“Sound and Sense from Essay on Criticism” by Alexander Pope (read by Tom O’Bedlam)

True ease in writing comes from art, not change,
As those move easiest who have learned to dance.
‘Tis not enough no harshness gives offense,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense;
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar.
When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw,
The line too labors, and the words move slow;
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o’er the’ unbending corn, and skims along the main.
Hear how Timotheus’ varied lays surprise,
And bid alternate passions fall and rise!

(Source: youtube.com)

WHY THE HECK ARE HEROIC COUPLETS IMPORTANT???  WHAT DO THEY SIGNIFY???  WHY WOULD ALEXANDER POPE PREFER THEM???

I DON’T KNOW AND I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR OVER AN HOUR BUT EVERYONE JUST SAYS “ALEXANDER POPE MADE THEM FASHIONABLE”.

BUT WHY.

WHY?????

so I’m really bad at taking compliments, here’s an example: I bumped into this guy downtown and he just handed me this poem he wrote and he said, “Speaking of poetry, your eyes are incredble, there are so many colors!” and all I could say back was, “Yeah they do that” tHAt wAS ALL I SAID beFORE TURNING AROUND AND LEAVING.

Rudy Francisco - Love Poem (Full) (1/9) (by hellosven)

(Source: youtube.com)

I wanted to be self-made

But I mined too deep too quickly

And now I’m tapped out.

Politics

But what was I doing before I sat at this table

Because all I’m aware of is how my legs tremble

They’ve born such a terrible weight.

And all around me these voices scream and fight,

Declaring one another to be hypocrites and liars,

Meanwhile I watch the dying funeral pyre.

When they finally grow weary and quiet

I ask them where we are and what’s the point of it,

And no one is really sure.

We’ve been fed something that doesn’t fill,

Just something to chew and mask the bile,

And each night we took it for communion

It helps us forget what’s become of this Union.

I watched one man wipe his face and cross the room

He looked out the cracked window at the prevalent gloom

And declared that something must be done.

And now that we’re sober because the wine is all gone,

We finally agreed.

Aesop’s Parable of the Dog and the Wolf

And suddenly I thought of this past year,

Of all I had lost

Because of a moment of weakness

One late night

And because I decided to keep

The dignity

Of owning that decision

Of carrying

The burden of freedom forever.

The bitch

Chewed the collar off her raw neck,

Ran off,

And danced with the starving wolf.

Clockwork

You were a perfect clock,

Attuned to the sun and moon.

Each night I would ask you,

“Wake me up at six,”

And you would

With a kiss,

A hug,

A brush of my hair.

And when you disappeared,

So dependent on you was I,

I stopped waking up.

Untitled (Because You Don’t Have to Know)

I cried in bed last night

Nikki asked me about it today, she saw the pictures online.

Everyone did.

That’s why the Board of Human Equalization posts them,

They think they can save us from our nightmares

And suicides

If the world only saw our pain.

Randomly taken pictures of us while we lay in bed,

On the internet to see.

The Community will keep you safe with their judgment.

Still, my mom made a flawless noose,

(Nikki’s did, too)

Don next door jumped from his roof,

(Emma did, too)

And as the Community tries to save me,

I want to smash that camera above my bed

And proclaim freedom to feel

To have a moment of weakness

And to ask God alone for help.

The eyes that always see,

The mouths that always question,

Are only trying to avoid

What their heads always think

What their hearts always feel

Because this Community

Is dying to help.

Bone of Youth

I feel stagnated like a pool,

A breeding ground for insects.

Over me something looms

And to it I can’t put any name

Except uncertainty.

And all I want is to tear this

Bone of youth from my body;

It itches incessantly under the skin,

It drives me mad at midnight

As I achingly wait for the dawn

But longingly cling to the night.

It screams, “Hurry, hurry!”

And tortures me for my delay.

But it’s because I’m still charting

A course that won’t crash.

It’s true,

I’ve grown weary of sideway shuffles,

Tired of backwards stumbles,

And I dream of forward steps.

But every time I try,

My foot hovers over the plunge

And I slip my blindfold on

To lose sight and wander away,

All the while that bone screams,

“Jump, jump!”

May Saint Jude protect me.