Lady Arthur

i am a poet, therefore, my body is paper, my heart is ink, and my soul is filled with complexities.

[wordsofarthur]

There is nothing as vivid and abstract as the concepts love, life, and beauty.

[wordsofarthur]

Sonnet 4 by Lady Arthur

"There is a kind of guilt upon my hands / One that sleeps and feasts ‘pon one’s sanity / For I love a man who is more than man / And hold beauty that is more than skin deep."

[wallflowerjill1]

"For your peace of mind,

Do not try to understand everything".

[wordsofarthur]

I have loved him from life to death and immortality.

[wordsofarthur]

I have a trembling soul caged within my stagnant bones . . . and every time he glances at me, it tremors.

[wordsofarthur]

Writing Club

I wanna start a writing club! I want to so badly but I first need to know who is interested :] This club will consist of different kinds of people, obviously, I don't care about where you come from or how old you are, I only care that you're a writer and you wanna publish your first or another novel with the encouragement of others. It'll be a learning experience for all and a fun and safe place as well. We'll also be reading and commenting on books that we've enjoyed. It'll be a space to spout all your ideas and have feedback and probably even beta readers and you might even find a designer to help you with your cover. The goal is to create a space where writer be their best self! If you like the idea, just leave a reply saying that you're interested in joining! :] And please please please please PLEASE reblog this, even though you're not interested, so that others can find this :]

[feytouched]

questions for poets ✒️

which poets do you draw most stylistic inspiration from?

when did you start writing poetry?

share a line from a work in progress or a line that hasn't found its poem yet.

which stylistic devices show up recurrently in your writing?

what are the themes you most like to write about/that are most recurrent throughout your work?

what's something you'd like to write about, but haven't yet?

what are some of your favourite words?

name three poets you enjoy, and three you do not.

share a line from a poem (not your own) that inspires you.

how long does it take you to complete a poem? how do you know when to stop editing and call it done?

have you ever published your work? if not, would you like to?

where do you find your inspiration for writing?

how do you get out of a creative block?

share a line from a poem you're unsatisfied with.

do you prefer free or formal verse? (if the latter, what are your favourite forms?)

do you like to use experimental formatting?

do you prefer to capitalize and punctuate neatly, or do you do away with such conventions?

do you prefer rhymed or unrhymed verse?

how do you come up with titles for your poems?

what's the most important aspect of a poem, for you?

do you find it easy to share your poems with others?

what do you struggle the most with in your writing?

how do you write down your poems: on paper? on a notes app? on a text document?

share a line from your poem that people seem to love the most.

share a line from your favourite poem you've written.

[wordsofarthur]

E. and A. Poe

[The piece is unfinished but I still thought of sharing the first few lines. It was supposed to be following the strict characteristics of a Ballad but I played with it . . . a lot.] T'WAS many and many fine moons ago, When I noticed my soul was not my own, But the sable, quite sable, man below T’was the man that we call E. and A. Poe. My heart was my muse, And yes, so was his! But I loved with a love, That was greater than his. A love that was greater than his, by far! Thus I, too, went coveted by seraphs afar.

T'WAS many and many fine moons ago, When I noticed my soul was not my own, And this soul, this awful, trembling soul, Just like his, it shall ever be alone...

[saintsebastiensbf]

ur early 20s are about being obsessed with kindness and mary oliver and seasonal fruits and recreating comfort foods you ate as a child and learning how to love and crying because you have no choice but to live the life before you and finding god on the bus back from the grocery store

[deuteragonized]

there, upon snowfall

or dewdrops

nestled between oaken leaves

you sit together with the sunlight

across cottonfields

or crosswalks

rising behind foggy mornings

you sit together with the sunlight

hark, cast dapples upon empty walls

as you sit together with the sunlight

[academia-cafe]

I want to start a group where unknown and uprising poets from all over the world, of all ages, join and share first and final drafts of their poems, small scribbles, embarrassing lines, complicated sentences with complicated words, world-wide themes that cities ban because of their sensitivity and the poems being too “explicit”, random pending phrases to use in poems. Stuff like that. I want poets and those who do not claim themselves to be poets to embrace their inner self and put it into words, to find an escape in ink and paper. I want that.

p.s. reply if you’d like to join :]

[academia-cafe]

Decided to create a Discord since people reacted. Here’s the link, guys :] https://discord.gg/4YfXZt3X

[sophiaathephilo]

idk why i relate so much with edgar. he is just so relatable and perfect.

[wordsofarthur]

Sonnet 6

When bodied in death’s ephemeral twin, ‘Tis most I am faced by thy fair visage, And on thy skin holds my internal sin, Whereas my sense becomes thy royal stage. And thy lament becomes the velvet air Wherein, by my ears, are dearly lauded. Aye, thy virginal smile is none but rare And gentle and grand as a royal bed Thus, woe art thou, thy buoyant breath induced The world’s heart has girded and robbed you blind Of the very thing thou used to seduce The pious of souls, the best thou could find But untouched I remain for when I sleep Thy visage, my conscious, shall ever seek.

[wordsofarthur]

Sonnet 4

There is a kind of guilt on my hands, One that sleeps and feasts ‘pon one’s sanity— For I love a man who is more than man, And hold beauty that is more than skin deep. And, this man, he is nothing short of art— For his caramel lives upon my palm A body—light as night—a unique heart Would make the cru’l eye of a madman calm. Alas! My heaven has become my hell And av’r me not fluent in our love In wariness of woe that would compel Me to halt the dole by seraphs above. And though the fiends of earth (and hell) deter, I shall only paint thee as my lover.

[wordsofarthur]

I need more poet friends :[ None of my friends enjoy poetry as much as I do. Any poets wanna be friends?

[wordsofarthur]

Sonnet 7

When bodied in death’s ephemeral twin, ‘Tis most I am faced by thy fair visage, And on thy skin holds my internal sin, Whereas my sense becomes thy royal stage. And thy lament becomes the velvet air Wherein, by my ears, are dearly lauded. Aye, thy virginal smile is none but rare And gentle and grand as a royal bed Thus, woe art thou, thy buoyant breath induced The world’s heart has girded and robbed you blind Of the very thing thou used to seduce The pious of souls, the best thou could find But untouched I remain for when I sleep Thy visage, my conscious, shall ever seek.

[academia-cafe]

I want to start a group where unknown and uprising poets from all over the world, of all ages, join and share first and final drafts of their poems, small scribbles, embarassing lines, complicated sentences with complicated words, world-wide themes that cities ban because of their sensitivity and the poems "explicity", random pending phrases to use in poems. Stuff like that. I want poets and those who do not claim themselves to be poets to embrace their inner self and put it into words, to find an escape in ink and paper. I want that.