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Literature Text
We would be
dark.
Matter of fact.
I'd turn into Penelope.
Pen-e-lope, like cantelope;
she was ripe, over ripe perhaps,
withered with the waiting years,
Penny parched from rolling tears-
enough to swim him home.
If he was water you are stone.
Sandstone. Solid. Something -
young boys need to cling to, something -
a bow to fit the string to, something.
That's not me but it's something.
You would be
warm,
weighted and one.
Entirely a second son,
a second son and quite undone,
Stay. Smile upon my
wasted weaving fingertips,
shun your father's treasure ship
and hold me close, alone.
dark.
Matter of fact.
I'd turn into Penelope.
Pen-e-lope, like cantelope;
she was ripe, over ripe perhaps,
withered with the waiting years,
Penny parched from rolling tears-
enough to swim him home.
If he was water you are stone.
Sandstone. Solid. Something -
young boys need to cling to, something -
a bow to fit the string to, something.
That's not me but it's something.
You would be
warm,
weighted and one.
Entirely a second son,
a second son and quite undone,
Stay. Smile upon my
wasted weaving fingertips,
shun your father's treasure ship
and hold me close, alone.
Literature
My First and Last War Poem
When he came back from the war,
all he saw was shrapnel.
Not like the sort on the battlefield,
at home there were no bodies,
there was no thick sticky blood on his hand,
She stood at the beach,
brushed back a strand of hair
a jellyfish washed onto shore.
She knew only the dead were that clear
and it reminded her of the poisonings:
dead cats and dogs curled in balls along the sidewalk
after some jerk littered the doorsteps
steaks marinated in cyanide.
instead, he watched his family,
watched himself at the dinner
table as if he weren't even eating
swallowed the potatoes and wondered
"where is the metallic flavor;"
"where is th
Literature
Troy...or not
Troy
or not
By the Gods! snapped Helen, standing resplendent in the middle of the battlefield, will noone ask me whether I want to go back or not? Even though Im the one being fought over, no one even tries to ask my opinion about it!
The two rival armies had come to a halt on either side of the legendary beauty, gaping at her in amazement. Menelaus was standing at the head of his army, holding an unsheathed sword, with his mouth hanging open, looking utterly stupid, as his slow brain tried to figure out why his wife was behaving like that. From the time he had known her, she had always been so meek and ob
Literature
and we found...
we love like we sin, terrified and breathless.
we are tea-at-midnight girls, naming constellations
that don't exist after lost tourists we meet on the
street, reminding our freckle covered shoulders
that even beautiful things can be made ordinary.
we are broken fingers and half-closed eyelids and a
penchant for mischief. we are ribbon skin and frantic
desires and incandescent hope. we are a voice spilling
secrets to falling leaves diving after their arachnid brothers,
mimicking the millions before us who were
judged unfairly, unjustly but all too correctly.
we whisper promises to dandelions because they do not
know how to hold gru
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Update/Edit: Since this inexplicably was given a daily deviation (tons of thanks to ^StJoan for that by the way and especially to the amazing =nycterent for suggesting this, she is amazing, go check out her work. Like now. Go.) I thought I would clarify a few points on this. A few comments addressed the fact that this was a bit hard on Odysseus. My original description here said that this poem was about the fact that Penelope waited for so long when he was off fighting monsters, getting it on with Circe and Calypso while she was pretty much the epitome of faithfulness but once he returned she was too old.
I should probably make it clear that I was thinking of the Tennyson poem, Ulysses (which you really should read if you haven't already). In particular I was thinking of the opening lines, "It little profits that an idle king, / By this still hearth, among these barren crags, / Matched with an aged wife," I wrote this poem a couple of years ago when I studied Tennyson at A level and it struck me as a horribly callous and throwaway comment about a wife that waited so long, and who sacrificed so much for him. In some of the apocryphal texts about Odysseus there are references to Telegonus, his son by Circe who Penelope marries after his death, so she did get to have some fun Telegonus literally translates to "born afar" and obviously, he is the second son after Telemachus.
Thankyou again to those responsible for the daily deviation on this, and to all of you lovely people who have been so thoughtful and kind to leave comments and favourite it. I've just started a module at uni called The Poem, so all of this feedback is amazingly helpful!
I should probably make it clear that I was thinking of the Tennyson poem, Ulysses (which you really should read if you haven't already). In particular I was thinking of the opening lines, "It little profits that an idle king, / By this still hearth, among these barren crags, / Matched with an aged wife," I wrote this poem a couple of years ago when I studied Tennyson at A level and it struck me as a horribly callous and throwaway comment about a wife that waited so long, and who sacrificed so much for him. In some of the apocryphal texts about Odysseus there are references to Telegonus, his son by Circe who Penelope marries after his death, so she did get to have some fun Telegonus literally translates to "born afar" and obviously, he is the second son after Telemachus.
Thankyou again to those responsible for the daily deviation on this, and to all of you lovely people who have been so thoughtful and kind to leave comments and favourite it. I've just started a module at uni called The Poem, so all of this feedback is amazingly helpful!
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Comments55
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Good sounds in this. There is a grammatical problem in line 9 though: the "was" should be in the subjunctive mood (were). Other than that, good work.