lemniscate: (text:  attempts)
as above: this is a poetry dump post. no cut for you.

i was going to try to do a poem a day but then i lapsed for a couple days so now it's a poem a whenever i feel like it i guess. but i felt like it for almost a week so that was cool.


here's #1.


02 & 03/05, terza rima

epitaph for an age

that was just one of the weird parts,
they claim later, to a man,
none of them ever having known the art

of keeping silent when you can.
it was all perfectly rational,
they claim later, to a man.

there's more elements to her arsenal
than just ashes, bone, and tin.
it was all perfectly rational,

claim those who never win.
there are more subtle mysteries
than just ashes, bone, and tin.

now there are cobwebs in the histories
that echo all around this place.
there are more subtle mysteries

than those known by the human race.
old gods can hide inside the songs
that echo all around this place.

the world's history is far too long
to class and summarise.
old gods can hide inside the songs

and behind strangers' eyes.
magic isn't yet well-known enough
to class and summarise.

so far the evidence is just a bluff
and rightful science reigns supreme
magic isn't yet well-known enough

and charlatans crowd out the unseen.
but mystery is found in human hearts
and rightful science reigns supreme.

that was just one of the weird parts,
say those who can't yet see the stars.

interestingly enough, certain people (and by that i mean mystic-pants friends of my dad's) seem to much prefer this poem to the poem for derek. i'm not going to read too much into it, reading would require a larger sample base.

*

04/05, gemini rima [that is, bilingual terza rima with two couplets at the end instead of one; please note: that's not actually a thing]

canción for un parade

they’re going out dreaming on every street
quémenlos, quémenlos al borde del río
all the dead and the sleeping wrapped up in white sheets

y los vivos cantando sin saber de su lío
the speakers don’t know who or what they entreat;
quémenlos, quémenlos al borde del río

the walkers drag ash on the soles of their feet
abajo del mundo Charón dice “yo no fío”
the speakers don’t know who or what they entreat

y la Tierra queda dispuesta a darse otro giro
there’s six billion names on a list, stark and neat
abajo del mundo Charón dice “yo no fío”

they’re going out dreaming on every street
all the dead and the sleeping wrapped up in white sheets
pero abajo del mundo Charón dice “yo no fío”
y la Tierra queda dispuesta a darse otro giro.

okay i lied one cut for you:

translations! )

*

05/05, villanelle [bracketverse villanelle, even]

margaret's to-do list

the Columbine's patience winds the watch that tells time
under the world, legends falter and flounder
while the dead are all out drinking dandelion wine

and Miss Lowes tunes the air with a fork with no tines.
she's a myth with no love for the tales that surround her;
the Columbine's patience winds the watch that tells time

as her newest subject arrives choking on brine
unaware of the context, of revel or founder,
while the dead are all out drinking dandelion wine.

the world's a process that ticks on through its lines,
a braid made of everything that will someday expire, for
the Columbine's patience winds the watch that tells time

and its pendulum arc is her gold-wire mind,
its purpose defined in the sworn oath that grounds her
while the dead are all out drinking dandelion wine.

a false prophet could claim his weak echoes as signs
but Margaret doesn't care for the world that once found her.
the Columbine's patience winds the watch that tells time
while the dead are all out drinking dandelion wine.
lemniscate: (collage)
wrote a villanelle last night, 10pm to 12pm. you're welcome.

this is entirely derek des anges' fault

but i know beyond the shadow of a doubt
that life burns fast, ends bright and still.
they say: be sure your sins will find you out

in the language of the precise and the devout.
some paw at meanings without grace or skill,
but i know beyond the shadow of a doubt.

i've heard that we who wander never count,
claimed by those who then deny they meant me ill.
they say: be sure your sins will find you out

and somehow fail to have these defined without
blurs and inconsistencies defended with a shrill
but i know beyond the shadow of a doubt.

there is no beyond that which permeates throughout
the so-called mortal coil to define humankind's will.
they say: be sure your sins will find you out.

beware of those who claim to know what it's about
and of the fervours they breathe and try to instill.
but i know beyond the shadow of a doubt,
they say: be sure your sins will find you out.
lemniscate: (Default)
okay. some of you may recognise this name: arcturus. ("have you seen this man?") arcturus salt, when he needs a surname, though that one properly belongs to january.

arcturus is a semi-canon character in the bracketverse, which belongs to marika and i and which i have been merrily doing terrible things to under the excuse of worldbuilding in AUs. (there are many exciting things under the sea in it but this is a character introduction.) the bracketverse is dark urban fantasy, basically, and a kitchen sink besides; sentient beings are divided into the ones that are on the earth and the ones that are under the sea, whilst we're... not sure about air yet. i'm leaning towards that air belongs to dead people and dead ends.

i swear all of this will make sense. )

-

so here's the prologue of there are bodies on the ceiling and they're fluttering their wings, also known as ...wings or TABOTCATFTW (the title's from a counting crows song, all right).
The first thing she sees -- the first thing she's ever seen -- is bright yellow-and-black tape winding around the front of a building and an alleyway. She tilts her head and feels like she's going to fall over, or possibly throw up, but the marks resolve into letters.

DANGER. DO NOT PASS.

It's as bright as an assault-and-battery case, as shocking as a slap. Cat trails one finger from forehead to chin, clumsy as anything, unfamiliar scars making the texture of her fingertip really weird.

Maybe everyone's is like that. She doesn't know.

She ducks under the tape, stumbling, and leaves behind a bloody hand-shaped smear.


-

here's an intro to the twelve, in the in-universe style i wrote my notes in:

warning: contains le wings spoilers, and is accurate through to the end of the same! BUT SERIOUSLY. ALL OF THE WINGS SPOILERS. ALLLLL OF THEM.

WE CAN'T STOP HERE, THIS IS SPOILER COUNTRY! )

handy fact: if you get all the references in all the twelve's names i'll give you... uh... store credit for a fic request?

-

and here's an unfinished poem based on something amanda palmer was tweeting about too long ago for likely anyone to remember now (please note: the 'unfinished' is the part where a lot of these only have the first line, everything but the un-numbered stanza is four verses)

temp jobs )

-

NEXT ON WORLDBUILDING THEATRE: probably the sea stratification and why they don't need a system like the twelve!

NEXT ON JOURNAL: hopefully not another bout of radio silence? i am going to try to post daily tuesday onwards until you all decide to band together and slap me or life prevents again. after all, you haven't even heard properly about my school, and my school is fantastic and horrible and full of teenagers!

THINGS I NEED TO EXPLAIN TO YOU GUYS YET:
* musicverse
* my school
* threadverse
* the cultfic
* why i have a dreamwidth now

THERE. entry over.

September 2011

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