Forever held by ever-spell

in love •  9 days ago

Forever held by ever-spell

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original poetry
by @d-pend
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  with photographs by Thinking-Silence


aureum_fire_web_by_thinking_silence-dbrovdj.jpg


skywards_web_by_thinking_silence-dbsn74b 3.jpg


Forever held by ever-spell

All long, through the hours,
sow joy down tight bylines:
divine, hills alive with us
to speak with sad skylines.

Arrive at town square—
nick of noon, the sun prowling.
I laugh, shake my head,
see sorrow off:
scowling.

Who will buy the bonnets
for our women,
heal war for us?
No money've I, but sonnets,
full of scorn to write lore for us.

How many, the sunk figures
in the pub hall:
dun dormitory.
Fallow til no springtime,
unseeded, in shunned glory?

My legacy—
of weevil's eggs
and parchment scorched
by fever-dregs,

of laundry torched,
and sackcloth shredded,
linens sewn,
and dreams beheaded.

Lyres' strain
and gentry tears,
Ordin'ry love
and commoner fears.

To lose you, nay!
my soul rebels,
for more eternally
timeless spells.


skywards_web_by_thinking_silence-dbsn74b 2.jpg


forest_pearls_web_by_thinking_silence-dbywxhn.jpg


aureum_fire_web_by_thinking_silence-dbrovdj 2.jpg


Poetry by
@d-pend
9/10/18
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Photography by
    Thinking-Silence

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    1 — "Ignis Aureum"
    2 — "Forest Pearls"
    3 — "Skywards"


aureum_fire_web_by_thinking_silence-dbrovdj 3.jpg


skywards_web_by_thinking_silence-dbsn74b.jpg


forest_pearls_web_by_thinking_silence-dbywxhn 2.jpg


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This looks like an amazing lament @d-pend.

The pictures tell the story but not as well as the words. There is a delicate balance in each of the lines. The rhyming patterns and use of old English are intentional. You put yourself in each character of this poem, but I would guess you mostly identify with the poor sonnet writer.

The writer wants to be filled with light and joy but the world is under a curse. He is forced to bury what he once loved and yet will not let her go. He sees a deeper magic and hopes she will wake up from her slumber.

This fantastic sonnet of lament brings me to the dregs of death and then lifts me up together with the writer in a struggle of soul to find a "more eternally timeless spell." The implications this poem leaves me are endless.

Although the summer dies there is a deeper magic that awakens the life of spring. As we move on from one phase of our life to another it seems like a world is dying inside. The same moment we mourn the ashes of what we loved so much we know inside there is a new life growing in those flames.


ashes.gif

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Interesting, how @hlezama emphasized the "poor-but-happy" nature of the scene, and you the lamentary. (Apparently not a word, but I never let that stop me.) It is an interesting time coming out of summer, one filled with mixed feelings and a sudden wash of memories from bygone times. In any case, it has been a fixation of mine to explore the paradoxical nature of our reality (when seen from terminologies themselves mere approximation of the glory of truth) ever since I first wrote poetry 7 or 8 years ago. Sometime it might be interesting to post a few of those pieces, though I think they are quite unpolished.

Expounding the intricacy of reality using paradox and absurdity is an approach more associated with eastern philosophy, but is actually present in the esoteric (inner/mystical) heart of all world religions and philosophies. The upside is the use of this tool can pull us closer to What Is as the mind implodes, the downside, of course, is confusing the hell out of people. Thanks for the comment @mineopoly and have a great weekend :-)

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Thank you for kicking English in the ass @d-pend,

Language like nature itself cannot comprehendably (not a real word) exist without the the opposite counterpart.

Formless
Empty
Dark

...is a dimension waiting for shape, fulfillment and light.


no shrub
no plant
no water

... is a world waiting for a gardener (Ticuum Ullum)


Now I have to get back to my garden. You have produced a wonderful repertoire on Steemit. I will drop in every once and a while and enjoy the light.

Greetings @d-pend.
This poem reads as a get-away story.
Poor-but-happy kind of scene.
The divine hills vs the sad sky lines suggest a flight away from urban suffocation; to shake off sorrow in a small town square, under a sun that does not bother but produces joy.
The poet's contemplation of dry, unproductive seasons past. Pages
fallowed, unseeded, triumph denied.
A sad picture indeed

My legacy—
of weevil's eggs
and parchment scorched
by fever-dregs,

Finding inspiration in forbidden love, perhaps, to overcome the fears of the common man/woman.
A life of confort is not always a life of peace and happiness.
When we find passion and excitement, in the oddest of places, it is easy to refuse to give up the ever-spells that play a different tune, one we listen to with rapture.

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This one came to me in an odd way. I had been working extensively for hours on a completely un-writing-related project (actually a video about beatboxing) and the contrast seemed to bring a wave of inspiration, because this poem almost completely "wrote itself," compared to many others who are written slowly and more consciously. I also think the type of verse that it was written in is a bit strange compared to what I've done before, but not being educated in verse forms or knowing the right terms, I suppose I'd have to ask @marlyncabrera about that!

All that to say, there was a powerful emotion driving this one. I think you hit it spot on when you said it was poor-but-happy, and it also had the feeling of being an "optimistic lament" or some such paradox. Poetry is uplifting when it is beautiful, it can be expanding when it's ugly, but I believe it starts to transcend itself where the unlikely marriage of the beautiful and ugly begin to reveal the falsity of our dualistic ways of perceiving the world. We begin to develop gratitude for all aspects of life, whether horrific or lofty.

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Hi again, @d-pend☻Well, about your hypothetical asking me about verse form, you know, although it is obviously free verse, there is here (as well as in many of other of your pieces) a anapestic rythm which makes your poetry sound like a song. I guess this is because your a musician and a singer (I really like your voice by the way).

More specifically about the rhythm of this poem, I see pairs of dibrachs (ta-ta) plus iambs (ta-TUM), each pair making a quartus paeon (ta-ta-ta-TUM), but as a read your poem aloud (which is what counts if you ask me), I read it predominantly “anapestically” (If I can say that): ta-ta-TUM. I think you mix the sounds by ear, and I think you do it exquisitely.

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Yep, @marlyncabrera is the verduga when it comes to poetry tech :)
I don't care much about those nuances, probably because i have a terrible memory for those things (well, it's more than just memory; i wasn't born for that, lack the talent). I have a great deal of respect for those who can.
Interesting source for that poem. Art also works in mysterious ways :)
To be honest, at this critical point in my life I am having a hard time showing any kind of gratitude for the horrific aspects of life. I am growing increasingly angry and frustrated and that is affecting every single thing I do or try to.
It has become a daily fight i'm losing

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Hey, @hlezama, why don't you write a sonnet "full of scorn"; you might find it therapeutical (I've done it myself), and you know it'll be great because you're such a good writer. Sonnets are a good thing on earth and good things are, well, good things.

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Thanks for the suggestion. I may do it some day, when the muses come back

Hi, d-pend ☻

I’m gladly surprised because you’ve mentioned me in your comment to @hlezama (who is a dear friend of mine). And I’m also delighted after reading this piece. I particularly loved this part:

Arrive at town square—
nick of noon, the sun prowling.
I laugh, shake my head,
see sorrow off:
scowling.

This is just beautifully appalling. I can see sorrow scowling like a little creature of the night, which has been forced to see the light of a shiny day (I’ll bet the little monster loses; sunlight is hope, it is too powerful).
After all the youth of midday has a long way ahead and the soft lights and winds of the early afternoon to come will bring the comfort of gained experience, of errors left behind, of pleasures one wants to relive, and hopefully, others yet to come. There’s plenty of time before nighttime—the greatest legacy is just a trace doomed or blessed with brevity, and ladies can buy their own bonnets.

Your poem has left me thinking. What a marvelous thing!

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Great commentary, Marlyn! I also really appreciated the one above where you obliged to comment a bit about the poetic rhythm. I'd love to get more knowledgeable about those technical terms as I find them fascinating.

"Beautifully apalling," what a phrase! I sometimes wonder if there's something wrong with me: paradox makes me feel giddy, an odd sort of melancholic glee. It's almost a sort of triumph: that by the conflation of concepts not normally deemed compatible we retrieve a ray of light previously invisible.

There’s plenty of time before nighttime—the greatest legacy is just a trace doomed or blessed with brevity, and ladies can buy their own bonnets.

That is a very thought-provoking way to end off, so it appears your reply has had a similar effect on me as the poem in question had upon you. A marvelous thing indeed, and one of my favorite things about reading/writing: that it raises more questions than it answers, and thus helps expand our mind and spirits.

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Indeed, I often find the thoughts in your poetry paradoxical. I guess it has to do with your deep contemplation of modern life as a replication of life in the past (our questioning, vices, pressures, expectations, want of order/chaos, etc., same old), as well as social life as a replication of natural life (one mirroring the other, sometimes openly, others surreptitiously). Let me tell you something, I love paradox and dialectics; I think they show us a truth we are not ready to understand yet: unity.

(And this is why I love William Blake’s work. His poems “The Lamb” and “The Tyger,” two contrasting images of Christ, remind me of some your work. The poet takes some pleasure in unveiling the contrast, but at the same time, there is sadness and anger.)

Who will buy the bonnets
for our women,
heal war for us?
No money've I, but sonnets,
full of scorn to write lore for us.

I love the rhetorical question it gave essence to the last two lines of the the poem, enriching and definitely awesome, the rhyme scheme too is splendid

Sitting down to rest in the town square to think about what we are going through is a historic moment. How many people for generations also did the same? We are not the first and the last to suffer love spells. We just have to keep moving forward. Greetings @d-pend.

I don't know if you've seen this movie called "After the Dark". It echoes the exact same thought you have worked in this poem. It is okay to have just Sonnets. Poetry is more powerful than we think. If you get the time, do watch the movie.

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9 times out of 10 when I'm asked 'Have you seen ____ movie?' I'm forced to say no xD This case is no outlier, but I will stick the title in my database of movies that I really ought to watch sometime. I definitely do think poetry is very powerful in its own way. It can just be hard writing day after day realizing most people, at least in my culture, simply don't give a shit about what I'm doing or see much value in it whatsoever. Doesn't mean I'll stop writing, though! Thanks for the comment @abhinavmendhe :-)

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In today's world, we need more poetry than ever. Of course, you shouldn't stop writing poetry. There's more meaning to poetry and art. And it is mostly in art that we find peace. And we do need peace. As for the movie, it is not a compulsion, but a mere suggestion. This poem reminded me of the movie. IMDb rated it 5 out of 10. It definitely deserved more. Listen to me when I say, keep writing, not others who say don't. :)

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I agree. The societal or financial value of a thing rarely corresponds to its actual worth. Many things are overvalued (like athletic prowess, in my opinion, along with other celebrity areas such as high-profile acting) and many go under-rewarded. However, this in itself is a blessing in disguise because dealing with fame and fortune is a terrible curse in its own right. So we poets can write freely from the shadows, with our tendrils to shift humanity over the years with the immortality of poetic veracity.

I will prioritize your recommendation over any who tell me to quit ;-) It's become to important a part of my life in the past year and a half to ever completely stop.

P.S. I enjoy the @steembasicincome project and like giving shares to people who I feel add value to the community. Gonna add you to the list, even though it's just a little thing. Consider it a token of my appreciation, which I can't always show as I'd like to because it's hard to keep up with all the comments I get, sometimes. That's why I'm here, 5 days behind on replying to posts!

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I do not think of you as a person who is writing from shadows. Not at least on steemit. Of course, we all have more things to learn. Once someone gets into poetry, he/she almost always stays with it. It is too difficult to get out of. Maybe someday I will get to read one of your poetry book. Did you ever think of prose writing? Did you attempt writing a story, in a prosaic format? If so, I'd love to talk to you about it.

I'm glad you're taking my recommendation. ;-)

Also, I almost didn't see the postscript. Thank you for adding me to the list. That was, as many have spoken of you, generous. :)

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I suppose it's all relative; I'm certainly in the shadows in comparison to movie actors, famous musicians on stage, and other celebrities. But you are right that here on Steemit I've been fortunate to acquire a significant readership over the months. I'm grateful of that support and not envious of a more "front-and-center" position because I've experienced a taste of that before as a musician in a professional touring band. It wasn't for me.

My experience writing prose is very little in comparison to all the hours I've put into poetry, but I do think I want to expand into doing it in the future. For some reason I have a mental block when it comes to writing stories with dialogue and characters, but I know I'll overcome it when the time is right. I think part of what makes it challenging is poetry is simply so enjoyable for me to write that I don't feel like anything is missing most of the time.

If I would write prose, I know it would have the capacity to affect many more people because most find it so much easier to read. Even poets often prefer reading prose because it is less cryptic and difficult to understand!

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I'm glad at who you compare yourself with. That's how people get successful. I didn't know you were a musician. You must've had a great experience. Did you play an instrument or sing? I asked of prose, because I think you can do great with it. Since you are a fantastic poet. I started writing with prose, then switched to poetry. If you ever intend to write prose, let me know for sure. :)

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SOLID once again.

Never stop scorching that parchment.

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Thanks my friend Zeke. I shall not stop until these hands are so knobbly and wrinkled with age they can't do so any longer :-D

Thank you for being here for me, so I can be here for you.
Enjoy your day and stay creative!
Botty loves you. <3

what we see as forever ends up being temporary. Life's cycle is sad

Welcome @depend sir!
Your blog came after 2 days I was waiting anxiously.
Your composing is phenomenal.
Sir! you have mentioned about Sonnet.
Sonnet is 14 lines stanza.
First eight lines called octave and after 6 line called sestets

did you cut your hair ?@-@ or is that a ponytail ...also this one hs a really classic feel to it ...

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Thanks! Nope, I just had it tied back to take a headshot for a potential job. :-) Hopefully I'll be able to keep it long for a while.

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good you remember what happened to samson ;) JK ...or am i ?!

Very perfect, beautiful scenery combined with meaningful sentences.

Good writing Sir. I'm amazed to read it 😍

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