Traveling within the World
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Poetry, short stories(1pg) stories(1~3 pgs)
Location: Everywhere
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Latest Activity: Jan 23, 2014
Poetry, and discussions of it, have a long history. Early attempts to define poetry, such as Aristotle's Poetics, focused on the uses of speech in rhetoric, drama, song, and comedy. Later attempts concentrated on features such as repetition, verse form and rhyme, and emphasized the aesthetics which distinguish poetry from more objectively informative, prosaic forms of writing, such as manifestos, biographies, essays, and novels . From the mid-20th century, poetry has sometimes been more loosely defined as a fundamental creative act using language.
Poetry often uses particular forms and conventions to suggest alternative meanings in the words, or to evoke emotional or sensual responses. Devices such as assonance, alliteration, onomatopoeia, and rhythm are sometimes used to achieve musical or incantatory effects. The use of ambiguity, symbolism, irony, and other stylistic elements of poetic diction often leaves a poem open to multiple interpretations. Similarly, metaphor, simile, and metonymy create a resonance between otherwise disparate images—a layering of meanings, forming connections previously not perceived. Kindred forms of resonance may exist, between individual verses, in their patterns of rhyme or rhythm.
Some forms of poetry are specific to particular cultures and genres, responding to the characteristics of the language in which the poet writes. While readers accustomed to identifying poetry with Dante, Goethe, Mickiewicz and Rumi may think of it as being written in lines based upon rhyme and regular meter, there are traditions, such as Biblical poetry, that use other approaches to achieve rhythm and euphony. Much of modern British and American poetry is to some extent a critique of poetic tradition, playing with and testing (among other things) the principle of euphony itself, to the extent that sometimes it deliberately does not rhyme or keep to set rhythms at all. In today's globalized world poets often borrow styles, techniques and forms from diverse cultures and languages.
The oldest surviving epic poem is the Epic of Gilgamesh, from the 3rd millennium BC in Sumer (in Mesopotamia, now Iraq), which was written in cuneiform script on clay tablets and, later, papyrus. Other ancient epic poetry includes the Greek epics Iliad and Odyssey, the Old Iranian books the Gathic Avesta and Yasna, the Roman national epic, Virgil's Aeneid, and the Indian epics Ramayana and Mahabharata.
The efforts of ancient thinkers to determine what makes poetry distinctive as a form, and what distinguishes good poetry from bad, resulted in "poetics"—the study of the aesthetics of poetry. Some ancient societies, such as the Chinese through the Shi Jing, one of the Five Classics of Confucianism, developed canons of poetic works that had ritual as well as aesthetic importance. More recently, thinkers have struggled to find a definition that could encompass formal differences as great as those between Chaucer's Canterbury Tales and Matsuo Bashō's Oku no Hosomichi, as well as differences in context spanning Tanakh religious poetry, love poetry, and rap.
Context can be critical to poetics and to the development of poetic genres and forms. Poetry that records historic events in epics, such as Gilgamesh or Ferdowsi's Shahnameh, will necessarily be lengthy and narrative, while poetry used for liturgical purposes (hymns, psalms, suras, and hadiths) is likely to have an inspirational tone, whereas elegy and tragedy are meant to evoke deep emotional responses. Other contexts include Gregorian chants, formal or diplomatic speech, political rhetoric and invective, light-hearted nursery and nonsense rhymes, and even medical texts.
The Polish historian of aesthetics, Władysław Tatarkiewicz, in a paper on "The Concept of Poetry," traces the evolution of what is in fact two concepts of poetry. Tatarkiewicz points out that the term is applied to two distinct things that, as the poet Paul Valéry observed, "at a certain point find union. Poetry [...] is an art based on language. But poetry also has a more general meaning [...] that is difficult to define because it is less determinate: poetry expresses a certain state of mind."
Discussion Forum
I seek again that soft spot,
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Jan 9, 2014.
-All Who Fall Are Not Forgotten-
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Jan 9, 2014.
A Soldier Is A Gift 1 Reply
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things. Last reply by Dept of PMM Artists & things Mar 1, 2012.
The Night Before Gormass by katjira
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Dec 4, 2011.
A Soldier's Thanksgiving Day Prayer
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Nov 22, 2011.
FIDDLER'S GREEN
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Nov 12, 2011.
THE FINAL INSPECTION
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Nov 11, 2011.
THE SOLDIER
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Nov 11, 2011.
If you are able
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Nov 11, 2011.
Charge of the Light Brigade
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Nov 11, 2011.
A Remembrance Day Story
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Nov 10, 2011.
When The Lord Was Creating Vietnam Vets
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Oct 24, 2011.
'A Poem to Honor Our Soldiers...Fallen and Standing.'
Started by Rev. Allen M. Drago ~ Traveler Oct 20, 2011.
Eolian Harp by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Started by WarMouse -Manager- Jun 3, 2011.
I sit here during the long winter 11 Replies
Started by Rev. Allen M. Drago ~ Traveler. Last reply by Rev. Allen M. Drago ~ Traveler May 26, 2011.
A diffrent time a diffrent life one of three lives intertwined 6 Replies
Started by Rev. Allen M. Drago ~ Traveler. Last reply by Rev. Allen M. Drago ~ Traveler May 14, 2011.
~FROM A SEERS LIPS~
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Mar 22, 2011.
The Mother's Song by Jean Auel
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Feb 19, 2011.
~ Historical & Classical Poetry ~ 1 Reply
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things. Last reply by Dept of PMM Artists & things Feb 9, 2011.
By Thomas Warton the elder (1688?-1745)
Started by Dept of PMM Artists & things Feb 9, 2011.
The Wondering Minstrels A poem a day, complete with analysis, criticism, biographical info, literary anecdotes, trivia, and our own skewed sense of humour :-)
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Comment by Dept of PMM Artists & things on May 6, 2010 at 11:16pm
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An Apache marriage blessing:
"Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be the shelter for the other.
Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be the warmth to the other.
Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you.
Go now to your dwelling, to enter into the days of your life together,
and may your days be good and long upon the earth."
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New Moon© Lianna Satanas diabolique,
December 2008
Yet again Sleepless Desire
You awaken me Lord Satanas
Astral Communion to my Black Soul
To the Murder of heaven I crave, I arise in Hunger
With Thee, Beloved Hell, In My Blood I conspire
Blessed Serpent, lick the soul of Hell,
Pierced through the night of thee turgid swell
The Vortex inside opens to your Kiss
My Voice in the Tongue of Daemons
Acts of Passionate Sin, Sinister Bliss
Praise to Sheol
Possess Your Children
Draw Them to their knees
In Rebellion and Strife
That they confess with tongue, blood and knife
The Gates of Hell Forever Prevail
Slaughter the christ and lambs of his seed
In torment, thrusting each and every nail
Pone Diabolos Custodiam
That heaven like an orgasm torrent bleed
Armageddon Unfold
Fill me Cain, Thine Life Force
All of me I open, Devour evermore
By blood and spirit, angst and hate
My Passionate Utterance of Hellish Tongues
One With Hell
Satan rise within Your Witch This Night
Guard My Heart, My Soul, My Mind, My Flesh
Ravage all that I despise, Rapture all that I Bless
By the Chalice Ecstasy devoured
Demonize Me
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A Necromancer's Prayer
Ad tu, deditio meus cor, meus amina, meus credo.
ea id cum fides ille cado in tuus potens ala
ea id cum amor ille offero calix de meus cor-
bibo profundis de meus vita ille licet cognosco altitudos
de flumen de oblivio et memoria.
ea id sine timor et cum desiderium verus
ille osculum tuus tranquillus, frigus oris
prudens ille hic memoria volo esse meus ultimas.
(English Translation)
To thee, I surrender, my heart, my soul, my trust.
It is with Faith that I fall into your mighty wings.
It is with love that I offer up the chalice of my heart,
Drink deep of my life that I might know the depths
of the river of Forgetfulness and Memory.
It is without fear and with true desire
that I kiss your still, cold lips
knowing that this memory shall be my last
Copyright by Leilah Wendell
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I am Gypsy by novemberrain
I am Gypsy , and I am a Viking King
A solitary sojourner, tomorrow bound
I am a traveler with no promised land
no ancient ancestral home fires butining warm for me
no welcoming embrace binds me to this place
no president , no pope . no emperor or high king
can count me subject . I seek what Osiris found
on some distant , long sundered shores, virgin sand
beyond the fast fleeing horizon my destiny
There is no treasure jeweled dream to which I cling
till I reach Valhalla's fabled halls. hallowed ground
Or pierce the clouds and upon Olympus stand
I follow our daly dying suns burning legacy
Picture faded walls frame memories replaces
the presents, past I've seen. Death where is thy sting?
Half remembered places echoing the faint sounds
of hauntingly familia strains. Unexplained.
Might we once have traveled in each others company?
Is that recognition in this strangers face.
Another dawn is raining from the sky, spring
cleansing waters revealing life's spiraling rounds
Will it show us singly gone or in joined hands
Finally facing with acceptance our reality?
And are the Seven Sisters Mothers to our race?
the children of zion
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Invocation of the Mother by Nightrain
I am the face of the Moon when it is full of light.
I am the Creator and Preserver,
Mother and Nurse,
Dea Creatrix and Dea Nutrix,
the Theotokos, the holy vessel,
the bearer of the white draft of fostering.
I have been known in other times as
Isis to the Memphites,
Gaea and Deo to the Helenes,
Danu and Brigid to the Hiberni,
and by many names which are now forgotten.
I am the fire that warms the hearth,
the goddess of the hearth and home,
the goddess of childbirth and motherhood.
I am she who lay with Iason in a thrice-plowed field.
I am she who bore Apollo under a palm tree.
I am she who nursed Horus from my own breast.
I am she who mourned for Adonis in the summer
and wept for Tammuz in the autumn.
I am she who sought for my daughter Kore in vain.
I am she who gathered the members of my husband
Osiris from the banks of the Nile.
And I am she who steered the barge of Artu to Avalon.
In the form of a woman, I am tall, and robed in green,
swelling and pregnant,
with the moon under my feet,
and a garland of stars in my hair.
In my left hand, I hold blades of corn,
and in my right, twining serpents.
But at times I take other shapes.
Some there are who have seen me
standing like a tree under heaven,
crowned with the Sun,
with my roots in the waters of the deep,
and the winds speaking in my leaves.
And from my branches
there spilled a golden dew
upon the barren earth,
and it grew green with corn.
I am the power of the gods in their seasons.
My tears are the rain, shed in pain and in laughter.
My breath is the wind, exhaled in ecstasy and in labor.
My heart is the fire that warms the hearth.
My body is the earth, thy womb and thy tomb.
Listen to the sighing of the Heavens to the Earth,
and of the Deeps to the Stars.
Hasten to me and I shall answer the Heavens
with the grain, and the wine, and the oil.
I will be thy goddess,
and thou shalt be my child.
Son of earth,
plunge yourself into the sea of matter
that is my body,
for it cradled you long ago.
You had thought to flee from me,
to live in a world of pure thought and spirit.
But you were like to have perished of hunger,
for I am the oil for you limbs,
the blood for your veins,
the water for your soul,
the world for your mind.
The Pharisees condemn me and waste away.
Wise men say, “Matter is dead, matter is evil,”
but their words are at variance with life,
and they perish in the deserts of their minds.
My path is not knowing,
but looking,
and touching,
and loving.
And these are my words,
the words which spell your liberation:
“This is my body.”
You have called me and I am here.
You have need of me in order to grow,
and I have need of you to be made holy.
Always you have desired me without knowing it.
Always I have been drawing you to me.
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Brighid of the mantle encompass us,
Lady of the Lambs protect us,
Keeper of the Hearth, kindle us,
Beneath your mantle, gather us,
And restore us to memory
Mothers of our mother,
Foremothers strong,
Guide our hands in yours
Remind us how
To kindle the hearth,
To keep it bright
To preserve the flame,
Your hands upon ours,
Our hands within yours,
To kindle the light,
Both day and night
The mantle of Brighid about us,
The memory of Brighid within us,
The protection of Brighid keeping us
From harm, from ignorance, from heartlessness,
This day and night,
From dawn till dark
From dark to dawn.
~Caitlin Matthews
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Ojibwa Prayer
Oh Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the winds
And whose breath gives life to everyone,
Hear me.
I come to you as one of your many children;
I am weak, I am small, I need your wisdom and your strength.
Let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes ever
behold the red and purple sunsets.
Make my hands respect the things you have made,
and make my ears sharp so I may hear your voice.
Make me wise, so that I may understand what you
have taught my people and
The lessons you have hidden in each leaf
and each rock.
I ask for wisdom and strength,
Not to be superior to my brothers, but to be able
to fight my greatest enemy, myself.
Make me ever ready to come before you with
clean hands and a straight eye,
So as life fades away as a fading sunset,
My spirit may come to you without shame.
-Author Unknown
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Mountain Lion
Mountainlion Ahead of me on a fork off Paradise Road
a slender moving muscle inside a lean coat
swaggers beside the high weeds,
knows I am behind him
yet
refuses to yield along golden California
brush and withering blue, red, and yellow
wildflowers.
His pace is easy, unhurried, full of
wild muscle being, I yearn to be like him
in stride and ambling joy, closed in
on himself like a meditating monk
with his breviary early in prayer.
I slow the motorcycle to a lion's crawl
and feel for the first time in months
the weight of my own tan skin, nappy,
wanting matted fur full of brambles.
A black snort pushes out from my helmet
and black tires melt to dark pads with
clicky claws on broken asphalt.
Mt lion My pulse matches the pace and rhythm of
panting cylinders and liquid lion in front
of me, now closer, its smell a subtle musk
of something recently killed and eaten
in the cold vapored morning air.
He is grand, serene and full of wild
indifference---my breath carries the scent
Of something animal killed and eaten,
Blood around the lips, heavy-eyed.
The engine purrs with hungry sounds
within me.
--Dennis Patrick Slattery (from Twisted Sky, Winchester Canyon Press, 2007).
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A Mighty Forest
Once our People,
And our Ways,
Were like a Mighty Forest.
For many of,
Thousands of years,
This Mighty Forest Stood Strong,
Then a Great Fire Came.
This Great Fire,
Destroyed most,
Of the Mighty Forest,
The Land was covered with ash.
For a lone time noting grew,
The few remaining Trees,
A lone and struggling to survive,
Until one day it began to Rain.
The Waters from the Rain,
Found Seeds,
Deep in the Earth,
That the Fire did not destroy.
The Seeds Swelling with the Water,
Began to Root,
In the Rich Ash mixed Soil,
With the Promise of Future Growth.
The Old Trees,
Who still held on,
Soon were standing,
Over a newly developing Forest.
Caring,
Watching,
Protecting,
Over our Future.
By: Robert James Etter Sept. 18, 2008
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A Faeries Love Song found by Night Raven
Why should I sit and sigh
Broo and bracken, broo and bracken
Why should I sit and sigh
All alone and weary
When I see the plover rising
Or the curlew wheeling
It's then I'll court my mortal lover
Back to me is stealing
When the moon begins her waning
I sit by the water
Where a man born of the sunlight
Loved the Faerie's daughter
Oh, but there is something wanting
O but I am weary
Coming blithe, now bonny treads he
O'er the knolls to cheer me
Events
Birthdays
Important (read & understand)
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Patchwork Merchant Mercenaries had its humble beginnings as an idea of a few artisans and craftsmen who enjoy performing with live steel fighting. As well as a patchwork quilt tent canvas. Most had prior military experience hence the name.
Patchwork Merchant Mercenaries.
Vendertainers that brought many things to a show and are know for helping out where ever they can.
As well as being a place where the older hand made items could be found made by them and enjoyed by all.
We expanded over the years to become well known at what we do. Now we represent over 100 artisans and craftsman that are well known in their venues and some just starting out. Some of their works have been premiered in TV, stage and movies on a regular basis.
Specializing in Medieval, Goth , Stage Film, BDFSM and Practitioner.
Patchwork Merchant Mercenaries a Dept of, Ask For IT was started by artists and former military veterans, and sword fighters, representing over 100 artisans, one who made his living traveling from fair to festival vending medieval wares. The majority of his customers are re-enactors, SCAdians and the like, looking to build their kit with period clothing, feast gear, adornments, etc.
Likewise, it is typical for these history-lovers to peruse the tent (aka mobile store front) and, upon finding something that pleases the eye, ask "Is this period?"
A deceitful query!! This is not a yes or no question. One must have a damn good understanding of European history (at least) from the fall of Rome to the mid-1600's to properly answer. Taking into account, also, the culture in which the querent is dressed is vitally important. You see, though it may be well within medieval period, it would be strange to see a Viking wearing a Caftan...or is it?
After a festival's time of answering weighty questions such as these, I'd sleep like a log! Only a mad man could possibly remember the place and time for each piece of kitchen ware, weaponry, cloth, and chain within a span of 1,000 years!! Surely there must be an easier way, a place where he could post all this knowledge...
Traveling Within The World is meant to be such a place. A place for all of these artists to keep in touch and directly interact with their fellow geeks and re-enactment hobbyists, their clientele.
© 2024 Created by Rev. Allen M. Drago ~ Traveler.
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