Here's a collection of my favorite literature & literary resources here on DA
Love, But Actually An Alligator by everystupidstar, literature
Literature
Love, But Actually An Alligator
Love lives out in the heat of the swamps, drags along riverbanks, scales fences, scavenges for food. Love prefers moonlit waters, knows you would rather drown yourself outright than be pulled under unsuspecting. Love is a cannibal, savors the soft parts— what rots first, what floats, what stashes easily under a rock or a log, what she can come back to later. Love takes the eyes first as a kindness in exchange for an eternal dark. Love tells you—gutturally, full of teeth— that she favors the mud at the bottom of Lake Okeechobee, a deathroll with your favorite donut-shaped pool floaty, the thrill of lakes unknown. Really, Love just hates the reflection of fear. She’d rather a surrender to the inevitable. Love likes to lay in the sun, warm her scales. Love is primordial: an alligator emotion, a creature of many forms. Her favorite form is this: blood dripping, belly full, red sun reflecting off the pink in her scales. Love claims neutrality—negativity, positivity, an eye of the
Wind is blowing in the cypresses Sky is clear as far as the eye sees Wind is blowing Sea is flowing And the olive grooves are growing In the warm and sweetly smelling breeze Gulls are crying at ships coming home Shores are dressed in white lace of sea-foam Gulls are crying Nets are drying And the fishermen are trying To sell their catch where the people roam Stars are gleaming in the evening sky In the warm air moths flutter and fly Stars are gleaming Children dreaming In the taverns wine is streaming Served with honey cake and goat cheese pie Lutes are singing in the fragrant air Artists, poets, actors are all there Lutes are singing Dancers swinging And the citar strings are ringing As theatres lure you in with flair
In the crystal waves hidden from moonlight's gaze resides the songs of those struggling to go on. The wind carries them through the haze even during the stormiest of days and drops them off at this place deep into the crystal waves. Where the songs play on in a broken yet beautiful harmony for all eternity. At least that is what many believe but that is not the reality true they repeat but not for eternity. Nothing ever lasts for eternity. Instead when the crystal waves capture the songs they make new ones to accompany them on. But instead of songs of woe they are accompanied by songs of hope which over time reach the ears of those struggling to go on. And over time the broken songs fade from the crystal waves and only hope remains.
I heard a song, a song of the sea I knew it was the song for me. In howling wind, in crashing wave down I go to a watery grave! I found a ship, a ship to sail along the main through rain and hail. In howling wind, In crashing wave down I go to a watery grave! I joined the crew, I swabbed the deck and every fight I risked my neck. In howling wind, In crashing wave down we go to a watery grave! We won a prize, we sailed her home now for easy prey we roam. In howling wind, In crashing wave down we go to a watery grave! With every round the plunder grew and down the main we come for you! In howling wind, In crashing wave down you go to a watery grave!
Seeking the Lighthouse by Finbar-Orton, literature
Literature
Seeking the Lighthouse
In hope I am watching for the beacon to light and guide in me to port for long I have wandered unbidden alone down the shimmering road of starlight on wave-tips and now I hope to share my load.
I saw the shadow of the ship hanging in the mist surrounded by sharp rocks and hungry eyes of the coastal gods the foghorn will be my lullaby when I follow the call of the waves to dance on the iron deck a wild jig of the stormborn prince take me where the bright light ends where black flowers cover the steel and trees grow through the wrecked boards a kiss of the galeswept dreams going deeper each night burying into me with silver claws and fangs made of wind
The journey unwanted, it must be made the call refused will be obeyed so leave your home and find your sword your quiet life will be ignored face your trials, keep your vow bleed and struggle, never bow stride triumphant, swiftly rise stay the course and take the prize. The journey unwanted, it has been made the call refused has been repaid and finally home your path has led your quiet life is slain and dead.
I dance with the light of the evening
that echoes off the glass
the spectres of sunset and shadow
for dusk has come to pass.
I dance for the joy of the living
and in memory of the dead
with spectres of sunset and shadow
I dance for the words unsaid.
The whisper is waiting it longs to be heard the power it carries is spent with a word but in its waiting it gnaws at your cheek it scours your tongue and begs you to speak.