poetry fans be like i love that poem it made me feel fucking awful & horrible & scared
Color Me Curious
untitled
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
EXPECTATIONS
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Noah Kahan

tannertan36
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Not today Justin

Jimmy Eat World

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Claire Keane
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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YOU ARE THE REASON
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@bram-stoker-hate-blog
poetry fans be like i love that poem it made me feel fucking awful & horrible & scared
Happy pride month, here's a poem I wrote about an encounter that I will never forget.
I'm a janitor at a movie theater.
I go into Wal-Mart for a bottle of wine
to make the shit I endured a little more bearable.
The woman at the counter asks for my I.D.
I hand it over.
She's about sixty-five. She wears a wig.
Her voice is deep and sweet and warm
like a cherry held for too long in a bashful
sweaty palm.
Her name is youthful and happy but I can't remember what it was.
She looks at my drivers' license.
Her eyes flick from the name printed on the card
to the name stickered on my badge.
The two do not match. But my face does.
She gives me a knowing look from behind her cat-eye glasses
and she says in her warm-cherry voice
"I like your new name. It suits you better."
I smile- no,
I beam
and I try not to cry
and I say (in my voice, a little too high,)
"I like yours too!"
And I'm so overcome with the euphoria of recognition
that I almost leave my Blackberry Arbor Mist in the checkout lane.
that I almost leave
my Blackberry Arbor Mist
in the checkout lane.
Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.
There was a young man from Peru
Whose limericks stopped at line two
There once was a man from Verdun
There once was a man from the sticks Whose limericks stopped at line six. They were fine till line five Then they took quite a dive — But the problem is easy to fix If you just ignore the last line, it doesn't even follow the rhyme scheme oh god I've really lost control of this thing I'm so sorry...
There once was a man
From Cork who got limericks
And haiku confused.
There once was a man from the sticks
Who liked to compose limericks
But he failed at the sport
Because he wrote them too short
@limerickshere
There once was a fellow named Dan, Whose poetry never would scan. When told this was so, He replied, "Yes, I know-- It's because I try to squeeze as many syllables into the last line as I possibly can."
On Tumblr did lasses and lads Their way with fail poetry had. You're having your fun But you're fooling no one - It takes skill to do something this bad.
Person: Sir I am in desperate need of help do you think you can do something
Sherlock Holmes: Why of course! I’ll gladly figure out any vexing issue! Don’t even bother paying me! The challenge is its own reward!!!!!
Some Asshole: solve this case u piece of shit
Sherlock Holmes: That will be £10000 sorry I don’t make the rules
This is true; Holmes only pulls this when a potential client tries to treat him as “okay so I’m A Real Big Shot and you’re only Hired Help so drop everything for my case”, as in “The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor” when Lord St Simon is snobby about being too high-class for a mere detective to have met before:
“I understand that you have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though I presume that they were hardly from the same class of society.”
“No, I am descending.”
“I beg pardon.”
“My last client of the sort was a king.”
Or when he considers that a client, even a sincere one, has behaved badly/recklessly, especially to those owed a duty of care, as with the Duke of Holdernesse in “The Adventure of the Priory School”:
My friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance of avidity which was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.
“I fancy that I see your Grace’s cheque-book upon the table,” said he. “I should be glad if you would make me out a cheque for six thousand pounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross it. The Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street branch, are my agents.”
…“This is indeed a most serious matter. Even more culpable in my opinion, your Grace, is your attitude towards your younger son. You leave him in this den for three days.”
“Under solemn promises — ”
“What are promises to such people as these? You have no guarantee that he will not be spirited away again. To humour your guilty elder son you have exposed your innocent younger son to imminent and unnecessary danger. It was a most unjustifiable action.”
…“Thank you,” said he, as he replaced the glass. “It is the second most interesting object that I have seen in the North.”
“And the first?”
Holmes folded up his cheque and placed it carefully in his note-book. “I am a poor man,” said he, as he patted it affectionately and thrust it into the depths of his inner pocket.
Or the millionaire Neil Gibson, in “The Problem of Thor Bridge”:
“Let me say right here, Mr. Holmes,” he began, “that money is nothing to me in this case. You can burn it if it’s any use in lighting you to the truth. This woman is innocent and this woman has to be cleared, and it’s up to you to do it. Name your figure!”
“My professional charges are upon a fixed scale,” said Holmes coldly. “I do not vary them, save when I remit them altogether.”
“Well, if dollars make no difference to you, think of the reputation. If you pull this off every paper in England and America will be booming you. You’ll be the talk of two continents.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gibson, I do not think that I am in need of booming. It may surprise you to know that I prefer to work anonymously, and that it is the problem itself which attracts me. But we are wasting time. Let us get down to the facts.”
…“The whole world has proclaimed that she also is a very beautiful woman. Now, I make no pretence to be more moral than my neighbours, and I will admit to you that I could not live under the same roof with such a woman and in daily contact with her without feeling a passionate regard for her. Do you blame me, Mr. Holmes?”
“I do not blame you for feeling it. I should blame you if you expressed it, since this young lady was in a sense under your protection.”
“Well, maybe so,” said the millionaire, though for a moment the reproof had brought the old angry gleam into his eyes. “I’m not pretending to be any better than I am. I guess all my life I’ve been a man that reached out his hand for what he wanted, and I never wanted anything more than the love and possession of that woman. I told her so.”
“Oh, you did, did you?”
Holmes could look very formidable when he was moved.
“I said to her that if I could marry her I would, but that it was out of my power. I said that money was no object and that all I could do to make her happy and comfortable would be done.”
“Very generous, I am sure,” said Holmes with a sneer.
“See here, Mr. Holmes. I came to you on a question of evidence, not on a question of morals. I’m not asking for your criticism.”
“It is only for the young lady’s sake that I touch your case at all,” said Holmes sternly. “I don’t know that anything she is accused of is really worse than what you have yourself admitted, that you have tried to ruin a defenceless girl who was under your roof. Some of you rich men have to be taught that all the world cannot be bribed into condoning your offences.”
Some of you rich men have to be taught that all the world cannot be bribed into condoning your offences
“Eat the rich” - Sherlock Holmes, probably
not very new hyperfixation rediscovered write a poem abt it
[Image ID: A poem in two columns, which can be read together or apart.
The first column is entitled "Jekyll", and with punctuation added for clarity, it reads "my dear Utterson, I'm terribly sorry, but you have to know. I was living, but not always fully whole. my own self was asking dozens of questions; they are answered by Edward Hyde. what he has done, that is my doing. this sorry tale, the story of Dr. Jekyll."
The second column is entitled "Hyde", and with punctuation added for clarity, it reads "I've done it. I've finally done it. I am free, alive, afraid no longer, now split in two in the dark. who am I? hard to believe the name Henry Jekyll is who I am. this alter ego will be remembered as one Mr. Hyde."
When read together, the two halves read "my dear Utterson, I've done it. I'm terribly sorry, but I've finally done it. you have to know I am free. I was living, but not alive, always afraid, fully whole no longer. my own self, now split in two, was in the dark, asking who am I? dozens of questions. hard to believe they are answered by the name Edward Hyde, Henry Jekyll. what he has done is who I am. that is my doing, this alter ego. this sorry tale will be remembered as the story of one Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde."
/.End ID]
The finished piece - a big snow leopard bowl 🥣❤️
[Image description: Pictures of a ceramic bowl painted with a big running snow leopard and three baby snow leopards. Pink and blue paint is dotted around the snow leopards. End image description.]
grabbed all of the ebook versions of the folger shakespeare library's annotated versions of shakespeare's plays (+sonnets and poems) and put them all in one place in case anyone is interested
thinking of jesus at the gay bar again………
Do tell
[ID:
a poem by Jay Hulme, titled Jesus at the Gay Bar
He's here in the midst of it - right at the centre of the dance floor, robes hitched up to His knees to make it easy to spin.
At some point in the evening a boy will touch the hem of His robe and beg to be healed, beg to be anything other than this;
and He will reach His arms out, sweat-damp, and weary from dance. He'll cup this boy's face in His hand and say,
my beautiful child there is nothing in this heart of yours that ever needs to be healed.
/end ID]
i have to defend fictional women who aren't good people because if i don't who else will
the two flavours of this feeling are "i think she is flawed and going through it and figuring her shit out and that's a very human quality that i appreciate seeing in a female character" and "i think it's good she killed and ate those people and i think it's really hot that she didn't feel bad about it because confidence is attractive"
you ever read one of your old fics and think "damn past self. you went hard on that one. i'm so proud of you." while simultaneously thinking "future self got to get their shit together and actually write something, i mean come on now."
Kayleb Rae Candrilli, from Water I Won’t Touch
[ID: This poem -
‘On Travelling Together’, by Kayleb Rae Candrilli
In a Super 8 just outside Iowa City, two twelve-year-old boys
cuddle on the lobby couch, scrolling on their phones.
It’s four in the morning, and they don’t expect me, or anyone,
in the holy space they’ve drawn for themselves.
Their parents are asleep on the third floor, resting
before a hockey tournament or some other rough-and-tumble game.
It’s clear by the way the boys jump as I walk by;
their parents know nothing. The floor is lava.
The continental breakfast will start soon.
The couch they’re on is an island I’ve been to.”
/End ID]
[Image ID a four paneled comic by skeletonclaw. First panel: a bar graph shows a small figure standing happily on one bar maxxed out, x axis reading bad, good, to great. The graph title reads: You can achieve true greatness if you focus fully on one thing.
Second panel: next bar graph has multiple blue bars for skills at various lengths. The figure stand looking up at the title unhappily which reads:If you have too many interests you'll never reach your full potential.
Third panel: the figure is climbing the bar graph now, title reads: Wait, where the fuck are you going?
Fourth panel: the figure has reached the top of the bar graph wall looking out happily at an ocean view with clouds and mountains in the distance. End ID.]
it drives me bonkers the way people don’t know how to read classic books in context anymore. i just read a review of the picture of dorian gray that said “it pains me that the homosexual subtext is just that, a subtext, rather than a fully explored part of the narrative.” and now i fully want to put my head through a table. first of all, we are so lucky in the 21st century to have an entire category of books that are able to loudly and lovingly declare their queerness that we’ve become blind to the idea that queerness can exist in a different language than our contemporary mode of communication. second it IS a fully explored part of the narrative! dorian gray IS a textually queer story, even removed from the context of its writing. it’s the story of toxic queer relationships and attraction and dangerous scandals and the intertwining of late 19th century “uranianism” and misogyny. second of all, i’m sorry that oscar wilde didn’t include 15k words of graphic gay sex with ao3-style tags in his 1890 novel that was literally used to convict him of indecent behaviour. get well soon, i guess…
I saw a review of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall that said ‘I can’t believe people think this was a feminist book’.
Like, do you know how swooningly, outrage-causingly shocking it was that the main character slammed her bedroom door in her abusive husband’s face? Do you have any idea how unthinkable it was that she denied him access to her space and her person? She was supposed to submissively look away while he turned their son into an alcoholic for his own amusement and seduced innocent young women! It was revolutionary in 1848; when Bronte (Anne) wrote it, she had to do so under a male psuedonym because publishers wouldn’t accept works by women unless they were harmless pap, which was all that was thought suitable for women to read lest their mild and gentle minds be corrupted.
The reason these groundbreaking books of history seem to tame and understated now is because they worked. They raised the bar, pushed the agenda forwards, cleared the path for the next writer. They did exactly what they were supposed to. Time is linear. History moves forward. We make progress.
When you are old, if things happen as they ought, a future generation of teenagers will read The Hate U Give and Simon and the Homo Sapiens’ Agenda and Speak and think to themselves ‘why did anybody ever think this was contraversial? Why did they ban them? These are just things we talk about, these are things we deal with like normal people. What was the past like, and how do we stop from backsliding into a place where these things are considered shocking again?“
I really hope that’s how it goes.
First rule of literary analysis: the analyst cannot judge a past work by modern standards or ethics. Doing so leads to faulty comprehension, straw man fallacies, and lazy logic and analysis. We must always consider the work within the broader frameworks of the history, culture, and events that shaped it.
Erased
How many times have I started to write
Writing and deleting
Writing and deleting
Looking at the blank screen
The lone cursor blinking slowly
What words do I use to explain this feeling inside me
That swells and ebbs, in tides that push and pull
No image or word can capture it
The longing to breathe life into nothing
To create from the complex well
What thread to pull so it unravels in me
And weaves together on the page
The emotion cascades through me like a waterfall
In the river it flows away
Leaving the fleeting feeling that I could be someone
But it is gone and the moment has passed
The screen is blank
I stare at the space my words stood in
What did I erase?
I don’t know anymore
Every backspace deletes another letter
If only it erased the feelings too
hey, i noticed that your fantasy setting has bandits. idk that's kind of problematic :/ they literally kill people and steal stuff? like????? fantasy is meant to be an escape from real life, i just don't get why you had to do this :////
Um your Sci fi story has bad people I noticed, that's kinda problematic :/ I mean it's the future so why are there still bad people and why is there still conflict???? Why did you do this :////
hey so your superhero setting has villains :/ showing superheroes fighting criminals who are bad is basically copaganda????? it's supposed to be about good people using their power to help people, I don't understand why you had to include people not doing that ://////