an adult and all aha but yeah! #so bless ffxiv again for bringing back my writing spirit... and other medias and whatever <3 #rn i have to thank bg3 for bringing back my Creative Spirit bcs i've been writing a lot more again and having/working on my creative ideas!! #okay i just wanted to ramble a bit lol ^_^ there! #idk my being a writer is very important to me. and my journey as one too. #i want to make a book one day! most feasibly would be to make a collection of short stories :] a bit similar to 'm is for magic' maybe bcs #i grew up with that lol neil gaiman i adore you <3 #i have a very special original world in my head but i am a little selfish and want to keep them all to myself... oops. or who knows! #anyway i have a lot of ideas and i adore writing and literature sooo much <3 #anyway. okay. leaving it here. #cheering on every writer author whatever out there !!! unless you're a sucky person of course yuck bigots but yeah ^^ <3 #huge writing inspo for me is uhhhhhhhh. thinking #ffxiv! does ffxiv count. esp drk quests. and shb as a whole. and then... edgar allan poe? neil gaiman? yeah? #can't remember anyone else good gods but i love vivid and imaginative storytelling and writing descriptively :] a bit of prose but also #quite simple in its eloquence (???) unsure honestly oh gods anyway BYE rambles over apollo signing off beep boop AGHHHHH (screams)