it’s ran by @theauthorkiwi, you can call me oliver (they/it/neo)
this was inspired by some reblogs between me and sosban so i'm making it a reality >:D
send your work via asks or @ this account and i’ll post/reblog (i’ll try my best to respond with thoughts but no promises cause sometimes i must be busy </3)
i'm a minor so keep that in mind with what you submit, but beyond that all is fair game!!
(patreon content is allowed! i am new to it and very slowly making my way through the stuff tm so probably won't have anything good/specific to answer with)
tags will simply be #sfth poetry, #from mod (for non-blog things if needed), the longform/shortform(s), and tws/cws
be kind, be sweet, and MAKE ART!!
IT'S IMPORTANT!!
ps: if you ever want general poetry recs/tips or to send your (non-sfth) work i’d be perfectly happy to yap/read that too!! <3
Poem on The Enigma of The High Visionary, Thomas Sr.
(I struggled so hard with balancing all the star imagery with expressing Thomas's humanity, I'm trying my best to follow your advice. Aaaa)
confession of a lightless fool
“I stared into the night outside my window to
look for light,
instead of the glitter stuck in the ridges of
my son’s hands,
or the oil droplets floating on our
chicken soup,
or the bubbles I could have lathered over
porcelain plates
because I forgot and was too tired to do them.
I saw it through darkened pupils:
A shooting star, trailing a streak of red on
my skin,
cut sharp from the leaflet I took from the
wide-eyed guy at the doorstep.
It tore up the sky in half beautifully, a line
separating me
from the backyard I thought she buried
her love for me in,
and the void holding a promise that shone
brighter than reality.
I ran into the blackness,
akin to how the Moon would leave the
Earth’s orbit
in search of its own glow, to truly glow
than to reflect,
to finally be able to lower the tide of a guilt, but in turn
drowning my conscience.
As I raised both hands to reach the clouds,
along in surrender,
I chose to echo Alien and forsook the word
for ‘home’.
A shooting star, and I found it about to
shoot through my son’s head.
They told me he was made of the purest
of hydrogen
that would condense into a limitless galaxy
if only I would let them release it,
burst open from the space above the bridge
of his nose.
… Forgive me.
In the end I was still selfish.
I hugged his light all for myself
and he took me back, not glowing, but awake.”
-- 🧁
fantastic title yet again king very chomp
i adore your framing of this poem with quotation marks it’s a very unique touch
“oil droplets” is very evocative!! wonderful use of small details to make your piece come alive :D
everything about thomas with the leaflet and the shooting star is so goodd i love “i ran into the blackness”
“purest of hydrogen” is really cool diction and the ending line is brilliant
Poem on The Game Of Truth and Tea, from ARTHUR'S GIRLBOSS MOTHER. I'm so normal about her and this LF. (I'm having a lot of fun writing SFTH poems, so glad I started.)
eternal rebuttal
love is the stretch between beginning and end.
the story begins like any other:
paths converging until the roads are
paved with memory, and his footsteps are stamped into them.
to walk that memory is to question why he had to leave.
I drink the tea your servant gives and I fake the taste of our favorite coffee.
love is the space between my heart and my throat.
the words get stuck like any other,
but the name of my son sticks firmly to my tongue.
I’ll spit it into your eye a million times to make you watch his journey.
I’ll whisper every syllable if only to soothe him that this is merely a dream.
love is the distance between hope and reality.
the truth hurts like any other,
except for the fact that the distance is shorter than you make it,
as the only thing separating us is time.
hope is the sugar that sweetens my tea.
as it scalds you, it does not scald me.
love is the gap between a half-opened door.
today blends like any other,
I look to the ceiling and pretend it is sky to remind me of freedom and
family.
but when the day comes that we break you wide open
the glory of the sunrise will glimmer in our eyes.
and our story will begin anew.
-- 🧁
first two lines are immediately great at establishing the sort of vibe you're going for in this poem, and you’ve done a wonderful job at repetition in this!!
your small details i've found very gripping, from the pretend coffee, to the whispering, to the sweetened tea—it makes for an intensely human piece
in particular i enjoyed "between my heart and my throat," "distance is shorter than you make it," and "glory of the sunrise" (as a sunrise lover myself, i may be a tad biased)
your penultimate stanza has a lot of wonderful touches and does a lovely job leading into your final line :D
Poem on The Glass Eye, Dr Collins Jr to Dr Collins. Now, did I characterise them correctly? Who knows. But the projecting. Mmm yummy.
(The urge to just go "The Glass Eye was just the friends we made along the way™ because that's basically what happened in the LF lol)
X marks the blind spot.
You say you have to pluck out my eye
having lost its value and luster.
You introduced a seed into my socket
when I was young
and I coated it with the nacre
of my desire to be like you.
I say I’d like to pluck out your heart
wanting to escape from its chest.
What am I, if not like you?
Treasure in the eye of the beholder
but you are less of an appraiser than you are stubborn.
You’ll notice spots on my sclera
before you notice the one
sitting at the back of your retina,
and the loathing collecting in your eyebags.
Doctor
nothing but the curse you imprinted on me.
Father
I will be nothing
so let me see your heart for once between my fingertips
and I’ll let you look at me as pitifully as you may
between yours.
-- 🧁
another killerr title anon like just splendid work honestly ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
extremely vivid and diverse word choices, all of which do an excellent job at focusing the poem on a central symbol
“loathing collecting in your eyebags” is SOOOO CHOMPP i love it
the ending stanza is also brilliant i adore itt !!
im really not sure i got all the thoughts i had or vibes i wanted right, there's a lot in here that i can ramble on and on about but i don't know how much of that actually comes across in the poem but basically clarissa you are so messy to me and i love you <3
after i lied about getting over you
She
kisses me breathless
against the wall
of her mother’s kitchen
as if trying to crawl
inside me
as if trying to fill my
cracks with all her gold.
I
instead
crack open,
as if an egg with its fragile shell,
burning alive on a frying pan,
and all my egg yolk
stains her fingertips.
wish i could do smaller text than this (/.\) but briefly: hypothetical scene (i say like all fanfic isn't hypotheticals strung together lol) where yes, clarissa and mark are still together, amanda is pulling away for a lot of reasons, one of which is being. that relationship. and clarissa reacting to this new distance and the frightening potential of loss in the messiest possible way
-🌾
MY DIWIVES HEART IS FEDD GRGRGR most messy girls ever i love them
the weight you give to “she” and “i” is so !! feels extremely representative of the ways they are polarized (like idk it evokes this image of a chasm and they’re standing on opposite sides) and how they are the only people who matter to each other (it’s just her and me in this world type perspective)
kintsugii iterally so correct for them anon you fucking get itt
everything about the egg yolk :screaming: it’s so crunch of an image i love AAAAA
Hello!
I barely know what I'm doing, but sfth poetry sounds fun, and this is my first attempt.
For SAMN's Wilhelm, specifically his first appearance in the LF as the 'Farmhand' who gets the sheep.
This might not be very poetic, but I tried lol.
Thanks for creating the blog! (we make art, and I mess around and find out.)
shepherd dog’s guide to method acting
1 training
Pick out a whimpering soul,
make sure that it is more suited to play fetch than to control the body of a man.
Unravel limbs, fingers, branch, splinter.
Untangle fur from hair. Unfold skin into clothing. Undo and redo it all.
Affix 206 bones required in a human.
Assemble the face, make him remember the 17 muscles needed to smile,
though to train the trick is complicated,
see to it that he looks like an angel.
2 “good boy”
Now awakening from her slumber, Wilhelm, is your friend and idol.
Her, and in turn your eyes expand. You open your
untextured hands and she takes in your palms. She whispers 17.
You speak of a farm under a golden statue, where she
cultivated seeds, harvested improvement, and renews the sheep.
She lovingly gives you head pats on the top of your skull.
You drive the sheep to their fence. They follow your guidance.
They did not understand until the lock clasped shut.
You pretend not to hear the sheep banging against their walls,
not to notice the wool beneath your nails, not to notice that
Curtain never calls.
The shepherd reins in her sheep.
-- 🧁
BANGER TITLE OFF THE BAT KING
the enjambent on play / fetch is a killer start, and i love your word choice of splinter (plus!!all the repetitive use of u!!)
STANZA THREE :screaming: it’s so deeply evocative of reassembling i adore it
untextured hands is bloody brilliant for a description, unexpected and well done
headpats vs skull is a splendid use of juxtaposition, creates a strong mood for your piece with the tonal dissonance
all of this as an extended metaphor for sheep wilhelm is so AAAA CHOMPP
hii im back again !! this one is titled “she loves me not” . i originally wrote it about cliff and marie claire but the more i got my thoughts down into words the more i realised it’s just lukas and ashen . tbs won’t leave my brain twt . so MAJOR PATREON SPOILERS !!!!
anyway ! the imagery is them as flowers, one (ashen, or marie claire) drowned and the other (lukas, or cliff) malnourished. laterality is the most important word here ,, for three reasons !! 1 the connection to a plant’s lateral roots, 2 it meaning directionally out/sideways, and by extension togetherness, 3 the medical term which is the preference of one side of the brain > 3 to me is about lukas’s vs ashen’s phrasing of the wish. uhh yes i just wanted to explain that because it’s not obvious at all what i was going for . ^^
she loves me not
fate,
a gardener with little care for instructions,
has killed us both.
you were overwatered long ago,
unable to drink in the world,
as i watched surfeit spill from your tulips.
my days are dry,
left without necessity,
knowing laterality would’ve solved it all,
and we’d still be in eden.
-🚀
first lukas and ashen piece \o/
i have not seen tbs yet so i cannot comment much on that (but i do look forward to revisiting this poem once i get my shit together and watch thumbs up)
BUT !! MARIE CLAIRE !! CLIFF !! THEM !!
ugh the drowned/malnourished thing is so ghrgrgr i love it and the laterality thing i am chomping so hard onn i love when you can read so many things from just one word
she loves me not as the title is so AAAAA (and something something wish and that title together as like both stuff associated with a sense of youth and the way this poem just feels so reflectivee?? idk words 😔)
surfeit is a killer word pull and that ending line is everythingg
quick thing for clarissa, entitled "i told my best friend about my mother"
the doctor had said she was lucky—lived
a good life, all things considered.
i ponder why he feels entitled to write
my mother’s stele
and if good has always equated to long.
my father’s shadow stretches
from one end of the planet
to the lack of sun beneath my feet.
it is a dark spot, where even the dawn
could not bare to love me.
bits of leather peel upwards, from where
a tiny kid
had pried open the seating—i catch,
between the thumb and forefinger, stray
crepuscular rays with him.
they have traveled past the ozone, through
stained glass, to hit a shitty restaurant
table; the back of a church pew; a maple
coffin; his silver wedding band.
i make another phone call, and wait.
—🎞️
AHHH CLARISSAA MY BABYY !!
the amount of thoughts i have on that woman and her complicated relationship to her mother is unmatchedd
my favorite part is the peeling leather and line about dawn :D
not the best but i need to get it out of my head !! jorgen & helter (and their father if you’d like to read it that way ?) poem , tom and luke stop playing tragic brother duos challenge impossible . somethingsomething helter watching jorgen bleed out into the snow of the mountains they grew up on ^^
he watches you go
as you slip away
like an avalanche
like a bobsleigh
he blames the snow
for stealing your warmth
but you’ve no doubt
it’s the draught
under death’s door
-🚀
HELTE RHELTR HEKTKR MY BOYYY (< voice of someone normal over b&b /lying)
I LOVE ITT ughh he blames the snow for stealing your warmth like hello?? give me your brain rn dude /pos
okay my love of these sillies aside this is fantastic i adore itt
i like the way you played with shape on the last two lines!! really gives this piece the physical movement you’re painting verbally
(and i’m absolutely stabbing you /aff <3 for the blood covered snow juxtaposed with this being the mountain they grew up on grggrgr)
French kraken origins freeform poetry? (I was bored in class :p)
We have been washed up on the shore, a product of the ocean.
We lay on the beach like seaweed, stick to the sand like surf
We understand the ways of land; the wind blowing, the hot sand
Yet we are a part of the deepest, bluest sea on this big blue fucking earth.
The beating of my heart
Is a gentle, constant thud.
Calling, calling
And I realise with a start, that the calling of the water is written into my bones, in my very blood
Gentle, rippling waves wash over my face
I do not move. We let it.
The seawater has a bitter, acrid taste.
We do not move. I let the wave return to the sea.
We are. I will be.
Bile rises in my throat like hot, sour tar
My eyes open, like flowers that have bloomed
I shed a tear, our pain will not be forgotten by the turmoil of the crashing waves
We are beautiful, we are doomed.
I really don't know where I was going with this?? 'We are beautiful, we are doomed' is a Los campesinos! album so that's why I included that but otherwise? No idea. The rhyme scheme is like an estranged family. I was kind of implying that another kraken washed up with the french one (lost family or lost lover trope? Maybe?? I'm not well versed in french kraken lore?) or- I suppose I'm headcanoning that french kraken is plural. I don't know. SORRY FOR THE YAP THANK YOU FOR RUNNING THIS BLOG
FRENCH KRAKEN POETRY FUCK YEAHH iconic whoever you are i hope you know that
this is gorgeouss i love the repeated use of we for the concept you were going for
acrid is a strong word choice with very strong mental images :D
all of this is very chompyy i love how vividly you’ve painted the sea in this grgrgr
quick lil tcs poem !! im normal !!!! about pierre and marie claire and the (in)significance of eachother in their lives. titled Précipice .
the tail in two sides
of a coin that turns heads
unanswered letters
give you carpal tunnels
like sodium chloride tears
from your eyes
drip
she falls
and it’s the sweetest there ever was
-🚀 ^^
WOOO TCS POEM \o/
ughh dude shaking you aggressively /pos about the concept and title for this one
i love just everything about it like playing with space for drip and that final line?? BANGERR DUDE it’s literally so good
the image and phrasing in the first stanza i really enjoy too !!
i’m gonna preemptively apologize for this and any o’hands stans i’m going to offend lmao i tried
(ty fullset-o-lovers for the suggestion, and credit to their fic and post for the inspiration)
cw: death and resurrection, blood, incest
ramblings beneath the cut
honestly this feels like a concept that would suit poetry prose a bit better but eh didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes considering the fic (highly recommend if you haven’t read it already) and this was already very different from my typical style anyway so that’s enough experimentation from me lol
the o’hands, shockingly /j, are not all that easy to make poetry for because…like…how do you even capture just all of that?? /aff
(genuinely sat and stared at the suggestion for a good five minutes trying to figure out what to even make a poem about before i remembered that angst post)
i’m gonna ig nerd out about symbolism now (which, look, i’ll be the first to say this poem is a terrible mix of absolutely unclear and extremely heavy handed i’m aware but i do hope it was somewhat interesting)
i started with asking the question of wtf do caravans represent, and how is that expanded with the term hutch
with caravans we could naturally play into enlightenment (in the buddhist sense at least), community (merchants), and freedom (traveling) while hutch we get words like collection, storage, and (in parallel to freedom) entrapment
however, none of these hit right to me, so instead i looked at what caravans represent in the longform, of which i’d say it’s a symbol of independence, and leaving behind the innocence of youth
i really loved the idea of playing with that for the o’hands considering the premise of this concept is a tragedy that naturally results in both of them losing that childlike innocence, so now we can take the caravan hutch as a hoarding of what they could not have
for the tree (which, climbing trees is also like stereotypical childhood material), yew is an easy symbol of death, longevity, rebirth, and toxicity (a quite literal, considering the brothers’ tendency towards literal meanings, thing for this poem as fullest crawls out from under that tree in his rebirth)
also i’m guessing not everyone knows chinese mythology so i’m gonna do a quick explanation of that lol
“but it was not long before the sun realized it missed the other nine” is a reference to the myth of the ten suns, nine of which get shot down by hou yi (which you may know as the archer guy who gets these two immortality elixirs that his wife ends up taking that cause her to be sent to the moon and become the moon goddess chang'e)
basically these ten suns take turns rising in the sky but one day they all go up there out of boredom, causing the earth to dry up, so hou yi is sent and first he tries to reason before he ends up shooting them one by one down from the sky, ultimately leaving one sun which has rose on schedule ever since
this myth in like a very basic not in depth analysis can be taken to mean “respect nature” etc so in my allusion to it i’m hinting towards the subversion of this message and indicating some fucked up thing is gonna happen that is inherently unnatural
specifically i bring it up in relation to grief and longing as a parallel to how lots is feeling
i wrote this while recently having watched shel silverstein poetry analysis so that’s probably to blame for this weird shit (plus, idk i think it kinda fits given the themes and his target audience, though obviously this is absolutely not to say i’m on the level of his work, i’m shit at rhyming which is why i politely don’t do it lmao)
i had a terrible breakdown /lh at trying to figure out where tf this play was set, cause in the scene of aj’s dad character going to london they say brighton and then sam says shoreditch and i have a shit understanding of both england and geography but i’m pretty sure those two places are not one in the same so idk anymore but fuck it
if you want some more sfth poetry i’ve done cdiyw ones before too :p
lemme know if you want more insight into any other lines (i’m always happy to yap) or have suggestions for other characters :D
i have more to say and i just never got around to doing the reblog so here i am now
this storytelling approach was important to me in representing the themes of this poem because the o’hands i view as like the weird neighborhood urban legend you tell kids to scare them a little and so despite losing their innocence in death they’ve (in life) become this symbol of childhood and specifically the ways stories teach kids certain lessons
first line in particular embodies this thought to me—the setting of a stage for our myth
contradiction here is the dichotomy between freedom and entrapment as it relates to the literal name “caravan hutch”
stanza two begins referring to the hoarding of youth (caravans as is symbolized in nialtc) by the o’hands as a consequence of their loss of innocence (robbed of childhood, and now collect as much of it as possible)
dirt in those nailbeds meaning how lots buried his brother and the entrapment of that grave dirt thusly on his hands, fullset crawling out from his grave and the ways that forced rebirth lingers on him, and then dirt under the nails as a very cliche kids playing outside thing
picked at scabs has a similar meaning of kids getting bored and fiddling (for lots i see scenes of his grief where he gnawed at his hands enough to bleed and scar over, and fullset i imagine being injured from the tree climb and the blood never being cleaned up properly upon his death)
dug in with rivulets i see as symbolic for lots’ tears—his face the landscape and the tear tracks as rivers (how water carves into the earth and changes it)
the next stanza is just being silly but there’s a fun double layer of funeral for the world and funeral for fullset
yew, a symbol of death, dying being a complement to how fullset (through rebirth) kills the concept of death, and story wise it gives reason to the fall
a bough is the main branch of a tree and one could connect it to “rock-a-by, baby” for the lullaby and childhood angle
approximation of a wishbone meaning he broke his collarbone, but wishbones are a cool symbol to me for being a wishing ritual (something i also associate with childhood) that requires two people (the o’hands and their shared soul) but it always leads to one of them getting the short end of the stick (who is who you can read either way)
shittiest angel on the christmas tree can connect to that cliche of like kids putting the star on a tree, plus the fall of an angel being a sign of fullset’s fall from goodness
in my head lots watched fullset fall and couldn’t act, but when fullset landed, lots felt his legs give way in almost a mirror to his brother (crawling on his knees and arms to his beloved)
yew shoots i believe are a burying ritual, there’s the contrast of yew (death) and shoots (bud), so it can be read that fullset is buried with his youth, and shoots are interesting because they’re a stress response by a tree at injury in order to propagate and need to be removed so yk. vibes. (this section may be a bit wrong it’s been a while since i looked at this stuff lmao)
fullset’s blood, in death, stops and collects down at his feet—cold and clotted up—so when the hare’s blood is heated in the cauldron, fullset’s blood begins to boil
the marionette angle of the blood strings is fun in how lots is raising a dead body (the puppet) to life
the green agate is just luke’s shirt but i like the nature symbolism and the mud (corruption of nature, covered in mud as another kid cliche)
the rest feels pretty explanatory already so i will stop my yapping but :D
a clamanda poem (if you can't tell by my username, i'm a bit obsessed)
we both say
i love you
and we both mean it
in different ways
i love you
it falls from your lips
lightly
easily
it means
i'm glad
to have you
next to me
i love
the way
you make me smile
sometimes
it means
goodbye
(until tomorrow)
i love you
it bursts
from my chest
bubbling up
until
it spills out
it means
i want you
to be mine in the way
that i am yours
i love
your soul
more than life
sometimes
it means
goodbye
(forever)
FIRST CLAMANDA POEM EVERYONE !!
i love the difference in goodbye between the two of them you’ve emphasized here it’s so grgrggr chomp dude
you’ve done an excellent job highlighting just how opposite their perspectives are and characterized both of them really well despite writing from just amanda’s view
“i want you / to be mine in the way / that i am yours” amanda you make me sick /pos i love this line
me again ! we love poetry has given me so much motivation to write it’s insane . titled it too, this one’s called Antinomy !! it’s about martha and husband (i can’t be bothered to find his name lmao) from murders in space, and their relationship being like particles and antiparticles . putting my physics nerdery to good use :-)
Antimatter,
Turning away, becoming so alien, in the void of space.
Antidote,
Unfound, unfounded, for the desperate few and dying many.
Antique
By now, as time stretches and they are lightyears away.
Apart: they cannot be.
Together: they are changed
To energy
In the collider.
-🚀
AHHH I LOVE ITT
antinomy for a title is sickk and i love the emphasis on words starting with an a
my favorite line for this one is the unfound unfounded one like the juxtapositionn grrgr
“their relationship being like particles and antiparticles” YESS BRILLIANT DUDEE
science in poetryyy :D as someone who does the same thing (just not with physics) i am shaking your hand on this
shoutout to murders in space which i literally just rewatched lmaoo also MARTHA AND HUSBAND !!!! (it’s mary?? i believe?? and aj’s character technically just has the last name johnson i think /not a dig dw i cannot talk i’m literally the worst at names)
we love poetry i shall always adore you for letting me naturally yap about poetry when talking about sfth now <3
lil poem about amanda and tarquin liye !! theyre never not on my mind . have been picturing them as a ship in a bottle and message in a bottle respectively because of how the bottle changes the purpose of the item completely . so angstable . and it refers to how she dies . apologies for possible errors !!! i cooked this up in 20mins after thinking about it all day xD
your love is light
and the world is a bottle,
reflecting and refracting
til your candles burn out.
she is the ship,
sat on a high shelf
collecting dust,
never to feel the spray of waves,
too delicate for her intention.
you are the message,
spoilt by moisture
but clinging on,
bobbing aimlessly in the blue,
near certainly lost to time.
and the glass walls fall,
but so does the model,
broken.
and the glass case cracks,
and the salt rushes in,
rotten.
-🚀!!
THIS IS INCREDIBLE AHHHH SCREAMING
amanda and tarquin <33 i love themm and this sooo much
firstly your concept of ship in a bottle and message in a bottle to represent them is so chompy but specifically because of how it changes their purpose??? like?? grgrgr i literally adore that
you've expertly conveyed these images in this poem juxtaposed against each other of like the feel of dust and hollow of forced waiting vs the movement of the sea and smell of saltwater
i especially like the ending three lines, and the special weight placed on broken and rotten (both taking up more physical space comparatively, and seem to hold greater presence in defining these characters)
