The Lover in Hell

I was looking for a little humor today and this poem popped up. Hope you enjoy it like I do.

 

http://www.poemhunter.com/stephen-vincent-benet/

 

The Lover in Hell by Stephen Vincent Benet

Eternally the choking steam goes up
From the black pools of seething oil. . . .
How merry
Those little devils are! They've stolen the pitchfork
From Bel, there, as he slept . . . Look! -- oh look, look!
They've got at Nero! Oh it isn't fair!
Lord, how he squeals! Stop it . . . it's, well -- indecent!
But funny! . . . See, Bel's waked. They'll catch it now!

. . . Eternally that stifling reek arises,
Blotting the dome with smoky, terrible towers,
Black, strangling trees, whispering obscene things
Amongst their branches, clutching with maimed hands,
Or oozing slowly, like blind tentacles
Up to the gates; higher than that heaped brick
Man piled to smite the sun. And all around
Are devils. One can laugh . . . but that hunched shape
The face one stone, like those Assyrian kings!
One sees in carvings, watching men flayed red
Horribly laughable in leaps and writhes;
That face -- utterly evil, clouded round
With evil like a smoke -- it turns smiles sour!
. . . And Nero there, the flabby cheeks astrain
And sweating agony . . . long agony . . .
Imperishable, unappeasable
For ever . . . well . . . it droops the mouth. Till I
Look up.
There's one blue patch no smoke dares touch.
Sky, clear, ineffable, alive with light,
Always the same . . .
Before, I never knew
Rest and green peace.
She stands there in the sun.
. . . It seems so quaint she should have long gold wings.
I never have got used -- folded across
Her breast, or fluttering with fierce, pure light,
Like shaken steel. Her crown too. Well, it's queer!
And then she never cared much for the harp
On earth. Here, though . . .
She is all peace, all quiet,
All passionate desires, the eloquent thunder
Of new, glad suns, shouting aloud for joy,
Over fresh worlds and clean, trampling the air
Like stooping hawks, to the long wind of horns,
Flung from the bastions of Eternity . . .
And she is the low lake, drowsy and gentle,
And good words spoken from the tongues of friends,
And calmness in the evening, and deep thoughts,
Falling like dreams from the stars' solemn mouths.
All these.
They said she was unfaithful once.
Or I remembered it -- and so, for that,
I lie here, I suppose. Yes, so they said.
You see she is so troubled, looking down,
Sorrowing deeply for my torments. I
Of course, feel nothing while I see her -- save
That sometimes when I think the matter out,
And what earth-people said of us, of her,
It seems as if I must be, here, in heaven,
And she --
. . . Then I grow proud; and suddenly
There comes a splatter of oil against my skin,
Hurting this time. And I forget my pride:
And my face writhes.
Some day the little ladder
Of white words that I build up, up, to her
May fetch me out. Meanwhile it isn't bad. . . .

But what a sense of humor God must have! 

Kickbacks and humor,
Bea

Message in a Bottle

Who would you write it to? What would it be about? I watched the movie, Message in a Bottle, and I thought, “Who would I send a message in a bottle to?” Of course, the answer came before finishing the thought. My Mother. I would send a message to my mother telling her things I never got around to saying. It’s actually a wonderful idea, and I think it would be therapeutic for me.

Sending a message in a bottle dates back to 310 B.C., when the Ancient Greek Philosopher Theophrastus used it to show that the Atlantic Ocean’s inflow formed the Mediterranean Sea. When Christopher Columbus needed to get information to the Queen of Spain, he sent a note in a cask hoping she’d get it in case he died (messages were sent in any container that could float and remain waterproof).

This method of sending messages was used by military to inform where the enemy was located, for people to convey their love to another, and as an S.O.S. message. To this day, we all use different methods to communicate reminders or convey feelings. Some people use voice messages on phones to express themselves. It’s a way for people to use their creativity. And then you have people (like me), who write in journals, putting pieces of their happiness and pain on pages. These messages give us life even when we’re gone from this world.

If we were standing in your house, what would you send your message in? Who would you write it to? Someone you know or a stranger? Would it be about something you did, how you feel, or use it as a time capsule?

For those of you who don’t know what to send your message in, I found a Message in a Bottle website while working on this post. All you’d have to do is find a body of water to throw it in…or you could give it to the person you wrote it to and have them open it sometime in the future.

Letters and memories,

Bea

*Flips the Switch On*

It’s a New Year and I can finally say I’m a published author. Net Switch is available in paperback on Createspace (subsidiary of Amazon) and Amazon, and on Kindle and Nook.

Blogs, Amazon, Goodreads and Barnes & Noble have already received reviews and I’m excited and nervous because I know my novel will get good and bad reviews (hopefully more good). Criticism was my biggest fear of publishing, however, I knew I’d always wonder and regret it if I didn’t do it. This experience has also opened my eyes to all the liberal arts. How actors and actresses, musicians, painters, and writers must feel when they receive unflattering criticism. It hurts, plain and simple, and sometimes even makes us cry. Criticism of an author’s book is very personal. Our book is our baby, and any bad publicity is like saying our baby is ugly, stupid, and should never have been born. Yes, I know it sounds dramatic…and the feelings are just as dramatic. None of us like criticism; a boss putting negative comments on an evaluation, and family and friends letting us know what they don’t like about us. We cringe, get defensive, and usually no one walks away a winner.

But since I published, it means I accept the good with the bad. It’s part of the deal. It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t read about how to deal with it, so I actually researched how other authors go about handling negative reviews. Should you bother reading the reviews? Do you accept them like a grain of salt or do you learn from each one? Do you post a comment on a blog who has reviewed your book thanking them for reading it? There are so many questions and different ways authors handle negative reviews. A few have even gone a bit nuts online—berating the reviewer (You gotta read the comments). And there are even some authors out there that don’t read any reviews of their books. They feel it doesn’t matter at this point.

Literature is subjective. Some people will like my book and some won’t—there’s nothing I can do about it. What I can do is handle my reviews professionally. Everyone has a right, including me, to express how something makes them feel and that is something I need to remember about reviews. I don’t have to agree with every review, but it's how the reader felt and what they took away from the book (right or wrong). It isn’t debatable.

*raises beer*

A toast! To all the reviews I receive regarding my book, good and bad, and a heartfelt thank you to all who bought it (or will buy it) and took (or will take) the time to write a review.

*chugs beer, puts it on the counter and smiles*

Reading and reviews,

Bea

Friends!

I know my blog has resembled a leaky faucet but I am working on getting back into blogging.

Years…maturity…change…these play a big role in the wonderful world of friendship.

Such words you

speak, paint my heart—

colorful, sublime.

Our friendship stew,

never sharp like a dart,

grateful for its kind.

Variety sits at the table

to draw out humor

I waited so long for.

Several talks of a fable

always knew as rumor,

a late night but wish for more.

My friends, I hold on tight

to such memories of delight,

until we soar high into the white.

The last month has been trying, and I witnessed the preciousness of friendship. My friends were there for me—still here—and I can’t thank them enough for being them.

Today I start blogging on a regular basis, and tribute this day and onward to the wonderful friends I’d never want to say good-bye to. You are the epitome of what a friend is all about. So I thank you for our past, present and a wonderful future. I’m here for you.

Friends, compassion and giggles,

Bea