#forespent

[themetaphorgirl]

I’d love a preview!

this is the fever dream sequence that took me forever to write because I had to do a lot more research than I realized!!!!

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He was dreaming, but it might have been a memory.

He was small- four or five, six at the oldest. He was curled up on the couch, his head resting on his mother’s lap, and she held a book in her hand.

“‘Ah, courteous knight,’ quoth she, what secret wound could ever find, to grieve the gentlest heart on ground?” Diana read, her voice soft and soothing.

She stroked his hair as she read, even and perfectly rhythmic, her fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp. He cuddled up close, his cheek pillowed on his hand, his eyes half closed.

“The knight much wondered at his sudden wit, and said ‘the term of life is limited, nay may a man prolong, nor shorten it’,” she read, and there was a clarity in her voice that he hadn’t heard for a very, very long time. He’d nearly forgotten what she sounded like back then.

“Diana, can’t you read him something a little more age appropriate?”

He raised his head. His father stood in the doorway, still dressed in his work clothes, his tie half undone. “This is age appropriate,” Diana said, unbothered.

“Can’t you read him something better for a kindergartener?” William asked. “Thomas the Tank Engine, or Clifford, or-”

“Picture books bore him,” Diana said. “Besides, this copy has pictures. Look, here’s a lovely illustration of Talus dismembering Munera.”

William shook his head. “Jesus,” he mumbled under his breath as he walked out of the room.

“Never mind your father,” Diana said. She bent over him and kissed his temple. “He just doesn’t understand things the way you and I do.”

He smiled, sighing a little in contentment as she kept petting his hair. She kept reading, calm and warm. He could hear how much she loved him in the sound of her voice.

“All ends that was begun. Their times in his eternal book of fate are written sure, and have their certain date. Who then can strive with strong necessity, that holds the world in his still changing state, or shun the death ordain’d by destiny? When hour of death is come, let none ask whence, or why.”

He was nearly asleep, lulled by his mother’s voice and the comfort of her presence. It had been a long time since he had felt so small and safe and peaceful.

“I was like you, you know.”

His eyes shot open. The sense of peace was gone, replaced with an ice-cold prickle at the back of his neck. 

Tobias Hankel stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his dark eyes sad.

Diana kept reading, quiet and measured, her diction perfect.

“The longer life, I wrote the greater sin- the greater sin, the greater punishment. All those great battles which thou boasts to win, through strife, and bloodshed, and avengement, now prais’d, hereafter dear thou shalt repent. For life must life, and blood must blood repay.”

Tobias didn’t move. He just watched him. “We’re not that different, you and me,” he said.

He sat up slowly. “Mom,” he whispered. He grabbed her arm. “Mom, help me.”

But she kept reading.

“Is not enough thy evil life forespent? For he, that once hath missed the right way, the further he doth go, the further he doth stray.”

Tobias still didn’t move, but he wanted to run away before he had the chance to come closer. “I was smart, like you,” he said quietly. “Everybody said so. But my mom left, and things got real hard, and my dad just kind of…” He shrugged, gesturing towards Diana. “You know what I mean.”

He clutched his mother’s arm, his nails digging into her skin. “Mom, help,” he begged. “I’m scared. Mom, I’m scared.”

But she kept reading.

“Is not he just, that all this doth behold from highest heaven, and bears an equal eye? Shall he thy sins up in his knowledge fold, and guilty be of thy impiety?”

“You’re a sinner,” Tobias said sadly. “Maybe my daddy was right after all.”

Gone was the sense of calm and safety. Panic choked him as Tobias stared him down from the doorway and he shook Diana with all the strength in his body. “Mom, help me, please,” he begged. “I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared.”

And still Diana read.

“Is not his law, let every sinner die? Die all shall flesh? What then must need be done? Is it not better to do willingly, than linger till the glass be all outrun?”

Tobias tilted his head, but said nothing. “I’m sorry!” Spencer sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He clung to Diana desperately, but she didn’t even look at him, lost in her own little world. “Mom! Help me!”

“Death is the end of woes,” Tobias quoted, finishing the stanza. Dark red blossomed over his chest. The empty syringe fell from his hand to the floor. “Do you think I’ll see my mom again?”

Spencer screamed.

[dea-syria]

Am I that Sappho who would run at dusk Along the surges creeping up the shore When tides came in to ease the hungry beach, And running, running, till the night was black,          Would fall forespent upon the chilly sand And quiver with the winds from off the sea? Ah, quietly the shingle waits the tides Whose waves are stinging kisses, but to me Love brought no peace, nor darkness any rest.          I crept and touched the foam with fevered hands And cried to Love, from whom the sea is sweet, From whom the sea is bitterer than death. Ah, Aphrodite, if I sing no more To thee, God’s daughter, powerful as God,          It is that thou hast made my life too sweet To hold the added sweetness of a song. There is a quiet at the heart of love, And I have pierced the pain and come to peace

Sara Teasdale

[lilacnothlit]

One thing I’m still looking for is the full text of a poem by Nathalia Crane, called “Proposals”

It was five stanzas and the first two were (and this is such an Animorphs mood):

Said the tiger to the lily, Said the viper to the rose, Let us marry so our children May attain the double pose.

With a feline half a flower — With the attar in the asp We could institute a slaughter That would make a planet gasp.

Crane in general is great for your Animorphs projects. The opening lines of a poem she wrote about Charles Lindbergh:

The gods released a vision on a world forespent and dull; They sent it as a challenge by the sea hawk and the gull.

It roused the Norman eagerness, the Albion cliffs turned red: "You fly the wings of logic — can you fly the wings of lead?

[taylornye]

Saturday, June 6, 2020

"These are changing times," said Pastor Valanderous Self of Arbala Road Church of Christ. "In fact, the time is forespent. If people ever need to come together as one in respect and honor of God and each other, that time is now. George Floyd is the latest and most brazen example of a pattern of injustice and discrimination against blacks and people of color... but there are people in all segments of our society who have suffered with injustice and the pains that cause us to do what we're doing today." 

[violettesiren]

The houseless wind has gone to rest ⁠In some rude cavern-bed of ocean, And Neptune smooths each foamy crest, ⁠At Dian's will, with meek devotion; The shepherd, gathering his sheep, ⁠⁠Has brought them safely to the fold,— ⁠⁠And in my arms my world I hold! ⁠⁠⁠⁠Sleep!

Forespent with hunting on the hill, ⁠My truant, in the dusk returning, Finds the lone heart, he left at will. ⁠With the one worship burning. The moonlight pales—the shade grows deep— ⁠⁠The nightingale doth silence break! ⁠⁠Ah, love, till first the lark shall wake, ⁠⁠⁠⁠Sleep!

No homeless wanderer art thou! ⁠Here, pillowed safe, thy head is lying. The nightingale! Ah, listen now! ⁠What passion—death itself defying! Peace! All the stars thy vigil keep. ⁠⁠And fragrant breathes each mystic flower ⁠That blooms to-night in Dreamland bower: ⁠⁠⁠⁠Sleep!

Nocturne by Florence Earle Coates

[violettesiren]

III

The twilight's inner flame grows blue and deep, And in my Lesbos, over leagues of sea, The temples glimmer moon-wise in the trees. Twilight has veiled the little flower-face Here on my heart, but still the night is kind And leaves her warm sweet weight against my breast. Am I that Sappho who would run at dusk Along the surges creeping up the shore When tides came in to ease the hungry beach, And running, running till the night was black, Would fall forespent upon the chilly sand And quiver with the winds from off the sea? Ah quietly the shingle waits the tides Whose waves are stinging kisses, but to me Love brought no peace, nor darkness any rest. I crept and touched the foam with fevered hands And cried to love, from whom the sea is sweet, From whom the sea is bitterer than death.

Ah, Aphrodite, if I sing no more To thee, God's daughter, powerful as God, It is that thou hast made my life too sweet To hold the added sweetness of a song. There is a quiet at the heart of love, And I have pierced the pain and come to peace. I hold my peace, my Cleis, on my heart; And softer than a little wild bird's wing Are kisses that she pours upon my mouth. Ah never any more when spring like fire Will flicker in the newly opened leaves, Shall I steal forth to seek for solitude Beyond the lure of light Alcaeus' lyre, Beyond the sob that stilled Erinna's voice. Ah, never with a throat that aches with song, Beneath the white uncaring sky of spring, Shall I go forth to hide awhile from Love The quiver and the crying of my heart. Still I remember how I strove to flee The love-note of the birds, and bowed my head To hurry faster, but upon the ground I saw two winged shadows side by side, And all the world's spring passion stifled me.

Ah, Love there is no fleeing from thy might, No lonely place where thou hast never trod, No desert thou hast left uncarpeted With flowers that spring beneath thy perfect feet. In many guises didst thou come to me; I saw thee by the maidens while they danced, Phaon allured me with a look of thine, In Anactoria I knew thy grace, I looked at Cercolas and saw thine eyes; But never wholly, soul and body mine, Didst thou bid any love me as I loved. Now have I found the peace that fled from me; Close, dose against my heart I hold my world.

Ah, Love that made my life a lyric cry, Ah, Love that tuned my lips to lyres of thine, I taught the world thy music, now alone I sing for one who falls asleep to hear.

from Sappho by Sara Teasdale