♛ | Dead Poets Society Meeting : June 26

[had_not_lived]

When; Evening of June 26th; backdating welcome and encouraged of course
Rating; probably not past pg-13?
Characters; Any and all of the people listed here! IF I MISSED SOMEONE / YOU ARE INTERESTED IN JOINING, FEEL FREE TO PING ME!
Summary; Spirits soared; women swooned; and gods were created. ♥
Log;
This didn't quite feel like home; but it came close. Each week Neil felt a little more comfortable with their new little group, clustered around the fire with pages in hand. And tonight, still riding the high of Sunday's performance, he was all smiles and no solemnity, perched on a convenient rock with a half-spent cigarette in hand, his poetry book held open to a page near the center.

"I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life, and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived."



[ooc; y'all know the drill?~ sorry for late post fdgjkdfg /has trouble measuring time]

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[had_not_lived]

Neil had been a bit lax in reading himself, for once not wanting to be the center of attention. Having organized their meetings, he'd tried to relinquish control elsewhere to a large extent. But he'd chosen a poem tonight, and after a moment's glance at the others, he spoke.

"If no one minds..." he gestured to the book he held with a little grin, taking a breath to center and prepare himself. It wasn't a cheerful poem, and his tone shifted as he read, lingering at the ends of lines, voice strong and certain. He'd thought of trying to find a lighter piece, but in the end had come with this, somehow unable to resist the lure of its language.

"Whose broken window is a cry of art
(success, that winks aware
as elegance, as a treasonable faith)
is raw: is sonic: is old-eyed premire.
Our beautiful flaw and terrible ornament.
Our barbarous and metal little man.

'I shall create! If not a note, a hole.
If not an overture, a desecration.'

Full of pepper and light
and Salt and night and cargoes.

'Don't go down the plank
if you see there's no extension.
Each to his grief, each to
his loneliness and fidgety revenge.

Nobody knew where I was and now I am no longer there.'

The only sanity is a cup of tea.
The music is in minors.

Each one other
is having different weather.
'It was you, it was you who threw away my name!
And this is everything I have for me.'

Who has not Congress, lobster, love, luau,
the Regency Room, the Statue of Liberty,
runs. A sloppy amalgamation.
A mistake.
A cliff.
A hymn, a snare, and an exceeding sun."