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([personal profile] alexcat Sep. 20th, 2017 06:59 am)
Another autumn poem and another love poem. You can never go wrong with a Shakespeare sonnet.

~~

Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.


~~ William Shakespeare
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([personal profile] alexcat Sep. 19th, 2017 12:16 pm)
Autumn Song

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the heart feels a languid grief
Laid on it for a covering,
And how sleep seems a goodly thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

And how the swift beat of the brain
Falters because it is in vain,
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf
Knowest thou not? and how the chief
Of joys seems—not to suffer pain?

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf
How the soul feels like a dried sheaf
Bound up at length for harvesting,
And how death seems a comely thing
In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?


~~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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([personal profile] raisedbymoogles posting in [community profile] ffvii_100 Sep. 18th, 2017 08:57 pm)
 Still one more day to get entries from last week's prompt in! In the meantime, let's move on.

This week's prompt is #35 - Revenge

Is revenge truly a dish best served cold or will an eye for an eye make the whole world blind? Either way, this week is all about revenge.

Does Tifa want revenge for what happened at Nibelheim? Will Cloud demand revenge on Sephiroth for killing Aeris?  Is Rufus plotting revenge on those that instigated the terrorist attacks on the reactor? Would Vincent seek revenge for injustices he endured? 

This week plot revenge, but do it in just 100 words!

Silly Mod:
And as food for thought, here is a Calvin and Hobbes quote on revenge: “Well, remember what you said, because in a day or two, I'll have a witty and blistering retort! You'll be devastated THEN!”
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([personal profile] alexcat Sep. 18th, 2017 07:25 am)
Simply one of my all time favorites.

~~

The Tyger

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?


~~ William Blake
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([personal profile] esteliel Sep. 17th, 2017 11:03 pm)
Dear writer,

I’m very excited the winter exchange season is starting up again. It’s always my fave end of the year event, and I hope you end up having fun with whatever characters/prompts you end up picking! And in case none of the prompts in my sign-up appeal, here is a list of more general likes/tropes/kinks. I'd be more than happy to receive a story based on any of this, even if it's not something I listed as a prompt. Furthermore, I ship some of the people I requested, but I'm well aware that not everyone ships these characters or that we might only match on one character. So even though I listed several shippy prompts, I'd be just as happy with non-shippy fic that just has my faves interact, or character-focused fic that explores their canon lives some more.

Read more... )

Do not want: gore, modern/mundane AU (unless prompted)


General likes:

Forced intimacy of any kind! This is one of my all-time faves, in any sort of situation or scenario. People thrust into closeness before they are ready for it and forced to overcome their differences is always delightful to me. Any tropefic of the handcuffed-togther, bed-sharing, undercover gay, arranged marriage etc. kind is always going to make me happy!
Huddling for warmth
One character trying to protect another with their own life (or really any sort of loyalty kink!)
Enemies forced to work together
Epistolary fic
Hand-feeding
Hot, sweltering summer days/nights
Bathing/washing - especially if one character is taking care of another
Casefic, or any sort of action/adventure scenario where characters have to work together
Enemies to friends to lovers
Enemy hatesex
Emotional vulnerability
Unhealthy/co-dependent relationships
A character surrendering himself

I'm fine with dub-con/non-con/rape, unhealthy relationships, any kind of D/s, BDSM, power play or pain play. For further porny inspiration, my Smut Swap letter might help: https://esteliel.dreamwidth.org/454688.html
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([personal profile] alexcat Sep. 17th, 2017 02:00 pm)
Can't beat the bard!

~~

All The World's A Stage

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.


~~ William Shakespeare
(As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII)
This one reminds me of my mother who stubbornly hung onto life long after her body had given up.

~~

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


~~Dylan Thomas
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([personal profile] alexcat Sep. 15th, 2017 08:47 am)
In this time of anti-immigrant fever and just plain un-American stupidity from the White House and the far right, I wanted to post a reminder of the way it should be...




~~

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”


~~Emma Lazarus
When I was a girl, I loved the Scholastic book clubs at school. Every month we got a flyer with wonderful books that we could order for almost nothing. The best books of an entire decade came through that book club... I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Go Ask Alice, Slaughterhouse Five and this poem was the name of a collection of modern poems. It was wonderful. I think maybe this is what made me love poetry so much.

~~


Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle Received from a Friend Called Felicity

During that summer
When unicorns were still possible;
When the purpose of knees
Was to be skinned;
When shiny horse chestnuts
(Hollowed out
Fitted with straws
Crammed with tobacco
Stolen from butts
In family ashtrays)
Were puffed in green lizard silence
While straddling thick branches
Far above and away
From the softening effects
Of civilization;

During that summer--
Which may never have been at all;
But which has become more real
Than the one that was--
Watermelons ruled.

Thick imperial slices
Melting frigidly on sun-parched tongues
Dribbling from chins;
Leaving the best part,
The black bullet seeds,
To be spit out in rapid fire
Against the wall
Against the wind
Against each other;

And when the ammunition was spent,
There was always another bite:
It was a summer of limitless bites,
Of hungers quickly felt
And quickly forgotten
With the next careless gorging.

The bites are fewer now.
Each one is savored lingeringly,
Swallowed reluctantly.

But in a jar put up by Felicity,
The summer which maybe never was
Has been captured and preserved.
And when we unscrew the lid
And slice off a piece
And let it linger on our tongue:
Unicorns become possible again.

~~John Tobias
I love both of these so I decided to share them together. The ultimate love poem and the snarky reply.
~~

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields
Woods or steepy mountain yields

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flower, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

~~ Christopher Marlowe


The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

~~ Sir Walter Raleigh
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([personal profile] raisedbymoogles posting in [community profile] ffvii_100 Sep. 12th, 2017 10:45 pm)
Ahahaha. Boy, yesterday sure was Monday, wasn't it? :D This week's prompt will run until next Tuesday, as it did the last time your mod was a chocobohead.

This week's prompt is #34 - First Word, Last Word

Words telling a story come in many shapes and sizes, falling in whatever rhythm best suits the tale. Repetition, whether to drive home a point or show its opposite, is a literary tradition in its own right - and this week, we want you to play with it. ("It" being repetition, you silly 12-year-olds! Stop that right now!)

For this challenge, the point is simply this: your story must begin and end with the same word. Whether it's a character waxing poetic or delivering a dire warning, stumbling over a declaration of love or repeating an order at the drive-thru, find a way to begin and end on the same note.

But do it in just 100 words.  :3 
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([personal profile] alexcat Sep. 12th, 2017 08:37 am)
Auden wrte this one in 1940 after he'd lived in Berlin for a while. The tyrant was Hitler, but most tyrants still fit the mold.

~~

Epitaph on a Tyrant

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.


~~W. H. Auden


See him read it here: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xqq1r8
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([personal profile] alexcat Sep. 11th, 2017 06:00 pm)
Not exactly poetry but very poetic. I love the musings of Kahlil Gibran.

~~

God

In the ancient days, when the first quiver of speech came to my lips,
I ascended the holy mountain and spoke unto God, saying, “Master,
I am thy slave. Thy hidden will is my law and I shall obey thee
for ever more.”

But God made no answer, and like a mighty tempest passed away.

And after a thousand years I ascended the holy mountain and again
spoke unto God, saying, “Creator, I am thy creation. Out of clay
hast thou fashioned me and to thee I owe mine all.”

And God made no answer, but like a thousand swift wings passed
away.

And after a thousand years I climbed the holy mountain and spoke
unto God again, saying, “Father, I am thy son. In pity and love
thou hast given me birth, and through love and worship I shall
inherit thy kingdom.”

And God made no answer, and like the mist that veils the distant
hills he passed away.

And after a thousand years I climbed the sacred mountain and again
spoke unto God, saying, “My God, my aim and my fulfillment; I am
thy yesterday and thou are my tomorrow. I am thy root in the earth
and thou art my flower in the sky, and together we grow before the
face of the sun.”

Then God leaned over me, and in my ears whispered words of sweetness,
and even as the sea that enfoldeth a brook that runneth down to
her, he enfolded me.

And when I descended to the valleys and the plains God was there
also.


~Kahlil Gibran
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([personal profile] alexcat Sep. 10th, 2017 05:58 pm)
I just love Pablo Neruda's poems. The translations are beautiful.

~~

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.


~~ Pablo Neruda
Translated by Mark Eisner
60x textless icons from Final Fantasy XV. Prompto only. Also has icons from Episode Prompto and Assassin's Festival

Examples



Rest of the icons here @ [personal profile] famira
Here is my story for the Ardor in August, Sultry in September challenge this time. I hope you will like it. I am posting the link to the archive so you can read it there. Hope you like it. I had a lot of fun writing it. Comment here or there if you like. Thanks!

Title: Lessons of History
Author: phyncke
Beta: Aglarien1
Rating: G
Pairing: Turin, Orodreth, Gwindor, Finduilas, Gil-Galad, Cirdan
Warnings: Character death implied.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Feedback: Much appreciated.
Written for: ForErusSake
Summary: The fall of Nargothrond as told by Orodreth through his final journal.

Link to story -
http://archiveofourown.org/works/11808180
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([personal profile] alexcat Sep. 9th, 2017 02:11 am)
NO collection is complete without this one. I have a friend who dislikes it because the words are made up. Oh, what a dreadful life onw without whimsy must be.

~~

Jabberwocky


'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.


~~Lewis Carroll
Just because.

~~

Because I could not stop for Death

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –

~~ Emily Dickinson
.

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