#wocpoetry

[ruetheday11]

To My Dearest For I found a darkness in you that looked much like mine. We were both sad and lonely, both creations who had cruelty dealt to them by the divine. ~Persephone, Goddess of the Spring, Queen of the Underworld~ #Greekmyths #poetry #Persephone #wocpoetry #love #dark #hades #hell #spring #instapoetry #mythology #ancientgreece #instapoetry #forbiddenlove https://www.instagram.com/p/BwxED71J47O/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1lo9q6d6ulf2z

[me-just-then-blog]

Once I asked you to grow old with me Wedding rings turned windchimes Harmonise arthritic syncopation This is the poem before the poem The one that asks you to stay young

stay (young) 

[profondealbertine]

when I think of this summer, I don’t feel the heat, its luscious kiss on my eyelids. then, I had my eyes wide open to dare and face a closer sun. the windows wide open, the curtains like moving waters in the wind, as reverent, as light as her hands. alive, playful dancers of the light the world and I, blooming for her. no sounds, no speech between us, not ever. words are the only burst of life that can’t fly up there, in the stillness. she cared only for things of the air and she loved the heavens. her fallen grace exquisite, golden on the tip of my tongue. to sit there and watch the curtains shift, dance and spread warm, liquid shadows, our closeness raging like a furious pulse. I’ve never heard quiet like this ever again, undiluted, whole. She shared it with me and took it all in her stride when she left. for me alone, the curtains never danced.

dreams of lesbos

[me-just-then-blog]

The tide edges out Drags my tongue out of my mouth Takes my words with it This  This is what it feels like to be speechless

thalassophobia 

[me-just-then-blog]

Poetry is finding you In my dreams In the rain In myself But never in my arms

lost

[me-just-then-blog]

You were A home away from home away from home A roofless cathedral

home 

[me-just-then-blog]

I say death is beautiful Not in the way that triggers your concern Not lengthy descriptions about decomposition Instead I just write about stars They  Are the most beautiful dead thing Rigor mortis winks and blinks have never been so beautiful

stars

[cielxnoel-blog]

Good morning folks!

Yesterday was an awesome day for me. It's my initial registration date for classes for university in the fall. Because I'm doing a Fine Arts degree, everyone's first year is pretty much the same in terms of classes. We have a bunch of art history and drawing classes to bring us up to the same level artistically. From there, it's the second year where we really get to branch out and choose more specialized studio courses. My school has a nice selection of practices you can study and it's been exciting to look ahead to the next four years. >^_^< 

So today's poem was written one day when I was feeling a bit bored with the kinds of stories I was seeing. I felt like a lot of the movies and games I was seeing were really similar in feel and plot. It was starting to feel kind of stale to me. I was missing the quirkier movies from the 80's and 90's that had strange scenes or weird gorgeous settings.

But I'm not so sure that it's an isolated thing - this idea of repetition in narratives. I mean, if you look at mythology there are very clear patterns that emerge across various cultures that may or may not have anything to do with each other. Similar gods and goddesses pop up, reflecting our interactions and ideas about Nature. Do these things also represent elemental truths in our minds?

How much of how we frame our own stories and narratives is inherent versus moulded by the stories we learn?

I think it's easy to fall into the same patterns that we identify with emotionally. And there's a sense of "rightness" that can form when we can fit a narrative into a pattern we've seen before. Our brain is naturally comforted by patterns. But to keep expanding and growing, we must introduce our brains to new things. Because that sense of "rightness" doesn't necessarily mean that something is right - just familiar.

Through brain rehabilitation I've seen some strange things about how the brain processes. Not everything we think or feel is real and we naturally forget narratives or memories that contradict the story we hold in our brain.

So what does that have to do with this poem? I think in the end, you could be a greater person than you know. You could be wiser, more beautiful, more inspiring than you realize if the only stories you've seen associates those qualities with figures that don't resemble you. Exposing ourselves to more varied stories with different perspectives brings nuance to our way of seeing the world.

I hope you have a lovely day! 

xo Ciel