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Literature Text
Boiling pot brains,
how you toil yourselves!
Watchword, between thinking I count the fingers grow on my days,
and delight in grass children, do watch them flourish
as they tilt their heads to the sun;
yet you, hardly ceasing to breathe,
are engaged solely in the catching of thoughts,
tangled in your grey meat traps -
I doff my scalp to thee, and hope the exposure not indecent.
Jealous stealing tinkerers, all moonshine thoughts pour from your heads,
but burn brightest when others see;
for you, they lack lustre, and their afterbirth is sorrow.
Wherefore this morass, of such inferior superiors?
Mired in a fen, penned in a bog, lost widely across this wide and subtle expanse
of timed living and free-hand writing,
you are so very fig.
Loligag, I wonder - art thou wiser
than I, poor sprout of gibber wishes,
drinker of tea and lemons beneath a tree’s spread,
whiles you bury in pulp and chew on words,
like worms?
how you toil yourselves!
Watchword, between thinking I count the fingers grow on my days,
and delight in grass children, do watch them flourish
as they tilt their heads to the sun;
yet you, hardly ceasing to breathe,
are engaged solely in the catching of thoughts,
tangled in your grey meat traps -
I doff my scalp to thee, and hope the exposure not indecent.
Jealous stealing tinkerers, all moonshine thoughts pour from your heads,
but burn brightest when others see;
for you, they lack lustre, and their afterbirth is sorrow.
Wherefore this morass, of such inferior superiors?
Mired in a fen, penned in a bog, lost widely across this wide and subtle expanse
of timed living and free-hand writing,
you are so very fig.
Loligag, I wonder - art thou wiser
than I, poor sprout of gibber wishes,
drinker of tea and lemons beneath a tree’s spread,
whiles you bury in pulp and chew on words,
like worms?
Literature
PROSE What Spies Do
My dad is a rock. He is solid, he is powerful. He can still pick me up and toss me over his shoulder. He is never seen to cry, he can never be swayed or damaged by opinion. He is a real estate agent, and he pushes those deals and sways those clients with confidence and experience. He flexes his arms at the dinner table when I ask him and points exactly which way it is to the beach or the gun show. He is a tree, a mountain, a thick and formidable presence in any room, in any place, against any person.
“He’s late,” my mom said, and pursed her lips through the ste
Literature
Funeral Dinner
October 14th
Dear diary, I am going to die. Well, obviously. That sounds pretty existential, so let me clarify: I am going to die in the very near future. There are a number of ways it could happen now and none of them are very appealing. Every trip I’ve ever taken has involved some sort of disaster: arriving at the bus terminal late, lost luggage, flight cancellations. But I’d never experienced a plane crash before.
I was going to Paris. I told my wife it was a business trip but, here’s the kick
Literature
The Couplet and the Villanelle
The Couplet and the Villanelle
Said the couplet to the villanelle
"You, for all of your complexity
really are a vacuum and a shell
overwrought and odd, compared to me.
You, for all your cunning and your craft
your metaphors and similes and signs
conjure awkward rhymes that make me laugh
strung together in repeating lines."
Said the villanelle to couplet small
"I know I can ramble on at times
but, you know, you are inside of me
and you are complicit in my rhymes.
What's ironic though, you know... doggonnit.
both of us are stuck within this sonnet."
Suggested Collections
I have friends and acquaintances who are engaged in the IB, the international baccalaureate, a wide cross-disciplinary alternative to A-level. I attend a grammar school, but these people all amaze me with their tenacity and devotion to study; at the same time, I am astounded by the unhealthy, high-pressure atmosphere that seems to surround them. I remember being told that "you'll have a day or two when you don't do any work, and you'll feel so guilty for it". I know of one girl who is taking time off as a result fo stress related illness after the third day back. What's worse is that whilst they are undertaking a course more difficult than the current A-level, the grades that they will be asked for for an offer at an older university ar not correspondingly easier. This has the backlash that several amongst them, despite being at least as intelligent as the best of the best in my sixth form, are in serious doubt as to whether they will successfully apply to Oxbridge - not because they will be unappealing students, but because they might literally not "make the grade" of the offer. So, a nonsense tribute to them.
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Comments9
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IB! Yay! Haha one of the major failings of the IB student is that they think universitys care. Well, it's almost over, and it was fun.