spring night — one hour worth
a thousand gold coins;
clear scent of flowers,
songs and flutes upstairs — threads of sound;
in the garden, a swing,
where night is deep and still.
— su tung-p’o (1037-1101ce)
photos by atomiczen in new zealand’s lake tekapo and tazmania’s cradle mountain
Art is the Weapon
I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST CRAYONS BUT THEN IT WASN’T
When I went to France for a family holiday i saw a guy walking his cat. It changed me.
Not Iambic….Do Not Accept…
These tags I’ll pop, and boast in rhyming verse
that what I wear puts swagger in my gait;
though twenty shillings have I in my purse,
my self-esteem and manhood both inflate
when lofty furs I purchase for a cent.
Thy grandpa’s clothes are worthy salvage, though
they smell a trifle musty. Still, I spent
much less to dress myself from head to toe.
To save or not to save? The question’s moot.
I’ll never give my coin to high-street crooks.
These dusty shelves will yield their hidden loot
to those, like me, more frugal in their looks.
Like ancient coins washed up on distant shores,
I’ll find my treasures in these thrifty stores.
- Macklemore, “Thrift Shoppe”
*Crying with laughter*
ITS IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER. SWEET JESUS THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE THING.
THIS IS THE MOST BRILLIANT POSY I HAVE EVER SEEN.
Guys, that’s not only Iambic, that’s a fucking sonnet. *claps*