Cowab. Chimera lives. by somebodi-else, literature
Literature
Cowab. Chimera lives.
She doesn't notice the passage of time so much as seasons. it is warm, and there are many birds and ground dwellers to hunt. It is cold and they are fewer.
But, the jump from babe to child is short, and little bird now greets her with more than babbling sounds. Old Mother laughs at his antics, at his garbled speaking. Little bird walks, stumbling and like a newborn calf. Now he tries to follow her, calling "Mama" she knows not the word. Witch's magic granted animation, and Chimera's a glamour of life. Neither gave her speech.
the boy clings to her muddy dress, hands tight like mortal rope. And it's the Witch's magic that guides her, as she s
Rain in my hair,
doesnt look like diamonds,
I am no lost lamb,
soaked to the bone.
No selkie maiden,
come ashore,
hidden in the storm,
dancing in the cove.
My eyes do not reflect the sea,
blue and green,
but blue-grey and
flecks of green and a spot of citrine.
But, I'm not the pitted moon,
no craters on my visage,
and no blemish more than norm,
recreate god in my image.
A walk in the park, is no easy feat,
and an uphill battle,
is a panic as the tires cut out.
traction doesnt exist on a rainy road, uphill.
They say you are what you make of yourself,
what you choose to believe, to do, to see,
and i know that my frame of reference is far too small
And I grew up afraid to grow, because that meant letting go,
and i know that it doesnt now,
but i spent twelve, and thirteen pretending that i didnt care.
And I've written a thousand poems about falling in love,
or not. Maybe I've written two,
and fell in love with the other nine hundred ninety eight.
Never marry a writer, love,
and what comes after the phoenix has fallen?
and you're like a magpie,
shivering quivering in the labyrinth of my words,
a maze of the mind, tangled with scraps of realit
and of love, that fickle beast? by somebodi-else, literature
Literature
and of love, that fickle beast?
i.
We couldn't climb trees,
and i never kissed you,
We sang songs,
and i played along
you understood,
and i thought, this way,
this is something i could love.
and maybe thats wrong.
ii.
its an agony,
taking a siren from the sea,
love is cruel,
a bitter tonic for an uncured ill.
and i thought, this way,
this isnt something i want.
and maybe thats wrong, but its also right.
iii.
And its written History,
all things: to be or not to be.
And no one taught us the right questions,
so we’ve gotten lost in the asking.
And they stumble to save us,
prevent us from harm,
but I’m grown,
let me fall on my own.
iv.
And love i
i.
That summer had been unusually hot, and both old Roy and Grandfather Samuel had gotten heatsick. Everyone in town took to staying indoors, ducking into shade where they could. Most of the dock workers took to going shirtless to save themselves from the stifling heat of clothes too. But by and by, small children got sunburnt and miserable, old folk got sweaty and irritable, mothers were twice done in with exhaustion. The only ones who weren't, were the merchants traveling from hotter lands. Then there was Bouda, she wore her long sleeved dresses and her hair hung down her back and she sat in the middle of the square, sunning herself like a
Wren has been back in his hometown for less than a day when he starts the trek to his mother's old home. The town's expanded, and the road more frequented now, and its an easy walk, when before he'd have to fight through underbrush and try not to get lost on the deer trails.
It's fallen down, the roof. He remembers it leaking during the rains, but he's certain that the couple who'd bought the place had replaced it. The front door hangs off its hinges, crooked in the frame. It had started that back when Ma busted her shoulder one winter, trying to throw the door open.
William had tried to rehang it, but he hadn't been a carpenter, and had made
The Song of William the Fiddler by somebodi-else, literature
Literature
The Song of William the Fiddler
William, William
Fell in love with
A maid far from fair.
William, William
William, William
Your lady love,
She has a son.
William, William
William, William
Can you tell tales?
Of wings and scales.
William, William
William, William
Fell in love with
A maid of red hair.
William, William
William, William
Your lady love,
She isn’t the same.
William, William
William, William
Can you tell stories?
Of hero gods and their glories.
William, William
William, William
Fell in love with
A maiden strange.
William, William
William, William
Your lady love,
Wears a mask.
William, William
William, William
Not one of plaster or st
My mind is a laybrinth,
but no golden thread leads from it.
careful, Child, where you wander.
for the sphinx sleeps,
and you haven't the wit to riddle
with her yet.
My mind is a laybrinth,
no bird-boy's father did construct
that which rules my moves.
it is a city of ruins
on ruins built,
from ruins born.
My mind is a laybrinth,
it is the rusted gears
of a mermaid's pocket watch
spotted by oxyidization,
filled with shimmering scales
long shed.
My mind is a laybrinth,
of valleys and peaks.
careful, Child, for the mountains wake,
breathing fire.
Ashes purify, We're told,
burn out the sickness, the death and disease.
My mind is a laybrinth,
I don't wanna be your Jolene
I don't want to go down in memory,
As the gal who stole your love
Don't wanna be your Jolene
I'm begging you please, don't make me
Don't pitch your hopes on me
I'm begging you please, don't make me
I don't wanna be your Iron Man,
I don't want to go down in history,
As the hero without a heart
Don't want to be your Iron Man,
I'm begging you please, don't make me
Don't pitch your hopes in me
I'm begging you please, don't make me
My mind is a laybrinth,
but no golden thread leads from it.
careful, Child, where you wander.
for the sphinx sleeps,
and you haven't the wit to riddle
with her yet.
My mind is a laybrinth,
no bird-boy's father did construct
that which rules my moves.
it is a city of ruins
on ruins built,
from ruins born.
My mind is a laybrinth,
it is the rusted gears
of a mermaid's pocket watch
spotted by oxyidization,
filled with shimmering scales
long shed.
My mind is a laybrinth,
of valleys and peaks.
careful, Child, for the mountains wake,
breathing fire.
Ashes purify, We're told,
burn out the sickness, the death and disease.
My mind is a laybrinth,
Stagnancy... I feel that it describes me right now.
School is being school. (High school for those of you who didn't know.) I'm working my rear off to bring up my GPA because I want to do Running Start next year, and knock out my two-year degree with my HS diploma.
I'm in apposition where the adults in my life are starting to question my five year plans, what I want to go to college for, what I plan on doing with my life.
Annnnddd.... I don't know. At this point I'm like... Whut? I mean I have no idea what I want to do, (Are there people who get paid to read fairytales all day?) and my anxieties have been acting up about next year. 'Cuz I m
so, my dishwasher is finally fixed. as well as the freezer, and now my cousin's car. On that note, the repair guy, had a Legend of Zelda ringtone: one of the treasure themes from the older games. Windwaker, or ochrina of time.
He also managed to shut off every breaker switch but the one we needed. So i had to run around resetting the clocks.
My cat got in a fight, so he has this gnarly gash on the side of his jaw. so I've had to brave claws and teeth, trying to disinfect it. and now, he's watching me type, waiting to pounce. my fingers will be scratched soon, i fear.
As for the thought, i didn't sleep well, at all last night, so i sat up, thi