fandomsecrets | [ SECRET POST #2438 ]

⌈ Secret Post #2438 ⌋

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Notes:

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Semi inspired by above thread.

Bonus points if it's by unpublished writers or bloggers, as a lot of us have already read the famous ones.

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/180488

not copy pasting the whole thing even though i want to

Not lately, but this is one of my favorites. It's sort of a reverse "Casey At Bat."

Dorlan’s Home-Walk
by Arthur Guiterman

The ninth; last half; the score was tied,
The hour was big with fate,
For Neal had fanned and Kling had flied
When Dorlan toed the plate.

And every rooter drew a breath
And rose from where he sat,
For weal or woe, or life or death
Now hung on Dorlan’s bat.

The pitcher scowled, the pitcher flung
An inshoot, swift and queer;
But Dorlan whirled his wagon-tongue
And smote the leathern sphere.

He smote the ball with might and main,
He drove it long and low,
And firstward like a railway train
He sped to beat the throw.

He reached first base with time to spare
(The throw went high and wide),
But what a tumult rent the air
When “Safe!” the umpire cried.

“What!” shrieked the pitcher, lean and tall,
“What!” roared the catcher stout,
“Wha-at!” yelled the basemen one and all,
“Ye’re off! The man is out!”

The shortstop swore, the catcher pled,
They waved their arms around.
The umpire shook his bullet-head
And sternly held his ground,

Though in the wild-eyed fielders ran
To tear him limb from limb
Or else to tell that erring man
Just what they thought of him.

The basemen left the bases clear
And came to urge their case—
So Dorlan yawned and scratched his ear
And strolled to second base.

“Safe? Safe?” the pitcher hissed. “Ye’re blind!”
And breathed a naughty word;
While Dorlan hitched his belt behind
And rambled on to third.

And throats were hoarse and words ran high
And lips were flecked with foam,
As Dorlan scanned the azure sky
And ambled on toward home.

And still he heard in dreamy bliss,
As down the line he came,
The umpire growl, “Enough o’this!
He’s safe. Now play the game!”

“All right. Come, boys,” the pitcher bawled,
“Two out; now make it three!”
When Dorlan touched the plate and drawled,
“Hey! Score that run for me!”

What wrath was there, what bitter talk,
What joy and wild acclaim!
For Dorlan’s peaceful homeward walk
Had won the doubtful game.

Aye, thus the game was lost and won;
So, athletes, great and small,
If like mischance ye fain would shun
Keep cool, don’t kick, play ball.

I like this one.

Soundless Scream
By Rhynnah Bayne

I am a soundless scream,
uttered from a cut throat.
Unremarked.
Unremarkable.
Wrapped in silent repetition,
While all around me,
Life continues to go on, blissfully ignorant or
ignorantly blissful,
Perhaps merely more comfortable
ignoring me.
Excruciating pain is sometimes nearly ecstasy.
At least, it’s something,
A feeling that surpasses everyday numbness
At least I am writing,
I mean, writhing in agony,
Not lulled to sleep by the illusion that
I do not feel... never felt
I know something is not there.
The voice on the phone, the one I hate to hear...?
That one stirs up the silt I’d far rather forget
the thin slick cover that reveals nothing settled.
Answering the phone, I feel a stirring in my depths,
the Midgard Serpent, uneasily shifting,
testing the limits of my grip
but desperately I cling to my control,
knowing full well that my battle is doomed.
At Ragnarok, when the Serpent truly wakes,
whomever battles him brings on the end of the world.
We all have our opportunities, our Judgment Day.
I am already damned I fear,
with no Idea of how to change, how to be heard,
A scream of silence from a cut throat.

[ SECRET POST #2438 ]

Read any good poetry lately?

Re: Read any good poetry lately?

Re: Read any good poetry lately?

Re: Read any good poetry lately?