.
VR
Joli's Journal


Joli's Journal

THIS JOURNAL IS ON 134 FAVORITE JOURNAL LISTS

Honor: 0    [ Give / Take ]

PROFILE




3 entries this month
 

PRIVATE ENTRY

16:50 Mar 15 2011
Times Read: 622


• • • • PRIVATE JOURNAL ENTRY • • • •


 

20:07 Mar 14 2011
Times Read: 645





He was loved in his time. He wrote with poetic candor about love.


He was reviled. The Emperor espoused publicly a chaste monogamy that he, himself, did not embrace privately. For writing about adultery or just for a dictator's personal grievance, without a trial, this poet was exiled and died begging to be allowed to go back home to the woman he loved and his beloved Rome.


Posthumously, he was revered. But soon again, he was hated. The Archbishop of Canterbury had his books burned and the Puritans declared him an unholy influence because he had been pagan.


I worry every time I post a poem. Will people like it? Will they hate it? Or worst of all, will it be meaningless and move nobody at all?


How relevant is his statement still 2000 years later:

A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn; it can be stabbed to death by a quip and worried to death by a frown on the right man's brow. -Ovid

COMMENTS

-



Selkie
Selkie
21:01 Mar 14 2011

Ovid was so correct in that. Too often, our best ideas are fleeting moments of brilliance, dashed by the wrong audience. You have nothing to fear in that respect though. There is nobody who could fail to be moved by your words. Your soul shines through ;)





BLOODLIFE
BLOODLIFE
08:53 Mar 15 2011

Ovid nearly got it right.





 

Perdita

09:29 Mar 07 2011
Times Read: 693




Alone in leather and the little black dress,

She pixilates and shines

From the planes of her face,

Looking back across her shoulder

To where the branches tangle,

Rubbing and rubbing

At the wear marks on her bench

Until she bleeds into the grain of the wood.



Desiderata desires things.

She clutches her hem

Lest the clouds reflect on her legs,

Dark imaginings,

Fears born of fatigue

And torn grey stockings.



Lines form to be waited in

By women wearing grey dresses

And whispered rumors

Of rope swings and tree branches,

Of a charcoal woman

Smudging and smudging

As she leans over couples

Tangled together on her bench.



Desiderata clutches her hem

And reflects on nothing more

Than the grain of the well worn wood.

COMMENTS

-



Selkie
Selkie
12:31 Mar 07 2011

*sighs*



Beautiful, as always.





PAGAN
PAGAN
12:49 Mar 07 2011

Perfection @};-





LiamK
LiamK
00:19 Mar 13 2011

I've now returned three times since my first encounter with this, and I haven't yet made two readings to which I've responded in kind. The words don't change, but what's implied...



I'm drawn in by the wealth of self-contradicting connotation. Desiderata doesn't seem to quite know how she feels about anything, and it's strong enough to rub off.





daemona
daemona
04:07 Aug 30 2011

This is beautiful. Thank you for sharing.








COMPANY
REQUEST HELP
CONTACT US
SITEMAP
REPORT A BUG
UPDATES
LEGAL
TERMS OF SERVICE
PRIVACY POLICY
DMCA POLICY
REAL VAMPIRES LOVE VAMPIRE RAVE
© 2004 - 2020 Vampire Rave
All Rights Reserved.
Vampire Rave is a member of 
Page generated in 0.1086 seconds.
X
Username:

Password:
I agree to Vampire Rave's Privacy Policy.
I agree to Vampire Rave's Terms of Service.
I agree to Vampire Rave's DMCA Policy.
I agree to Vampire Rave's use of Cookies.
•  SIGN UP •  GET PASSWORD •  GET USERNAME  •
X