#borrowed poem

[mournfulroses]

John Yau, from "Borrowed Love Poems," featured in Boston Review (edited)

[soracities]

J. Estanislao Lopez, "A Metaphor", We Borrowed Gentleness

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

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

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[sarah-kings]

Last night I dreamt that there was a poem about borrowers and I wrote it down quickly so I could share it with you. It went something along these lines...

There are footsteps in my wall,

and I shudder as I hear them crawl,

for every step and creak and hiss

brings the promise that something in my walls exists.

I lay in bed with bated breath,

I do not dare to make a sound

keeping quiet as I hear the footsteps pound,

unless I want to hear their wreath.

As I lay I hear voices speak,

voices which they are meant to keep,

to keep hidden from ears such as mine,

for the path of mine and the voice shan't intertwine.

And as I see the footstep's source,

as I see the tiny figure walk its course,

we dare not speak or exchange a word

as below my steps creaks the heavy floorboard.

And as I speak and dare approach

the figure reels back in fear,

for it does not to wish me near,

for it is the figure who usually does encroach.

Step by step I near my guest,

who reels back as they try their best

to stumble steps away from me,

so much so that it is obvious to see.

I take a knee and take a look

over their small frame which in fear shook

and offer a small smile for their treasures are theirs to keep,

as I stand up and return to sleep.

There are footsteps in my walls

and I smile as I hear the small person's calls,

for when they call they call for me,

for it is I they want to see.

[clamsjams]

got inspired to try something new so heres this wikipedia poem inspired by etoiles and him losing the code fight and his relationship with the code and bunch of other little bits. it was pretty fun i might do it again sometimes

[so-very-small]

i feel like borrower poetry would pop off so hard

[kiisuuumii]

@kiisuuumii

[lotrmusical]

My high school did a yearly poetry recitation contest (Poetry Out Loud), so Oh Boy do I know some poems. My favorites are Ozymandias and "the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love," by Kara Jackson. Also in 8th grade we had a Poe unit and had a class contest to make the best music video of the Raven, so I still know a good chunk of that.

i hadn't heard of the kara jackson one! just read through it and enjoyed it, particularly these lines > 'grandma returns to her love like a hymn, marks it with a color. // when the world ends will it suck the earth of all its love? /will i go taking somebody’s hand, / my skin becoming their skin?'

[dabigothic]

local catholic nun trapped in the goth store’s backrooms!! more at 5

[orangechickenpillow]

Somehow Edgar Allan Poe exists in the Baldur's Gate universe and I'm convinced that, among other things, that's what Astarion is always reading at camp

[thelittledaily]

What can i do, i have dreamed of you so much. I have dreamed of you so much.

John Yau, from "Borrowed Love Poems" feat. in Boston Review (edited)

[plasma-pop]

something about writers and the poems of john berryman...

[invinciblerodent]

actually going a little bit insane over this Sappho fragment

[isawhitney]

Ode on Paul Cotterell

I can still see them sat down there: the man

and the dog. He and Theo, every evening. Stout

in his hand, he’d key into the thrum of the Drover’s Arms:

Farmer Murray whining at the price of good bull calfs,

A chiming of pint glasses. The man would overcast

His eyes and laze, but his crook-like smile

and the ears laid flat on his heart-dog’s head

Would tell you they were listening: he and Theo.

Theo: the dog in the corner, chin on the barstool. Theo

of the lager-coloured pelt. Theo with the lump

beneath his groin that wouldn’t go away. Until at last

the dog lay trusting on the veterinary’s table

And there was bile instead of bitter flowing

As the anaesthetic pulsed along: the sorrowful needle

and the man, eyes overcast. He and Theo.

Ah, but there’s nothing like a dog for bringing it home to you:

Leading you leashwise into that dark side-street,

Tottering home after closing time.

[so-very-small]

tomorrow when the giant finds this freak of nature, they will trap him in a jar. but tonight he is alive on the giant’s countertop after eating every cinnamon roll in sight, and when he looks up at the cabinets, there are twice as many stealable items as usual.

[heart-songs]

Borrow

by Sarah McCartt-Jackson

We borrow from the land what we can but cannot return to it: bluestem, coneflower, boneset, broomcorn, a ring-necked pheasant tied to a pole, a flat stretch of land we strip and tar and pave, a creek that gets deeper as it downrivers, its edges spoiled with runoff. We collect seeds from the sunflowers and sow them like quilt pieces, a little scrap of prairie rose here, scrap of meadowlark feather there. Tamp down the soil with plodding hooves, steel-toed boots. Listen as the tallgrass rattles its dry stems, cottonwood leaves quake as they remember mountain lakes. Listen to the grain trucks rumble the highway. We startle at the deer who startle at our footsteps. A tree frog croaks from its harddark hole in the otherwise empty change slot of a vending machine.