Exploding Poohsticks

So, maybe you remember how I was thinking of riffing on "Lay All Your Love on Me" to get it out of my system?

Here.

:-)

Today's NaPoWriMo prompt from Poetic Asides was "travel." I started to write about Amsterdam, but somehow ended up with this:

Souvenir

( Last summer, while in Chicago, I gave away )

Oh, and I've got two cinquains in the new issue of AMAZE. One of them was inspired by the Japanese Festival of Seven Herbs.

In other news, all y'all can go ahead and laugh at me: I have indeed been staying up until stupid hours with part 3 of "Not As Dumb" -- and I think it's on the verge of done. (The smut's been deferred to part 4, however - there's a reason I've mentally labelled this fic "The One Where the Characters Will Not Shut Up"...). I'll post it in a day or two (i.e., after I finish this Sunday's sermon, and provided I don't find anything unspeakably irreparable when I go tidy it up).

Dear bitterfig, I am late in the day, but this is for you. May your 37th year bring you better health and bright joys.

( If I owned the wind and the trees, I would )

Earlier this year, marginaliana won my offer to write a custom villanelle. Her prompts included "LPW, Peter reflecting on the way that his work leads to someone being put to death" and
"LPW, Bunter and Harriet's relationship." Herewith...

( A man cannot help what he deduces... )

Thank you again to marginaliana for contributing to the cause!

For catrinella, because it is her fault I wrote this just now:

There's what we want to say, and then there's what
we actually manage to write and to share:
there's what we strive to make, with what we brought

away from Chicago, the books we bought
in England... in Boston... a parish fair...
there's what we hoped to say, and then there's what

we shape from the bones of our demons -- fought
down so often, yet how they reappear,
insisting what we need cannot be caught --

well, fuck that. You know it's not for naught --
that what we spin and style is worth the care
we lavish when we can, the joy it's brought

(and glee, and provocation, even thought-
provoking musings and the occasional tear...) --
these triumphs be -- our words, these things we've wrought --

that what we wring from what we've loved and sought --
it may not be our best, what we can spare,
but what we manage to make? Well, it's what

will do for now, it being what we've got:
"good enough" is more than many ever dare.
You use your pen for good, love. Worry not.

...because, my goodness. Diolch yn fawr a Nadolig llawen, cariad!


When Snape and Lupin go to bed --
Snape in his nightshirt, Lupin in nothing --
there are many things that could be said.

The eiderdown's dyed a Gryffindor red,
each handcuff bright as a new-minted farthing,
gleaming as Lupin pins Snape to the bed.

On alternate weeks, the covers are green
and so are the blindfolds 'round Snape's head:
he likes how things don't have to be said

out loud for Lupin to go ahead --
to ply him with tongue and teeth 'til he's screaming.
Yes, Snape loves how they end up in bed,

the only place where Lupin's well-bred
quiet facade gives way to sweet taunting
and sexily savage threats. Things said

in Lupin's tender growl -- Snape's fled
from many a would-be lord, but coming
to Lupin? His vision of heaven: their bed.


:-)

Part 9.

For xanthophyllippa. 1. Knitting lessons...

Sonnet, U, post-War. Only the faintest connection to the prompt...


Their lives are knit together in a spell
that needs not wands nor charged incantations --
they seldom speak of love, nor do they dwell
on friends long lost nor fruitless lamentations.
Wizards and witch, their lives are not blameless
but yet of their worth, the stories will tell --
of grudges and guilt, of blatant and shameless
king-making, heart-breaking, soul-taking, bell-
quaking feats enlaced with quiet, well-thought
manipulations...but, for now, they teach
and meet for tea. Snape had not known he sought
this ease, this care from those within his reach.
Minerva pours tea. Lupin murmurs grace.
Here ends this tale, the three of them in place.