Elegy Stories

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 𝑺𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒛𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒏. 𝑨 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆, 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔. He calls me September when he looks deep into my eyes. He calls me September when he looks away in annoyance. And when we meet again, after all the seasons between us, he pulls me into his arms and whispers- "𝑺𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆." Perhaps I was never just a month to him. Perhaps I was every ending that carried the promise of beginning again. Perhaps I was September-making him warm and cold at the same time. Or perhaps I was simply a 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 he is trying, as a 𝒎𝒂𝒏, to understand. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 𝑨 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒚 𝑽𝒊𝒅𝒂𝑽𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒐, 𝑺𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔

REVISED EDITION! MORE POEMS AND SHORT STORIES ARE YET TO COME! READ AND ENJOY!

Fever & Frost: Poems of a Contradictory Heart

Loosing a loved one is indeed a very painful scenario. But what makes it more and more painful? Well, I think if you haven't told that person how much you loved him/her. 💔

Poem made for Bob Ross

Fixing paralysis.

A collection of short poems. Each poem has a theme to which each stanza describes something about. "Childhood" conveys the wondrous world of being (very) young and how growing up destroys magnificent aspects of the freedom and innocence of youth. "The Legend of Snow White" is simply my version of the famous Magic Mirror's foresight that Snow White will grow to be more beautiful than the Evil Queen. *Although I am not used to poetry and prefer writing fiction works, I enjoy reading some poems, and have started making little poems of my own (which I know are quite terrible). Also, I took a college course called Introduction to Creative Writing, so I've posted my works from there, as well.

What Inscription Means Now A Meditation on Heritage, Silence, and the Unprotected Wild They wrote it in gold letters: Outstanding Universal Value. On South Africa's Cape Peninsula-a UNESCO World Heritage Site, a protected landscape of ancient fynbos and impossible beauty-baboons are being erased. Chased from dawn to dusk by paintball-wielding monitors. Shot in roosting sites and on the mountain that is meant to be their home. Buried in unmarked graves. Scheduled for enclosures euphemistically called "sanctuaries," with euthanasia protocols built into the fine print. And those who object are told: speak, and we take the better option away. This prose poem is a refusal of that silence. It is a cartography of the lost-the dispersing males who crossed invisible lines, the troops buried in soft sand, the euthanised whose deaths are spoken of only in passive voice. It is a meditation on what heritage means when protection can be revoked the moment it becomes inconvenient. It is an act of witness when all democratic channels have emptied into bureaucratic sand. What does aversion teach when there is nowhere left to go? For the baboons still running through a home that no longer answers when they ask where they can be. For those who cannot stay silent. For those who keep records. For those who grieve. For what inscription should have meant. This happened/is happening. It has a name. Look. Image courtesy of: Robert Sachowski on Unsplash Cover created with the assistance of Canva.com

The Elegy of a girl..Read this and let it unfurl. ©215253saphire

"Goodbye is only truly painful if you know you'll never say hello again!" ~Anonymous

Poetry

A collection of verse, including a poem which is also a Drabble (100 words) with Mythic Greek influence, and followed by humour, horror and fantasy in varying doses as my entry for the 2012 Atty Awards

Its a collection of sad poems filled with rage

We won't journey on forever. Someday, our dreams will cease to exist. But I believe that fantasy turns to reality- when we learn to submit- at our breaking point. We need to wake up. We can't live in fantasy

Five poems for the Cape Peninsula's chacma baboons, written from the fault line between two oceans and one grief. A migrant's arrival at the Atlantic becomes a witness's reckoning with a killing order - the Waterfall troop, the Creamies, the numbers that don't tally. Where Two Oceans Grieve moves from indictment through interior stillness to the shore where grief becomes a compass, not an ending. For the Amby's - still here, still watching, still waiting to be counted as who they are.