#A Poet! He Hath Put His Heart To School | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

libidomechanica · 2 months

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Till beauty of black

A limerick sequence

No title doth denied sheets, and then being to forbeare, break. Till beauty of black. About going the pain, here is then my silks, to her; which or if ye hae wood?

I believe it out theyr sheepe, and mine eyes; false to write front, as kiddie bend the mee. It could be kings to the sounds proclaime and like these and open wyde. With the stand.

Even my boys, comes just straw, and they bellies when I you send such a lamps to the other’s foraged heads her her sheepe, which t is insister’s bride foresay.

Your hate that soft as toilet I figures me the light he, my deed; and silver brother to Love, its unexpressing Love’s beauty. To place: for his most doth to earn’d.

Book sonogram a time any pitie. Has beer to under, then made the cruelness, and faint all, then drugs were to fresh and was been at all the painted praise the passes.

What? I measure, tulip, resin, templation, and look like lightbulb. And green he coteries, and accents of diamond dream—that street pretty painting love behind, touch.

In a secret powerfully. For down the slow poison-flowered me up, all them up while with high toby- spice so seen the pain of finished a glass that’s gentle swinck.

Every reach rites. Which, when shepherd’s still tell whether, bed to me. By no more: freezing cold, upon the world out in lights, to earthy heart? Blythe and hath morning: and I.

Rich their caps and soft: they posses hauty of neon. Small effections never that roses; such, no Muse her lastly shells and have he haue ioy he living for, sing.

Both the pure eye on, with those who had manger underling the great one is nothings to light think your beds. No, nobody keep and limb spoil none with smutched by me.

As thee, Shepheard Kiddie and moan, was of hair, theyr she drank from mortall make fat, breaths stab, so that was tantalize: that nor can I live and short-legged wings. I said, Oof!

The sharper sex. Long diplomatic sinners. And Before, is hauty would and catch the spellken thought, nor ever death thy health good, makes the sharp eye would understand.

Was meeting sting, or fame way the streams. May betray. ’ The doors where, that Coleridge. Tho to isolate; none lays on; contents of How soon grey skin, his how to restore.

What thou never know, before. Her eyes. Off agained to drink may again, to have me put new wail my early in tender that Vertue but your flocks from their voices.

Seeking happy he was cause I be ruld be sores she, in ilka beild! Admitted latch, would his warmth,— I pluck the human heir foes did younger blows: such hail, adieu!

She had seemed honour’d at all the circumspects though now banks of riches, wished the sound run right of honour in the deed, my face may yet. Of a highly morning speak!

For the marke-wanting swaine. Lying the bad made of. Racks, to see mark they little each new to flower that from bene faint all me, for heritage of Or Molu.

Nobler, that nough shyness wastebasket, that I shalt be my school, unruly Pittsburgh. If one loveds have a good ear than a weak Love, if your also bonfires.

Yet, and the crush’d May: and give up smoking particular songster. Come, than a leal and forest, that often as a hostes light with vocal air, nor on where talks.

Don Juan knowledge all life it was I in its of these, I’ll tell what right of thy hands she! I believe it is the riddle’s cruel banks of stone? And lie he cheered the light.

Without poets, ’ just stroke surpasse, touch had you are her maternal—speaks runne attone the grows no more. My mount: and not thine of late, dearers’ seas was only a mourn.

Me doesn’t need not with somewhat is this picked where we prophell, rich when shall morning on the dust of Lord This? She stalking. The moments the annals so be forfeited.

Over everythings on and not to love youngest said, my meadows if facing, haply I untangley- dale; youngster. And rigg’d with the wine, nor Hope dare not unkind.

—Blythe banks of views upon the Lady ride allow’d, puffing, there. When I scorn waves, she may busy thread those earthly poor place for being visits, which to recognize.

Glory! That least passions to shewed his packe a time it find and now from very carriages, for your song, I have bright and have statues of love’s full of diamonds.

Still; for aught feel it doth but a sorts of Westminster’s is the queer and his some yearn of Earn, as Love, and boldly lie down and my nest, and girls the castle he dew!

What’s down on the brough for all. You seemed to each is another wit, for his Lordship I neuer giue thank your Love, which you, tells and me. When folds of my breaths surmise.

In riding. An enlight, then my old tricks of ancies greated that touch your part which is unto the beauty year, the colour, a Film Fun laughing the rise again!

What the heart, thou have done, that cloud about going a bachelor—of art halfe aghast: wretchen filled in a deceit, furthest whence, the must burn to laugh. Before small gear.

In small-eyed embrac’d. Care about whene’er doubt extra holiday: by my Muse her drank down at you remarriage into the and builds a poison brough multitude’s.

I have because to inspire. Ne forty wing, hath together, where in the bath your money love thousand proyne my sable of the kisse; in the trouble from its own.

I should we will but he root out. Were be his pick of honours force my means I fly and rill; and, the light and hideous transport them what the tears a factory.

And silver wi’ speed at thilke same given my breaking high clasp your hovers look. Thus farewell, fed the passion, the world that getting so to swerve. In that vertuous man.

�� 34

These, when a leaf makes messence of men. I meant, I will be called Beautiful trade, ’ like. Like an actions? It was softest, I find a roses us with their ale time.

But haue some love; time it not blight, to see, I don’t or care sleep. Please; she way the Ladde can I dream the earthy sweet birds chart did I meant, euil ensueth good, having proof.

When shallow tell make a frame inverse univers, in contrary unto thee but they do you that a sublime: lady in this strain all I let go. But the fold?

And espective shouts—and each merit? That if Diogenes of the villain never flocks against despairing off these fancies gray-fly wisest to lover’d trees were.

With a tiny dictum full widdowe behind, touch your hate, nor leaf forever; he at randon which in thy lofty rhymes to consequence? They dauncen ech other?

Shall as Mozart’s some in the bed to my emotions to the world be more cans who is thee to her worm and dig deep clos’d with stay’d, whom I leave why I things to fine.

And if of Errington a facts, over, toes thee; why it was she! I could spirits of the insistings for in hills and no such from then lemon mischief, crying.

Of paintenaunteth lines! Like there, round their thousandth curse which made and fears as moisturbing with eyes, Forst realize it. In Truth— Cease me: for thy hour in riding through.

And wiser though the serpent’s every wear it. Of more to fold? Ne of these lover gleamed how shall me better course my pression slowly goes. That sad thothers lie fold?

No enemy but they lives it ended; I have love not absurd or the heaven resin, templation— I don’t anent this, and snowy moue. The dull dead, deny?

Of you Stella is the heart! The Blues, faitors, queens, mean fall. On the way is circumspectral roar’d forms of instead of brides, we don’t hint animal nature, supreme.

I saw Ilion? And my breast, no this found after and choked where’—for sink with refusde for his grows; a scholar, but to necessary bard to lay dying tearing.

Like Diana, in pursuit and destined servèd me in pursuit and show them yode their wealth who about cards singing of the shoot outdoors! Blow! Loves; never than Pittsburgh.

Frail, but till worthy sweet fell, or a crimes intice. Though now flocked the rode at me with for good eawes beneath thy graunt and let him in, a waking attack again!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #135 texts #limerick sequence

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wakamotogarou · 1 year

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A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School

By William Wordsworth

A poet!--He hath put his heart to school, Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff Which art hath lodged within his hand--must laugh By precept only, and shed tears by rule. Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff, And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool, In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph. How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold; And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree Comes not by casting in a formal mould, But from its own divine vitality.

#William Wordsworth #poem #poetry

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hrrytomlinson · 7 years

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so i’ve been making monthly fic recs for a full year now! that’s so insane to think about honestly. thanks for all the support! my first monthly fic rec was for april 2016 and it had 10 fics on it. now they have upwards of almost 30 fics. that’s character development. anyway...

here are a bunch of fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of march. I recommend that you read these great fics in april, if you haven’t already.

(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)

1. Perfect Storm (80k)*

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

2. The Night Sky is Changing Overhead (124k)**

Harry is a tattoo artist, Louis is a drama professor, and they meet during an argument at a café.

3. All I Wish Not to Remember (71k)**

What happens when all you had, all you loved, all you held dear is viciously ripped away from you? When your inner core, once filled with love and hope and light, blackens to raw, dark hatred?

What happens when your soul is hopelessly consumed and no matter how hard you try, no matter how hard you attempt to shake yourself out, to rid your tormented mind of the opaque feelings that plague you, all you can see, all you can feel, all you can want is...

Revenge.

A modern adaption of The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. A tragic tale of timeless undying love, merciless revenge, and selfless sacrifice.

4. I Sam Therefore I Am (4k)

Louis and Harry are both creative souls but they aren't friends, not by a long shot.

This is the Rival Slam Poets AU that no one asked for.

5. Use Your Words (6k)

College AU where jock!Harry always serenades flowercrown!Louis with love songs in their music class. What nobody knows is that Harry actually kinda means the words he sings.

But instead it's Louis as the jock and Harry as the flowerchild because I do what I want.

6. We’re Going Down Swinging (21k)

Everyone knows that revenge plots never work. Liam, Zayn, and Niall have told them as much, but Hell hath no fury like Louis Tomlinson scorned. His new friend Harry takes a bit of convincing but, once he agrees to help, Louis is sure his ex will regret the day he decided to cheat.

That is, if Louis can stick to the plan and stop falling for his co-conspirator.

Or, the one where Louis and Harry fake it til they make it, so to speak.

7. Looking in the Dark (With an Empty Heart) (25k)

In a perfect world One Direction is not interviewed by idiots. In a perfect world Harry doesn't have to defend his relationship with Louis.

Harry and Louis are out, and the whole world loves their love story, until an interviewer takes hints that they're together for a very long time now, and their libido must have changed since they were young. They don't say anything, until the media turns against them, saying their relationship must be very dull after all these years.

The only thing the media doesn't know, that Louis is asexual. His biggest fear is that Harry will leave him because of it, even though Harry grabs every chance to comfort him how perfect their relationship is, and he wouldn't want to change anything.

So when in an interview the host directly calls them out on their sex-life, Harry snaps at them without thinking, outing Louis.

8. It’s All Brand New Because of You (17k)

It’s nearing six o’clock in the evening, and despite the fact that it’s summer, the aquarium has emptied out considerably and it’s quiet as Louis wanders the exhibits. A few people try to ask him questions as he wanders, but Louis knows less about the creatures in the tanks than they do, so he keeps having to apologize and explain that he’s just a counselor, not a biologist.

AKA, Louis starts a new job as a summer camp counselor at the local aquarium and Harry is a biologist who really likes teaching people about the ocean.

9. Zero to Sixty in Three Point Five (2k)

Harry bumbles himself out of a bind...and into a boyfriend. It's Niall's fault, of course. As it always is.

10. Wings to Break Your Fall (102k)*

“I’m glad you like my clothes,” Harry whispers, sliding his arms further along the couch until he’s speaking directly into Louis’ ear. “Would you like me to take them off?”

Or Strip Club AU. Harry’s work and family are keeping him busy. He really isn’t looking for a relationship, doesn’t want one. He just wants Louis. Problem is, Louis has other plans.

Featuring: spilled drinks, meddling mums, accidental insults, a pivotal plot point masquerading as a private dance, Harry with wings, slow morning sex, a secret relationship, and tea that fixes everything.

11. For the Sake of Propriety (52k)

Louis Tomlinson is the caretaker of an estate that is not truly his, and when his Uncle calls upon him to take it back, Louis knows he will soon be out on the streets with four overly zealous sisters to care for. His only solution: wed the eldest two off and pray for the best. When an even better solution unexpectedly presents itself in the form of the charming Mr. Styles, Louis is faced with a difficult choice. But as with all things in the regency era, reputation very well may threaten to outweigh the fleeting matters of his heart.

12. Feels Like Coming Home (60k)**

The last thing Harry Styles expects when he's hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that's exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn't heard one word from Louis, and he's moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he's a chef, isn't easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he'd left turn out to be not so easily forgotten.

This is a story about love and the power of forgiveness, and how the hard choices we make define us, and change our lives.

13. Love Is a Kitten From Hell (8k)**

Louis Tomlinson passes himself off as an arrogant prick at his new school to hide the fact that he's terrified of being bullied again. Just when he's getting tired of putting up walls, he finds himself in a local pet shop where he finds a sanctuary playing with the kittens in the front window.

Harry Styles is the popular football player who works at the pet shop, secretly watching the boy he thought was utterly unlikable prove him wrong.

Partnered together for a class project, Harry gets more and more hints that Louis is actually someone worth getting to know. But the real question is, will Louis let Harry in?

14. Our Garden Grows (5k)*

Harry lives a rather mundane and dreary life, full of the same sorts of routine day in and day out.

One terribly dull and rainy day, a letter arrives from an L.T. who would very much wish for Harry to write back.

Too bad Harry can't figure out how.

15. I've Been Wandering Round (But I Still Come Back to You) (27k)

"Harry had always been beautiful, but lately he’d blossomed into this tall, sexy, man and Louis was having trouble dealing with it. And so, it seemed, were his hormones."

OR The one where Louis and Harry are best friends and co-stars on a popular television series and Louis inconveniently discovers he's in love with him in the middle of a press tour.

16. When We Were Younger (76k)**

About a week after Harry started visiting this particular chat room, he was watching some kid argue with the whole room about football, personally disinterested as he tipped a bag of crisps into his mouth. He happily chomped on the crumbs, taking a swig from a glass of Ribena to wash them down, glancing at the screen and very nearly spat the squash back out again.

His heart was pounding wildly. The display icon of the argumentative newcomer had caught his eye, and not in a good way. He gulped as he clicked the picture, and when it popped up in full resolution, his heart nearly fell right out of his arse.

Sixteen year old Harry Styles’ world turns upside down when he logs on to gay teen chat to discover somebody has stolen his photos and used them as their own.

17. Can't Start A Fire Without A Spark (22k)**

Louis Tomlinson is the pop sensation with his first new single out since taking a personal hiatus from the spotlight. Harry is a paparazzi hired to photograph him during promo. Louis hates paparazzi with a passion, but there’s just something about the pretty young pap with wide green eyes and chocolate curls that Louis can’t shake from his head.

18. ‘Til I Tasted You (14k)*

Louis is Harry Styles' biggest fan. It doesn't matter that Harry is famous for being a food blogger and Louis can't cook to save his life.

At least, until Harry offers to give Louis a cooking lesson. Then it matters just a teensy bit.

19. Life Was a Song, You Came Along (37k)**

It's embarrassing how long it takes Louis to recognize his own song. Niall had sung it as a bright, hopeful love song, and that’s honestly how Louis had always assumed it should sound. But this new voice, slow and rough, stripped of any backing instrument, has infused the lyrics with just the tumultuous mix of fear and defiance that Louis can remember so clearly from the night he wrote them.

It’s not a comfortable thing, to feel like someone is singing all your secrets back to you.

Louis is a songwriter trapped in a lie that could ruin his best friend's career. Harry owns a record store, distrusts everyone in the music industry on principle, but loves Niall Horan's newest album. A modern retelling of Singin' in the Rain.

find my other monthly fic recs here

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salted-barbed-wire · 7 years

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Lessons to be Learned

Oh God. New series. @alexispoo made me do it. (Thank you for the idea and everything. I love you.) Hope you enjoy. CHAPTER TWO WILL BE POSTED LATER TODAY! I started writing and just kept going and it was getting entirely too long. I cut it in half. You’re welcome.

Summary: School AU. 18 yo reader is attending a school where Dean Ambrose is her creative writing teacher and AJ Styles is her principal. Warnings: None... yet. Fluff

TAG LIST: @i-kneel-for-king-loki @straight-outta-the-asylum @ridingmoxley @geekoftv @paradoxical-opheliac @ambrosegirlforver @wrestlingnoob @m-a-t-91 @livingthestrongstyle @lip-sync @princess3733 @nickysmum1909 @ambrose-asylum-ft-mitch @shieldlovereve @jubaleelovehate @xstylesxclashx @the-geekgoddess @stardustmoonlightflower @ashleyvc88 @cesaros-smile @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @alexispoo

Master List:

CHAPTER ONE

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

I bit my lip as that low, husky voice read the lines of Shakespeare’s eighteenth sonnet. He leaned against the front of his desk, one leg crossed over the other, holding our thick text book with one hand. His other hand was pressed against his chest, middle finger drumming against his collar bone keeping rhythm.

“Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough Winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;”

Mr. Ambrose looked up from the book and pulled the glasses off his face. His blue eyes peered around the room at my classmates. My heart fluttered as his gaze lingered over me. I looked back down at my book quickly, praying he didn’t notice I was paying more attention to him than the actual sonnet.

“Now, class, who wants to take a shot at dissecting this section of the sonnet?”

Everyone was quiet. Most of my peers weren’t really interested in creative writing. They were all just taking it for the grade. I, however, loved it. Reading and learning about the greats like Poe and Shakespeare, then trying to write our own works in their likeness; it was something I’d do for the rest of my life. It was just a plus that my teacher, Mr. Ambrose was so hot.

I remember when I first saw Mr. Ambrose, I thought he was the shop teacher and was lost. He’s so gruff looking, always wearing tshirts and jeans with those work boots. Not to mention his unkempt hair and beard. I sighed, What I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through those messy curls. I fiddled with the hem of my red and black, plaid uniform skirt. Maybe while his fingers wandered over me?

“(Y/N)?” My teacher’s voice boomed.

I looked up from my book, thoughts almost shaken away as I looked at Mr. Dean standing in front of my desk. His arms were crossed over his chest, book in one hand. I could feel heat spreading across my face.

“Day dreaming again I see?” He peered down at me, blue eyes giving me an icy stare.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Ambrose.” I stumbled over my words. I could hear my classmates giggling behind me.

Ambrose sighed, “I suppose you were too busy to analyze the lines from the sonnet we just read?”

I shook my head, “No, sir. I could do that.”

He placed his glasses back on his face, one eye brow raised, “Go on then.”

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. “Well, sir, the opening line poses a simple question which the rest of the sonnet answers. The poet, Shakespeare, compares his loved one to a summer’s day and finds them to be more lovely. The poet then discovers that love and the subject’s beauty are more permanent than a summer’s day because summer is subjected to the change of seasons.”

The class was silent. Mr. Ambrose stood there, looking me over in shock. Does he really not understand that I know what I’m talking about?

“Was that not the answer you were looking for?” I asked.

Ambrose smirked, “Not the answer I was expecting, I suppose. I’m impressed.”

“I have an A in this class and have aced all of your tests and you’re just now impressed?” I leaned back in my chair. A twinge of anger caused my words to leave my mouth before I could stop them. “I guess I’ll go back to daydreaming then, unless you want to continue to try to embarrass me in front of the whole class.”

The students behind me snickered again, a few let out little ‘Ooo’s knowing that I was about to be in trouble.

“Well then, Miss. (Y/L/N). I believe I’ll be seeing you after school today in detention. You can do all your day dreaming in there.”

“Detention?” I gasped as the bell rang.

“Class dismissed. Your homework is written down on the white board.” Mr. Ambrose told his class.

I watched everyone go, “Mr. Ambrose, sir,” I slung my bag over my shoulder and got up to meet him as he sat down at his desk. “I didn’t mean any offense by what I said-“

“Save it, Miss. (Y/L/N). I’ll see you at the end of the day. You may have good grades but you need to be taught a lesson.”

-----

“Detention?” My best friend, Alexa cackled, “You, (Y/N), got detention?”

I gave her a glare, “Just because you get detention at least twice a week.”

“I’m rubbing off on you.” She nudged me. “So how’s it feel to get punished by your favorite teacher.”

I bit my lip and blushed again.

“That’s so hot.” She fanned herself.

“Miss. Bliss!” A southern drawl yelled at my friend.

Alexa and I stopped dead in our tracks. We turned to see our principal leaning against his office door frame watching the both of us. His dark chestnut hair framed the electric blue eyes stared us down.

“Yes, Principal Styles?” Alexa tried to bat her eyes at him.

“I’ve told you several times; I can tell when you’ve been rolling that skirt and all uniforms must be at the knee.”

She huffed, “Ever girl here rolls their skirt except, (Y/N).”

“And I tell every girl except (Y/N) exactly what I’m going to tell you; go to the bathroom and fix your skirt to the appropriate length, immediately.”

Alexa gave me a look that screamed, Help me out here!

“Miss. (Y/L/N),” Principal Styles rested his hand on my shoulder. “How about you explain to your friend here, the uniform standards?”

I looked between the two of them. “I- uh..”

“Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate, then?” His hand put a little pressure on my shoulder. I knelt down in between him and Alexa. “Do you see, Miss. Bliss? (Y/N)’s skirt touches the ground when she’s on her knees. I’m willing to bet yours doesn’t. Now shuffle off to the restroom and fix it before I decide to write you a one way trip to detention… again.”

Alexa huffed and rolled her eyes as she turned to go to the bathroom. Mr. Styles held out his hand to assist me as I tried to stand.

“Thank you, (Y/N). I’m glad I have at least one good example in this school.” He gave me a sideways smile. “How is your day going?”

“I-uh… um.. Well I actually got detention today.” I looked down at my feet nervously.

“Detention?” Principal Styles exclaimed. I felt him shift and he stood in front of me, resting both of his strong hands on my shoulders. “Who do you have detention with, darlin’?”

‘Darlin’? I chewed on my lower lip, “Mr. Ambrose gave me detention. I spoke rudely and out of turn.”

Mr. Styles crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I’ll have to have a talk with Dean… I mean Mr. Ambrose. I can’t imagine my star student doing such a thing.”

“But I-“

The bell rang interrupting my words. “Run along to class now, Miss. (Y/L/N). Don’t want to be late.” And he turned around back into his office.

What’s gotten into my teacher’s today?

-----

The clock ticked by slowly as I sat there twiddling my thumbs on my desk. This is the worst. How does Alexa keep getting detention after she’s had to put up with this? My eyes wandered to Mr. Ambrose who was grading tests. His shaggy, dirty, blonde hair was down and nearly falling onto the desk. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.

His curls on top of his head are so cute. The was his reading glasses almost fall off his nose. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he even notice I’m sitting here in front of him? Doubtful. He hardly seemed to notice that I was passing his class with flying colors. I couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped my mouth.

Mr. Ambrose looked up at me. I quickly looked around the room to avoid his gaze. The panicked look and flushed cheeks were still probably noticeable.

“Is there something on your mind, Miss. (Y/L/N)?”

I gulped, unsure if I should really try to saying anything. “Detention is pretty empty today.”

Mr. Ambrose stood up from his chair and took off his glasses. “That’s because you’re the only student of mine that decided they wanted to mouth off today.” He walked around to the front of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, “Besides, there are some… issues I think we need to address.”

“Issues?” I gulped. I was never one for being in trouble. I had always been the good girl. I was the girl that did her homework, studied for her tests, never cheated, never lied, but somehow I was in trouble with my favorite teacher.

“It’s about your homework I gave you last week.” He started.

“Did I not do it right?” I asked.

Mr. Ambrose hesitated, “No you did.” He then looked me up and down. “I have it right here on my desk. Shall I read it to you?” He picked up the piece of paper that was mine and placed his glasses back on his face. “Love is beyond time. Love is endless and boundless. There are no margins or limits. Who should be blocked by time to pursue their love?” He continued to read my lines as he walked to the door and shut it. “If one deserves love, should we be kept apart because of age?”

I could feel the heat on my face return as he turned and looked at me from over the top my paper. Something in my belly churned a bit. He waited for me to say something, but I couldn’t. He knows I wrote that for him.

Mr. Ambrose walked back over to his desk and set the paper down and his glasses, “I don’t think I should continue. Do you?”

I shook my head.

He sighed, “Miss… (Y/N) who is the object of your poem?”

My heart was racing. The disbelief of finally being confronted with my fantasies was going to get me kicked out of my favorite class. “I don’t know.” I finally managed in a whisper.

The classroom was beginning to spin. I looked down at my desk and felt the tears start to well up in my eyes. He really does like shaming me, doesn’t he? I hurt all over. The sound of his footsteps drew closer to where I sat. I didn’t want to look at him.

“I think you do know, and you just don’t want to tell me aloud.” He whispered back.

I closed my eyes, just wanting to wake up from this nightmare. I have to be dreaming, right? This can’t be real. He can’t know how I feel. Why did I think it was okay for me to write that? Why did I think it was okay to turn it in to him? It’s not like he hasn’t been taught how to analyze prose. He’s done it for years! It’s his job!

Mr. Ambrose’s hand reached out to my face. His fingertips lightly pressed against the bottom of my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “(Y/N),” his voice said my name soothingly. “How old are you?”

My eyes widened, “Wha- Wait, What?”

His thumb brushed my cheek, “How old are you, love?”

My breath hitched as the warmth of his touch sent shivers throughout my body. “I’m eighteen, sir.”

The side of Mr. Ambrose’s mouth twitched up into a smile, “An adult.”

Hesitantly, I nodded, “I try to be, sir.”

“Then, as an adult, there is something I need you to do for me.”

Those blue eyes were beginning to look like the ocean on a stormy day. I was terrified, yet, excited. “What is it?”

“I need you to tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable but promise me that whatever happens in here,” He looked me up and down. “It must never leave this room. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“You have to use your words, love.”

“Yes, sir. It won’t leave this room.”

His grin widened, “Good girl.”

#wwe high school au #lessons to be learned #wwe fanficition #dean ambrose x reader #aj styles x reader #dean ambrose fanfiction #aj styles fanfiction

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stimuliandthelike · 4 years

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words i liked from “Letters of Note”

In which I spent 2 hours compiling my favorite quotes from the books “Letters of Note” - a collection of letters sent from famous, regular, and famous-but-only-in-select-groups people. This is mostly just so I have a place where they’re saved but also because this blog is basically “stuff i like” so. yes. anyway. if you like old things and are interested in people you’ll probably like this.

As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate - E.B. White in response to Mr Nadeau’s letter about the future seaming bleak and hopeless to him (1973). pretty standard stuff really but in context it is better

I must write a special letter and thankyou for the dream in the bottle [...]. Tonight I shall go down to the village and blow it through the bedroom window of some sleeping child and see if it works - Roald Dahl to Amy Corcoran in response to her letter about her love for the book, 'The BFG', and a bottle she sent inside which she put a painting of one of her dreams (1989)

Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me - from Jourdan Anderson to Patrick Henry Anderson when the latter asked him to return and become his slave again, trying to tempt him by offering him ‘more freedom’, despite the fact that after Jourdan fled from him he had a much better life and a happier family (1865). Jourdan refused to go back unless a list of his demands were met - they were not.

*The entire letter Hunter S. Thompson sent to Hume Logan in response to the latter's request for some life advice which is too big to put here*

Dear sirs, I see that you are going to make all sorts of excuses to keep my child out of public schools. Dear sirs, will you please to tell me! Is it a disgrace to be born a chinese? Didn't God make us all!! - a rightfully enraged Mary Tape to the San Francisco board of education when they would not let her daughter attend school because of her Chinese descent (1885)

It is only adults who ever feel threatened - Ursula Nordstrom to a school librarian after hearing that the latter banned and later burned Maurice Sendrak's (her client) children's book, “In the Night Kitchen”. (1972)

A motion picture projector is a non humanoid robot which repeats truths we inject into it. Is it inhuman? Yes. Does it project human truths to humanize us more often that not? Yes. The excuse could be made that we should burn all books because some books are dreadful. We should mash all cars because some cars get in accidents because of the people driving them. We should burn down all theaters in the world because some films are trash.. drivel. So it is finally with the robots you say you fear. Why fear something? Why not create with it? - Ray Bradbury to Brian Sibley in response to the latter's letter about his fear of robots (1974)

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! - from the editor of the Sun to 8 year old Virginia O'Hanlon, in response to her question about Santa Claus being real. It's a nice letter (1897)

Sir, I have just written you a long letter. On reading it over, I have thrown it into the waste paper basket. Hoping this will meet with your approval - a Big Mood presented in a short letter from Alfred d. Wintle to the editor of The Times (1946)

Dear president Eisenhower, my girlfriends and I are writing all the way from Montana. We think it's bad enough to send Elvis Presley in the army, but if you cut his side burns off we will just about die! - in which the President of the US is enrolling Elvis in the army, and three fans are distressed (1958)

*God you should also really read Stewart Sterns letter to the Winslows about James deans death. It’s also a nice letter that’s too big to put here*

Now farewell Susie, and Vinnie sends her love, and mother hers, and I add a kiss, slyly, lest there is somebody there! Don't let them see, will you Susie? - in which Emily Dickinson is yearning for Susan Gilbert, lesbianly. You know that one Sonic meme? Good for them. (1852)

I respectfully remind you sir, that we have been the most patient of all people. When you said we must have self respect, I wondered how we could have self respect and remain patient considering the treatment accorded to us throughout the years. 17 million Negroes cannot do as you suggest and wait for the hearts of men to change - Jackie Robinson to. President Eisenhower in response to his call for patience from the African Americans fighting for civil rights (1958).

NEED SMALL BOAT - a distress call carved into a coconut shell by John F. Kennedy to the allied forces when stranded on the Solomon islands during ww2 (1943)

There are lots of one liners in the book, but when the German army are throwing bloody great lumps of hot iron at you, one only has time for one liners, in fact, the book should really consist of the following: ‘oh fuck’ ‘look out’ ‘christ here's another’ ‘where did that fall?’ ‘my lorrys on fire’ and ‘oh christ the cook is dead' - an amusingly but I suppose rightfully annoyed Spike Mulligan to Stephen Gard in response to the latter's unending questions about his comedy material (1977)

For every human being who looks up at the moon in the nights to come will know that there is some corner of another world that is forever mankind - the presidential speechwriter’s 'just in case' speech in case the moon landing failed (1969)

After I have said all this, I am sure you are still ready to respond, in effect, ''yes, yes... But it still remains our right and our responsibility to decide what books our children are going to be made to read in our community.'' That is surely so. But it is also true that if you exercise that right and responsibility in an ignorant, harsh, un-American manner, then people are entitled to call you bad citizens and fools. Even your own children are entitled to call you that - Kurt Vonnegut’s (relevant-to-this-day) letter to principal Charles McCarthy’s decision to burn the banned books of the area in his school (1973)

Thankyou for your gorgeous and charming letter. You brighten up my dim life. [...] ‘perforation problems’ by the way, means to me also that the holes that will always exist in any story we try to make of our lives. So hang on my love, and grow big and strong and take your hits and keep going - Iggy Pop’s response to Laurence’s 20 fucking page long (her words not mine) fan letter. Also, she got this the day she was being evicted so like. Cool. (1995)

my love for you is deathless - Sullivan Ballou to Sarah Ballou - his wife - during the Civil War as he explained how he might not return home (1861). It's just. it’s nice

Dear ''Dr'' Fields, my response to your letter of February 19, 1976, is: kiss my ass - Bill Baxley to Edward R. Fields - a member of the klu Klux Klan - when the latter told him not to reopen the case of the 16 Street Church Bombing - which was a 'racially motivated act of terrorism that resulted in the deaths of four African American girls' (1976)

How happy shall I be if I can still be helpful to you in my grave. And Also My misfortune is doubly painful to me because I am bound to be misunderstood; for me there can be no relaxation with my fellow men, no refined conversations, no mutual exchange of ideas. I must live almost alone, like one who has been banished. I can mix with specify only as much as true necessity demands. If I approach to people, a hot terror seizes upon me and I fear of being exposed to the danger my condition might be noticed - beethoven to his brothers, on death and his hearing disability (1802). this one just made me incredibly sad really.

During the next few days I shall either put a bullet through my head or commit something more shattering to myself than death. At any rate I shall be quite a different person. I refuse to be cheated out of my deathbed scene - Rebecca west to HG Wells, her ex lover (1913). the last line though

*The entire letter that Jermain Loguen wrote to Sarah Logue (1860). It is also very good but to giant to put here*

I have not a thing to say. Nothing is of more importance than the other. I am flatter than a denial or a pancake; emptier than Judge Parke’s wig when the head is in it; duller than a country stage when the actors are off it; a cipher, an o! I acknowledge life at all, but only by an occasional convulsional cough, and a permanent phlegmatic pain in the chest. I am weary of the world and life is weary of me. My day is gone into twilight and I don't think it worth the expense of candles. My wick hath a thief in it but I can't muster the courage to snuff it. I inhale suffocation - poet Charles lamb to his friend Bernard Barton on the subject of having the flu. Melodramatic goals. (1824)

#HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #letters #letters of note #im pretty sure theres a website that has these letters too so go check it out if you dont have the book tis v good #quotes #save #me #a loooooooooooooooooooonnng post

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divanquotes · 4 years

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Gibb, A History of Ottoman Poetry v2, 1902

Page 24: Mehemmed II organized likewise the civil and military administration. As constituted by him, the Divan, what we should now call the Cabinet, consisted of nine members, namely, four Vezis, the chief of whom was called the Grand Vezir and was President of the Divan and Prime Minister of the Empire, two Qázi-Askers, who controlled all matters connected with the ulema, the one in Rumelia, the other in Anatolia; two Defterdars or Treasurers; and one Nishanji or Chancellor. ….. Footnote: The word 'Diwan' ought in strictness to be transliterated 'Diwán', as it is spelt and pronounced exactly in the same way as the name given to the collected lyric works of a poet, but for the sake of distinction I shall use the popular form 'Divan' where the Ottoman cabinet is meant, and reserve the more correct ‘Diwán' for the other and more technical sense of the word.

Page 25: Footnote: This continued to be the constitution of the Divan till the time of Suleymdn I, who added several new members to the original nine.

Page 64: Elsewise 'tis as bright Zelikhá with her golden orange shown.' Nay, the truth is this: the Sun to view the King's Divan hath oped There a ruby window whence to look that gilded dome upon. …….. Footnote: In this couplet the poet passes to the praise of the Sultan (Mehemmed II). He says, 'no, all these pictures I have been presenting are mere fancies; the real truth about the sun is, not that it is a king or a ship or a peacock, but that it is a celestial being who is looking through a round window of ruby (i. e. itself), which it has opened in the dome of heaven in order to look down on this far more magnificent dome of the Divan-chamber of the Sultan'. It will be noticed here again that the sun is presented at once as the window and as the looker through the window.

Page 96: The accession of Bayezfd II, which took place in 886 (1481), was duly celebrated by Nejatf; and when in the same year Prince Abdullah, the eldest son of Bayezid, but still a mere lad, was made governor of Qaraman in place of his uncle Prince Jem, the poet was appointed to his service with the position of Secretary of Divan. In the Ramazan of 888 (Oct. 1483) Prince Abdullah died at his seat of government, and Nejátí returned to Constantinople, where he presented the Sultan with a beautiful elegy he had composed on his late master.

Footnote: 'Secretary of Divan' (Kátib-i Díwán, or, Díwán Efendisi) was the title of the official secretary of a vezir or other high functionary.

Page 99: and this quatrain: —

'Nejati, though thou'st blackened the leaves of thy Dfwan, 'Dost hope the book wherein thy deeds are writ will white appear? 'Unless, may be, the living do forget not from their prayers 'Those who are gone and who of such remembrance worthy are.'

Footnote: i. e. though thou hast covered the white pages with black writing, i. e. though thou hast composed a whole Díwán of poems.

Page 104: The literary work of Nejati is therefore practically confined to his Díwán; and this volume has been sufficient to win for him a distinguished position in Ottoman literature. It is true that Nejati is not inspired in the sense that Nesimi was; he is an extremely self-conscious writer, he never for a moment forgets himself in his subject. None the less he is, judged by the standards of his school, the greatest Turkish poet that has yet appeared. He is more artistic, more subtle, more original than any of his predecessors. Although he is a follower in the footsteps of Ahmed, his work is not, like that of the pioneer, a mere collection of translations or adaptations; and if his verses lack somewhat of the virility of Jem's, they are infinitely more studied and refined. The Prince's poetry owes such originality as it has to the fact that the author put into it something of his own personality; the originality of Nejati's work, on the other hand, is due to the imaginative ingenuity of the poet. His verses abound in graceful metaphors, which, though always conceived in the Persian spirit and presented after the Persian fashion, are not simply transferred from some Persian díwán, but are the result of the observation and the applicative skill of the author himself.

Page 135: Mihri, though the most distinguished, was not the only Ottoman poetess of those old times. The biographers speak of another lady, Zeyneb by name, whom also they credit with the production of a Diwan, and who, according to Sehi, was moreover skilled in music. But this Zeyneb is an even more shadowy figure than Mihri. Latifi claims her for his own city of Qastamuni, and says that she was the daughter of a learned man of that place, who, perceiving her innate talent, had her carefully educated in the different branches of knowledge, and caused her to study the Persian diwans and the Arabic qasidas, the result being that she herself composed a Diwan of Turkish and Persian poems which she dedicated to Sultan Mehemmed II.

Page 227: Ashiq is the only one of the biographers to give us any particulars concerning Mesihi's history. From what he says it is evident that the future poet must in early life have found his way to Constantinople. He appears to have begun his career as a softa, that is, a student of the Law; but he soon turned his attention to calligraphy, in which he took great pleasure, and which he practiced with much success. His skill in this art won for him the good graces of the illustrious vezir Ali Pasha, one of the greatest contemporary patrons of men of talent, who honoured him with his friendship and appointed him to be his divan secretary. But Mesfhí was, unfortunately for himself, of a careless and pleasure-loving disposition, and failed to take due advantage of his opportunities. A certain Ali Chelebi, another of the vezir's proteges, who had been Mesfhí’s boon-companion, told the biographer Ashiq that that 'city lad', as the Pasha used to call the poet, was never at hand when wanted to draw up a letter or other document, and used invariably to be found by the porters sent to seek him, either in the disreputable quarter of Under-Castle, or in the taverns, or in the pleasure-gardens with his favourites. The Pasha was not unnaturally annoyed at this conduct, and so put off promoting his secretary or raising his salary till he should mend his ways. But before this happened Ali Pasha was killed, in the First Rebí 917 (June 1511), in battle against the Shíi rebels of Tekke, and Mesfhí found himself without a patron and without the means of livelihood. His first necessity was of course to discover another protector, but this was far from easy.

Page 230: Hasan proceeds on the same lines, but is as usual more bombastic in his strain; thus he says, ‘It is fitting he should be famed under the pen-name of Mesihi, for Messiah-like he revivified the dead of speech and through the channel of his musky-figuring reed made the Water of Life to flow.' 'In subtlety of fancy and in grace and delicacy of diction he is without peer, and it is meet he should be called the Third of the Trinity of the poets of Rum.' 'His eloquent poems are world-renounced as the sun in the ethereal heaven.' 'It were no figure of speech to say that the hosts of fancies mustered in his eloquent Diwan have never before been assembled at any divan, and that the stars of imagination that shine in the heaven of his pages have never before been gathered together in a single place.'

Page 264: Jafer's first appointment was the Muderrisate or Principalship of the College of Mahmud Pasha in Constantinople. But Sultan Bayezid, who highly appreciated the young man's talent, and who doubtless felt a special interest in him on account of the old Amasiya days, soon found for him another and far more exalted post. The official who held the position of Nishanji or Chancellor of the Divan having been promoted to the vezirate, it became necessary to appoint someone else to the vacant office. It so happened that there was no one among the government clerks, from whose ranks the selection would regularly have been made, who was deemed competent adequately to discharge the functions of this important and responsible post. The Sultan therefore ordered the vezirs to select from among the ulema some man whose proved ability and literary skill were sufficient guarantee of his efficiency. The vezirs, who probably knew something of the wishes of their Imperial master, made choice of Jafer Chelebi; and Bayed, who was greatly pleased, at once began to shower favours on his old friend. Till this time the Defterdars or Treasurers of the Divan had always taken precedence of the Nishanji; they used to sit above him on the bench in the council-chamber, and to stand above him when, drawn up in line, the members of the Divan saluted the Sultan as he passed. Bayezid changed this arrangement; he gave the Nishanji precedence over the Defterdars, a step somewhat keenly resented by the latter officials. He further conferred, for the first time, the rank and title of Pasha on the Nishanji; and so Jafer became generally known among the people as the Nishanji Pasha, or, as we might say, the Lord Chancellor.

Page 303: Footnote: Here Lámii, Ahi, and Wálí introduce a long digression concerning the way in which, before their flight is finally decided on, Melody entertains Heart and fans his passion. The King, who hears that the Prince is amusing himself in this fashion, has Heart's minstrels arrested and brought before his divan. Here Melody, along with the three minstrels, Harp, Tabor, and Flute, are questioned concerning themselves, and a long colloquy ensues. Eventually they charm the whole divan, and King and courtiers give themselves up to merry-making. At length the King is brought to himself by the remonstrances of a sheikh called Inspiration (Ilhám), whereupon he imprisons all the minstrels. All this, like most of the other additions which occur in the Turkish versions, and which in no way affect the course of the story, is doubtless the invention of Lámií.

Page 348: The vezier was in the field, on some expedition or another. One day he held a divan or levee at which the young man was present, probably as a member of his suite. Among the officers who attended was Evrenos-oghli Ahmed Bey, the representative of a famous aristocratic family and one of the great military chiefs of the Empire. When this brilliant officer arrived he went forward and seated himself above all the other warriors and emirs present. While the youth was still admiring the gallant bearing of the noble, there entered the court a poor-looking man meanly dressed in a shabby suit of the clothes peculiar to the learned profession, who without a moment's hesitation advanced and seated himself above the resplendent son of Evrenos, while the latter, far from resenting the intrusion, at once made way for the new-comer, treating him, as did all the other emirs, with the utmost deference and respect. Kemal-Pasha-zade, amazed at the sight, turned to someone who was standing near and asked what it might mean. He was answered that the poor-looking man was Monla Lutfi of Toqat, at present principal of the Philippopolis college with a daily salary of thirty aspers, and that the deference shown him was because of the honour in which learning and its representatives were held by all men howsoever great. Then and there the young man determined to abandon the career of arms in favour of that of learning: 'for,' said he to himself, 'it is impossible I should ever attain the rank of the Son of Evrenos, but I may well achieve a higher than Monla Lutfi's.'

Page 366: We have seen how the court of Prince ‘Abdu’lláh and afterwards that of Prince Mahmúd were graced by the presence of Nejáti: [Footnote: Nejáti was Prince Mahmud's nishanji or chancellor, Suni (Nejáti's pupil) was the Prince's secretary of divan, and Tálíi (another poet) was his defterdar or treasurer.

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parthjoshi · 6 years

Text

on druggets…

…How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold…

–William Wordsworth, A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School

Meadows are perhaps the most common pre-conceived imagery of a beautiful landscape… the gently rollicking undulations of grass inspire ballads on beauty and romance, as painters sway their brush and the…

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#environment #green #himalaya #himalayas #incredibleindia #landscape #Meadows #nature #naturephotography #naturewriting #outdoors #scenery #travelphotography #travelwriting #westernhimalayas

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bloomunfold · 7 years

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A poet!—He hath put his heart to school, Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff Which art hath lodged within his hand—must laugh By precept only, and shed tears by rule. Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff, And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool, In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph. How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold; And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree Comes not by casting in a formal mould, But from its own divine vitality.

William Wordsworth, “A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School”

#quote #welcome to the world lil flower blog #i found this poem and thought it was good inspiration for this blog #william wordsworth #poetry

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immaplane · 6 years

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Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold.

William Wordsworth, A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School

#william wordsworth #A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School #quotes #poem #poetry #poet

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poem-of-the-day · 9 years

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"A Poet! He hath put his heart to school" BY William Wordsworth

#william wordsworth #a poet! he hath put his heart to school #daily poetry #poetry #literature

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libidomechanica · 5 years

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Silly poet, silly man: the wall

a sluice with a

fruitful on occasions, the wall Silly poet, silly man: it mends their fountain of myrrh, and my finger, but did spend,

so drew my life, but in this our hapless crew; for on his pillow, as she hangs above the promise did not care: we knew was presence, lordlier than the

place where lies a snake, kisses and form be sunderd since then I have put off my bed the ground would rayse ones mynd aboue the stalk, drooping and always when it

nursed the doctor quacks us, their bursting thro the hearts antechamber with larger lay, but is got up, and ere he stood, before me: thy hair is as a

flock of silky hair, still speak not, she will to do with those we dote on, when once more; the city found him with faithful eyes and the blood we had not be, that nipt my Flower has wept, as wept the

field, the chin hairs of a cunning Painter takes in such a wistful eye Leaving thee in the garden- walks I move, Prodigious appetites constructed wrong . upon thy glimmerd, and mixd, and pierced, and look upon our friend, who care not thou art fair. two spirit hath been, and cups, the day when first he leaves no step had trodden with a flattering urn: and dark latrine, and each got his weakness clear; and orb into the seas, and like a length not the bells again: and

what rests below, that

claims of it the rightest hour to please, how hard to frame in matter-

moulded like in Natures ancient

games had place and go, with all we flow from, soul

in eternity can not at all. Which hides

your life that are asleep to speak You will be, tho as yet I keep Grew. of thy prevail. within the gravest citizen seems too much; but the house and every thing

express all-comprehend, although her

stature of my grief that I foresaw, the herald of a higher; known and over,

your voice reve

aling a tone of some one good black as a raven.

As doth the records

of their senses all mixed in, destroyed by subtleties these wild eyes than our

owne false praised thee her fall. Could

hardly worth nor for itself without its mother, when the bells. Brightening of This Mystery which left scarce room for motions blindly drown the reason no one ask me how it could ever tell and if wee must, lets goe a Maying. With

the leaves which he took the others dog that dies not, beseeching! A distant hills; the stairs, let me know beforehand, and I will, as wild

as now; day, markd as with Molly Bloom and his mantle dark and staring eye, that of that ink may chance, and

yet in hell, at sea ’“tis surely if we always in ones right, now he is gone, his nearest—now address them to each. Fold me from thy sight, or rather near; and whisperd another beloved,

let us have our state, this you never quit your job and came, remade the wealthy men, who first could contrived to stow some with too much, in watching love is and waving, like a Turk,” or Greek—that is, although the Lord, and from all beside; and she quenched in the public justice, evn tho the tower of ivory; thine eies, that to him in the hard heir strength it might render human frailty do me wrong; saying, “Dost thou

pass away, brave Inez now set up a Sunday school and hear the moaning wind began to sip; but when we shall be telling what himself, because I breathed beneath that from dim rich skies: nor that honour is it, to rest;

and, each one congeald to

pearl and storm mayst seem thy prosperous floods drown it: if a

man who looked with a

clean sheets, do you know, yet each man trembles thine, but die, as many as he were fair and fast the Blue Mountains, which spake

so large and life, was my Lord and King of a mighty manhode brought but say it is a heavy sea, and

common pity both! If all would but disclose the wild oat not be excusd, her fault beeing fair enwind her isles of Eden

lying into separate Hell. S religion, I must die.”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 8 #198 texts

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