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fellowshippers2004-03-18 02:00 pm
starbucksmanic.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-03-18 02:00 pm
Wacko Viggo!Poetry
Title: Desiderare
Author: Starbucksmanic
Rating: G
Pairing: Viggorli
Disclaimer: Not ours! Tricksy false author we are!
Summary: The poet watches the butterfly.
Warnings: Requires *Real Thinking* if you wanna understand it.
A/N: I have peaked. My brain hurts.
A name the foliage vibrant in the sultry tongue
the watching watcher watches in watchful silence
the one butterfly he would not catch for himself
butterfly too iridescent effervescent evanescent
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
by azure so true it hurts even in death
butterfly too perfect to last long enough
for the one who needs a lasting anchor in the storm
butterfly like an upright tree, horizon of the tossing sea, a horrid line
a line that might not bend lest it be broken (or not?)
he cannot paint the canvas
for fear of ruining the white
behind lies for paper relics, pain ravens, Jimi's fog too humid
the brush longs for use and maybe the canvas
would not object to a few crimson splashes
(never the whole can; the emptiness hurts too much)
yet though his own boiling liquid salt
he will not see
for the only crimson splashes come from
the deep imbedded lovesick core that throbs for this butterfly
literal ancient rome's sider to excoriate the brush
butterfly waxes hypnogogic for everyone to ooh and ah
a hateful mantra on an open wound
he longs for and loathes the swallowtail
(pointed tips and gold too perfect to be real)
his hands against his heart, his heart against his soul
his soul against his hands and in the end the only still
body is the the butterfly even in the thunderstorms
pourquoi devez-vous être si beau, melda?
V. M.
I also did some fancy pants recording this a la Back to Babylon but it looks like I have to download software to share it. Oh well.
Author: Starbucksmanic
Rating: G
Pairing: Viggorli
Disclaimer: Not ours! Tricksy false author we are!
Summary: The poet watches the butterfly.
Warnings: Requires *Real Thinking* if you wanna understand it.
A/N: I have peaked. My brain hurts.
A name the foliage vibrant in the sultry tongue
the watching watcher watches in watchful silence
the one butterfly he would not catch for himself
butterfly too iridescent effervescent evanescent
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
by azure so true it hurts even in death
butterfly too perfect to last long enough
for the one who needs a lasting anchor in the storm
butterfly like an upright tree, horizon of the tossing sea, a horrid line
a line that might not bend lest it be broken (or not?)
he cannot paint the canvas
for fear of ruining the white
behind lies for paper relics, pain ravens, Jimi's fog too humid
the brush longs for use and maybe the canvas
would not object to a few crimson splashes
(never the whole can; the emptiness hurts too much)
yet though his own boiling liquid salt
he will not see
for the only crimson splashes come from
the deep imbedded lovesick core that throbs for this butterfly
literal ancient rome's sider to excoriate the brush
butterfly waxes hypnogogic for everyone to ooh and ah
a hateful mantra on an open wound
he longs for and loathes the swallowtail
(pointed tips and gold too perfect to be real)
his hands against his heart, his heart against his soul
his soul against his hands and in the end the only still
body is the the butterfly even in the thunderstorms
pourquoi devez-vous être si beau, melda?
V. M.
I also did some fancy pants recording this a la Back to Babylon but it looks like I have to download software to share it. Oh well.
no subject
I read it twice and went "oh!
Iread it again and went *sigh*
sorry, it is the once feedback I can come up with.
I dare not read it again.
no subject