If I was a poet

Originally posted on A Faded Romantic's Notebook:


If I was a poet

I would craft such lines for you.

I would weigh every word carefully. Examine it. Measure it. Carefully determine its suitability. Its intention. Its light and shade. Its truth.

I would test it carefully in its relationship with other words. I would study their harmony, their balance, their humour, their wisdom, their meaning.

I would lay each sentence carefully with the rest. Matching. Contrasting. Comparing. Trying them in my mind, beneath my fingers, in my mouth. On my tongue.

I would hold them up to you. Lay them over you. Place them side by side with you. Meticulously ensuring they capture your beauty, your elegance, your warmth, your intelligence, your grace.  Making sure they fit you perfectly. Striving to make them do you justice.

If I was a poet.

And if you belonged to me.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Loui Jover

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Tangled emotions snarl like hair caught in my throat.

It cascades to the stomach as foul as tepid water.

Tresses of sludge pool into the center of me,
Whispering doubts as sharp as any puncture wound.

I shake myself tipsy from side to side—–
This anxiety is overwhelming.

Suddenly I am thinking about ghosts and hauntings
and monsters under the bed.

Suddenly my mind breaks and I am thinking I wish
I wasn’t weighted down and was soaring like a bird.

Suddenly there are too many suddenlys to think about.

My head pulsates in sickening time with my heartbeat,
Thunderous like the boom of Niagra Falls.

I feel hollow in my limbs;
Body corroded like an old bicycle.

Then a tsunami—–

Tears creep across the skin in waves and crescendo
because meleancholy is a tenacious tenant.

It bursts forth from my chest enraged.
A mob of sobs rioting.

Lungs constrict as airwaves shut down due to all the traffic.

It jangles my soul until I am sure I hear shards of glass
clattering when I walk in the morning.

It spits on me with Its manied gorgon heads
as I tell myself not to look It in the eyes.

It becomes my other shadow always ready to
hinder my resolve with a new spiteful phrase.

To It I am Ophelia—–

A lady in need of a cool long drink—–
An endless sleep

Another useless dreamer.


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DC Comics’ Catwoman Comes Out of the Closet

Originally posted on TIME:

Selina Kyle, Batman’s stealthy enemy and love interest, officially came out as bisexual in the latest issue of Catwoman.

The leather-clad cat burglar kissed another woman in Catwoman #39, illustrated by Garry Brown, confirming what many fans had long suspected about the flirtatious, hyper-sexualized character.

“For me, this wasn’t a revelation so much as a confirmation,” Genevieve Valentine, the series’ writer, said on her blog.

Catwoman’s coming out is just the latest of many efforts by comic book companies to diversify their characters. DC’s Batwoman has identified as a lesbian since 2006, and one Green Lantern, Alan Scott, is gay. In 2013, a trans woman of color was introduced as a character in Batgirl. Marvel’s Northstar, a member of the X-Men, married his partner in 2012.

Catwoman has been around for 75 years (her first appearance was in Batman #1 in 1940), and her relationship to the…

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Best Comic Creative Duos of All Time

Originally posted on Funk's House of Geekery:

Like all great forms of art, comics are often times a team effort. It takes the perfect blending of writer and artist to create the best funny books around, and every so often two talents come together to give readers something truly memorable. Very rarely in the history of comics, there have been creative teams which not only compliment each other’s talents but also change the medium. So for all of you comic enthusiasts out there, these are the best comic creative teams of all time.


1. Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster: In the city of Cleveland, two kids on the bottom rung of the social ladder came together, and on the back of old wall paper brought forth an idea which change the world. The two teens combined elements of; science fiction, mythology, and pulp novels to create the hero we know as Superman. Siegel penned tales which…

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Downton Abby Takes on the Sorting Hat

The cast of Downton Abby are sorting themselves into their respective Hogwarts Houses. Maggie Smith (Professor McGonagall) of course sorts herself into Gryffindor, but what of the others? Read the following short Times article and then enjoy the full PBS video of the Downton cast nerding out over Harry Potter. It’ll be a magically good time.



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Read “A Chameleon,” a short story by Anton Chekhov

Originally posted on Biblioklept:

“A Chameleon”


Anton Chekhov

The police superintendent Otchumyelov is walking across the market square wearing a new overcoat and carrying a parcel under his arm. A red-haired policeman strides after him with a sieve full of confiscated gooseberries in his hands. There is silence all around. Not a soul in the square. . . . The open doors of the shops and taverns look out upon God’s world disconsolately, like hungry mouths; there is not even a beggar near them.

“So you bite, you damned brute?” Otchumyelov hears suddenly. “Lads, don’t let him go! Biting is prohibited nowadays! Hold him! ah . . . ah!”

There is the sound of a dog yelping. Otchumyelov looks in the direction of the sound and sees a dog, hopping on three legs and looking about her, run out of Pitchugin’s timber-yard. A man in a starched cotton shirt, with his waistcoat unbuttoned…

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Natural Law

Fairy tales are more than moral lessons and time capsules for cultural commentary; they are natural law. The child raised on folklore will quickly learn the rules of crossroads and lakes, mirrors and mushroom rings. They’ll never eat or drink of a strange harvest or insult an old woman or fritter away their name as though there’s no power in it. They’ll never underestimate the youngest son or touch anyone’s hairpin or rosebush or bed without asking, and their steps through the woods will be light and unpresumptuous. Little ones who seek out fairy tales are taught to be shrewd and courteous citizens of the seen world, just in case the unseen one ever bleeds over.
S.T. Gibson
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We Are What We Read

I cannot remember the books I’ve read any more than the meals I have eaten; even so, they have made me.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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