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Tchaikovsky's Cygnet

Darkkin

Lioness of Spoons
V.I.P Member
Tchaikovsky’s Cygnet

Tchaikovsky’s cygnet fluttered, faltered—unable to fly.
Landing in a heap, crushed. The covert tutu crumpled.
Tchaikovsky’s cygnet downed—the battle: Do not cry.

A dance upon eggshells, so brittle and light, each motion
a monstrous, delicate fight to fly, yet she failed to soar—
Rising above the others so tall to see the stars, the ocean.

As she crashed down, shells scattered, laughter all around,
dust staining the tulle of her netted feathery fluff—Her lip,
trembling, she bit. Egg on her face, she made not a sound.

Head high, she rose, simply turned round and walked away.
Snow boots clunking into the dark, she went galumphing—
Her feet knew the way as twilight turned the sky flinty grey.

Through a coppice, pocked with fading colour and rich decay,
lay the path. A muddy ribbon she had found in the spring—
now in the amethyst haze her knowing feet found the way.

To them: the wind, dark and biting cold she paid little heed,
even as Mistral yanked a lock of hair roughly from her knot.
Hers was a fool’s errand, but so too a quest of critical need.

At the foot of her path, the dirt frozen hard, stood the pond,
a lonely shore ringed in willow and oak, now stripped bare,
while its gunmetal waters were smooth, a glassy ice bond.

Smoother than the boards, delicate as the eggshell veneer,
this was a test of faith. A fool, she, Tchaikovsky’s cygnet
as she shed her coat and boots, praying no one was near.

The waltz of Tchaikovsky’s flowers in her ears roaring.
Swathed, a sweater of faded grey cotton, woolen mittens,
tights and fluffed tulle, she went into the dance soaring.

Flying as the snow began to swirl; glory, grey and pearl.
Tchaikovsky’s cygnet, ungainly in the flock, now alone,
just the music, the dark, trusting each step, each whirl.

Spiralling flowers waltz, a cygnet twirling in the snow.
There in the cobalt gloam as bitter winds start to blow,
Tchaikovsky’s cygnet flying with only the Fae to know.
 

Darkkin

Lioness of Spoons
V.I.P Member
Pressing Skin

Skin pressing skin, dance upon eggshells, delicate ice.
Soul touching sole, stretched, wearing critically thin.
One fall, again, marks twice. Damn fool; trying thrice.

Tchaikovsky’s cygnet in crumpled tulle, pride the price
for the chance, that thrice damned to begin once again.
Skin pressing skin, dance upon eggshells, delicate ice.

Svelte in indigo gloam, head high, those lines concise.
Soul speaking through soles that cling, a second skin.
One fall, again, marks twice. Damn fool; trying thrice.

Grey down drifting, that lowly cygnet in steps precise,
twirling amid burgeoning snow, a light waking within.
Skin pressing skin, dance upon eggshells, delicate ice.

Tide rising; fireflies and hoar lilies, blossom and entice,
beckoning to the wary cygnet; a journey about to begin.
One fall, again, marks twice. Damn fool; trying thrice.

It was a dance to the voice of sweet, white edelweiss,
Tchaikovsky’s cygnet, determination writ toes to chin.
Skin pressing skin, dance upon eggshells, delicate ice.
One fall, again, marks twice. Damn fool; trying thrice.
 

Darkkin

Lioness of Spoons
V.I.P Member
A Dance of Down and Ashes

Amid the hoar lilies, the firefly light—a cygnet silver bright.
Obsidian eyes watched beside a thistle faded, seeds swirling.
Skin pressing skin, Tchaikovsky’s cygnet—a delicate fight.

It was that something, ember consumed by ash, about to ignite.
Soles gripping, through snow and cinders, reality was blurring.
Amid the hoar lilies, the firefly light—a cygnet silver bright.

A dance of the flowers, wither away, taken by creeping night.
Fog, tendrils smoke and pearl and grey, from a wood, curling.
Skin pressing skin, Tchaikovsky’s cygnet—a delicate fight.

Ash, dense, too long cold, billowing about the cygnet’s flight,
consuming the gloam as smoke was pluming, dark unfurling.
Amid the hoar lilies, the firefly light—a cygnet silver bright.

Gathering pitch, terror blooming as a voice calls: Lily Bright!
Take my hand, hold tight! Ashes and down, dance—twirling.
Skin pressing skin, Tchaikovsky’s cygnet—a delicate fight.

Tchaikovsky’s cygnet, Lily Bright took his hand in her right.
A boy, hair and eyes sooted, pulled her close, ashes whirling.
Amid the hoar lilies, the firefly light—a cygnet silver bright.
Skin pressing skin, Tchaikovsky’s cygnet—a delicate fight.
 

All-Rounder

uwu owo uwu
V.I.P Member
Holy snappity snap, you're doing the impossible, practically a Haiku in English, and doing it better than I could think of.

These are immortal. o_O

"A dance of the flowers, wither away, taken by creeping night.
Fog, tendrils smoke and pearl and grey, from a wood, curling.
Skin pressing skin, Tchaikovsky’s cygnet—a delicate fight.


Ash, dense, too long cold, billowing about the cygnet’s flight,
consuming the gloam as smoke was pluming, dark unfurling.
Amid the hoar lilies, the firefly light—a cygnet silver bright."
 

All-Rounder

uwu owo uwu
V.I.P Member
Hope you don't mind if skunks show up to play with cygnets, I've been inspired yesterday and today.
Here we go:

For H.

I'm shifted in and out of existence
By your tides
I'm washed and dry again
Then I'm fooled, by the way

I look into your eyes and thank the
I thank society, but I don't
It's truly what I need
You like the truth,
And so do I

My masquerade falls down when I'm alone,
Despite going with the flow
I'm craving something warmer
Tea from my eyes
In the form of happiness
Addiction before ecstasy
Life is our picnic blanket
With you on top, my dagwood dog

1000 times the same
I break up still in love
I'm flaunting useless traits at this point
I know it doesn't automatically bring success
It just brings me joy
I'm competitive even with you
But naturally, I win
I fear nothing, I'm God herself, I know myself
My intensity is hyper-focused to say the least
Original Autistic

Your ice-cold gaze upon me sometimes
Is everything I can think of
To my detriment
How ice can melt a whole world is besides me
Your needy gaze, your ever open eyes on me, your soothing smile,
I'm defined as lost in the wealth of everything you bring
Even if I don't need it to survive

But other things seem to occupy my mind about us
When the moment is past tense
Truth prevails
I miss your mind so easily
I could lose it all, I wouldn't notice

It's the reason why it's so easy for me to give it up
If the result of it is you; did it yourself
I'll turn back time and wind the clock
Rendezvous with you
The moment of truth


---------------------------------------------------------------------


Skunk

Skunk is always on my mind
Chasing me around, waiting for my secrets
To come undone
He's so sweet he gets attached
I could say I got him snatched

All these girls be loving him
Like I thought, the mind supreme
Half his age, know he's a man of values
Saying he's not choosey
Knows exactly what he needs
Not gonna let himself get played

Both losing our minds
Making time, making arrangements
Said he'll go to shop way later
Calling phones to please his master
Letting me have all his time

Listens to me
Grieves every little thing he thought he lost
Just like me
Shows up on dates every time
Learns his lesson quick and nice
Never leaves my side
Respects me too much
Knows not to diss

Loses sleep to be with me
Drinks caffeine to play with me
Get me so addicted
Hourly fix, I'm greedy
He's giving

Feel his hands on my body
Hands on my lips
Got my neighbors screaming too, pissed
Wanna see his face for life
He plays safe but has got experience
Doesn't boast but does well
Surprises me

Patiently takes control
Only celebrates on strawberry shortcake
Said I can't have him tonight
Eyes say he's already made up his mind
He's a mess in love
I know he's only waiting for me

Yes means no, no means yes
We're similar in some ways
But we still respect
Don't have to play every day
As per what he'd say

Spits Pink but not gay
Wanna lax in his shirt, he's okay
Makes his bitches wince,
Treats them well, trains
They go every time he stands up

Posh lifestyle he's got investments
Successful man got his life figured out
Can entertain me, tempts me to go with him
Live in his big ass house for a while
Lets me pet his bitches
I'm not that kinda woman
But I feel I'm gonna be there by next year
He wants to do experiments I'm in
Chemistry is my name, always been

Taste his own goulash, much better than Vienna makes it
Got cooking skills from his mom
Cooks better than his sister

Knows how to make you feel like you're away from home
Asks nothing gives a lot
Crazy about the man
Feel he's better than me in that regard

Legs in the air
Carefree skunk recognizes we're the same
We like to look good, feel good and keeps all the secrets

Loyal like none other before
List of lost loses
I don't count them anymore
I'm just glad to be his miss
Every day goes like kiss kiss
Tells me he loves me
Always amuse, never amiss
Holy schnapps.
 
Last edited:

Darkkin

Lioness of Spoons
V.I.P Member
Hope you don't mind if skunks show up to play with cygnets, I've been inspired yesterday and today.
Here we go:

For H.

I'm shifted in and out of existence
By your tides
I'm washed and dry again
Then I'm fooled, by the way

I look into your eyes and thank the
I thank society, but I don't
It's truly what I need
You like the truth,
And so do I

My masquerade falls down when I'm alone,
Despite going with the flow
I'm craving something warmer
Tea from my eyes
In the form of happiness
Addiction before ecstasy
Life is our picnic blanket
With you on top, my dagwood dog

1000 times the same
I break up still in love
I'm flaunting useless traits at this point
I know it doesn't automatically bring success
It just brings me joy
I'm competitive even with you
But naturally, I win
I fear nothing, I'm God herself, I know myself
My intensity is hyper-focused to say the least
Original Autistic

Your ice-cold gaze upon me sometimes
Is everything I can think of
To my detriment
How ice can melt a whole world is besides me
Your needy gaze, your ever open eyes on me, your soothing smile,
I'm defined as lost in the wealth of everything you bring
Even if I don't need it to survive

But other things seem to occupy my mind about us
When the moment is past tense
Truth prevails
I miss your mind so easily
I could lose it all, I wouldn't notice

It's the reason why it's so easy for me to give it up
If the result of it is you; did it yourself
I'll turn back time and wind the clock
Rendezvous with you
The moment of truth


---------------------------------------------------------------------


Skunk

Skunk is always on my mind
Chasing me around, waiting for my secrets
To come undone
He's so sweet he gets attached
I could say I got him snatched

All these girls be loving him
Like I thought, the mind supreme
Half his age, know he's a man of values
Saying he's not choosey
Knows exactly what he needs
Not gonna let himself get played

Both losing our minds
Making time, making arrangements
Said he'll go to shop way later
Calling phones to please his master
Letting me have all his time

Listens to me
Grieves every little thing he thought he lost
Just like me
Shows up on dates every time
Learns his lesson quick and nice
Never leaves my side
Respects me too much
Knows not to diss

Loses sleep to be with me
Drinks caffeine to play with me
Get me so addicted
Hourly fix, I'm greedy
He's giving

Feel his hands on my body
Hands on my lips
Got my neighbors screaming too, pissed
Wanna see his face for life
He plays safe but has got experience
Doesn't boast but does well
Surprises me

Patiently takes control
Only celebrates on strawberry shortcake
Said I can't have him tonight
Eyes say he's already made up his mind
He's a mess in love
I know he's only waiting for me

Yes means no, no means yes
We're similar in some ways
But we still respect
Don't have to play every day
As per what he'd say

Spits Pink but not gay
Wanna lax in his shirt, he's okay
Makes his bitches wince,
Treats them well, trains
They go every time he stands up

Posh lifestyle he's got investments
Successful man got his life figured out
Can entertain me, tempts me to go with him
Live in his big ass house for a while
Lets me pet his bitches
I'm not that kinda woman
But I feel I'm gonna be there by next year
He wants to do experiments I'm in
Chemistry is my name, always been

Taste his own goulash, much better than Vienna makes it
Got cooking skills from his mom
Cooks better than his sister

Knows how to make you feel like you're away from home
Asks nothing gives a lot
Crazy about the man
Feel he's better than me in that regard

Legs in the air
Carefree skunk recognizes we're the same
We like to look good, feel good and keeps all the secrets

Loyal like none other before
List of lost loses
I don't count them anymore
I'm just glad to be his miss
Every day goes like kiss kiss
Tells me he loves me
Always amuse, never amiss
Holy schnapps.
In the realms of writing, highjacking another writer's thread to promote your own work and taking over the subject of the thread is considered very rude behaviour.

It is unfair to the OP and it can cause a thread to devolve into chaos. It is the equivalent of shoving a speaker down to talk over them instead of waiting your turn. The right thing to do is remove that post to its own thread where it is open to interested readers and replies just as any original work deserves its own thread.

I had more pieces to add to this story sequence, but with your work acting like a sore thumb it is not possible to keep the flow going.

On a writing forum such behaviour is flagged immediately. (Granted this is the off topic area and not a writing forum, but basic netiquette is still in play.) Please be conscious of this in the future. Such actions are seen as disrespectful to the original posted work.

If an invitation to post original work was in the OP it is a different story, but there is no such prompt. Kindly do the right thing and start a thread for your work and give mine back.
 
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All-Rounder

uwu owo uwu
V.I.P Member
There are complications to why I chose to do that, some of which I'm not comfortable revealing. I realized it might come across as rude. I appreciate your poem and I find it talentful. One of my reasons is because your thread happened to be around the same time I restarted writing, and I thought it's a fun fact if both of us were inspired at similar times.

I'll remember it for sure in the future given your reaction\rejection.
But you have to remember where you are.
First off, we're autistic, we're creative and don't abide by social norms, second, the rules here are not the same. Third, being friendlier as cygnets of the same feather could very well happen. But we're still ruffly people. I think it about autistic people all the time.

I know the poem mentions competitiveness, but that is not my position, I'm not in competition with you.
 
Last edited:

Darkkin

Lioness of Spoons
V.I.P Member
There are complications to why I chose to do that, some of which I'm not comfortable revealing. I realized it might come across as rude. I appreciate your poem and I find it talentful. One of my reasons is because your thread happened to be around the same time I restarted writing, and I thought it's a fun fact if both of us were inspired at similar times.

I'll remember it for sure in the future given your reaction\rejection.
But you have to remember where you are.
First off, we're autistic, we're creative and don't abide by social norms, second, the rules here are not the same. Third, being friendlier as cygnets of the same feather could very well happen. But we're still ruffly people. I think it about autistic people all the time.

I know the poem mentions competitiveness, but that is not my position, I'm not in competition with you.

You still blatantly highjacked my thread and pretty much ruined a linear plan I had in progress, SOMETHING YOU HAD NO REASON TO DO. Basically, you dumped my books in the mud, pushed me down, and then proceeded on your way treating both me and my work as the sidewalk under your feet. This is one of the biggest slights you can offer another writer. Reducing their work to dirt and standing on them even as they struggle to rise.

Your motivations are your own, but the behaviour was inexcusable. All I asked is that you move your work, which is a fair request given the situation. It was my thread. I shouldn't have to vacate it to accomodate you. I've spent my life accomodating others and I'm tired of having to move or destroy things I've made because people keep doing crap like this.

Kindly move the post or I will delete my own work in order for the structure to function as it should. And keep in mind just because something isn't technically against forum rules doesn't mean the behaviour is acceptable or in anyway reasonable, which is why I called it out on a public thread to CLARIFY any lingering confusion. I provided a reasonable alternative, clear expectation, and illustrated why such actions are never OKAY.

Treating others and worse, their actual work like a spring board or a joke is never right, in most cases it is just plan cruel. It demeans the work and the author. And actions often speak louder than words. Please stop treating this as a joke and trying to justify 'reasonable mitigation' of circumstances. There are no circumstances in which such actions are justifiable because it is an act of selfishness. Plain and simple.

Unyielding, inflexible sense of justice...Yeah, I have it in spades and when it comes out, it never relents, bends, accomodates, or compromises when there is zero provable logic behind someone's behaviour. Saying it is because of one's autism is going to go over like a lead balloon. I am an autistic, too and such lack of tact would never occur to me. I know other autisitc writers as well, and they don't do things like that. It is like throwing a tantrum at another kid's birthday party because you didn't get a present. It is selfish behaviour plain and simple.

No one is saying don't write. Start your own thread. An alternative which should have been your first course of action and has been suggested. I'm just saying respect my space, which you have failed to do, a very rudimentary courtesy. Having seen that behaviour, do I have to stay down? Do I have a right to speak up and push back?

I only asked that the correct course of action be taken. Move the post.

Stop trying to justify and redirect because the action was wrong, the behaviour selfish and unjustifiable. It was a conscious choice on your part, knowing full well it would be preceived as RUDE and you still chose to proceed when you had other reasonable alternatives that were readily available.

You chose to demean and derail another autistic, another writer, but more critically, that writer's work simply because you could. That is inexcusable, disrespectful, and cruel. Your actions were deliberate and designed to interrupt and redirect attention to your work.

Think of it this way, I have the capability and skill set to do a line by line critique on the two pieces you posted. It isn't against forum rules and it adheres to the topic of thread: Poetry discussions.

Even keeping it completely objective to the work a critique that indepth is something few writers have the capacity of handeling well because it breaks a work down word by word. It murders their darling...Anyone with a 4th wall made of anything less than solid diamond and dolerite would have felt the sting of Azog's were-worms.

I have a tool that can help, but can just as easily be wielded to harm in a truly targeted strike. But I was raised to be fair and kind to others, such a strike while well within the rules would be cruel and frankly unfair to a lesser skilled individual. It would elicit an effect very similar to the one I am dealing with because of the aforementioned actions, but I did the conscious action of questioning my motives before writing a critique. It was not objective, nor constructive. Key elements required in true critique. Thusly I will not bastardize the craft I love out of a moment of anger, no matter how righteous it is.

I made a conscious decision, just as you did, but unlike your actions, my choice harmed no one because I was aware of what would come of it. Words are powerful and shockingly easy to weaponize in capable hands. It is a writer's responsibility to be accountable for their words and just as accountable for their action.

Your words, while inert, are defined by the wrongness of your actions in posting when and where you chose.
 
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