Seven "deadly" sins

Auhtor function: Romantic

Notion: Sins

I am a sinner. A beautiful sinner going up in flames in the eyes of the liars.

For who is not a sinner? Plummeting through the nine circles of hellfire below.

I lust. Therefore I sin.

But is lust so vulgar?

Skin against skin, hormones dancing in the air like fireflies. Moving to the beat of the hearts touching.

I glutton. Therefore I sin.

But is gluttony so disgusting?

Taking that last moist piece of mutton. Letting the salvia covered hungering teeth bore deep into the flesh.

I am greedy. Therefore I sin

But is greed so distasteful?

The grinning smile being reflected in the golden, freshly pressed coins weighing heavenly heavily in the leather covered pouch.

I am slothful. Therefore I sin.

But is sloth so unacceptable?

The soft mattress bends gently under the weight. A thousand feathers slowly lifts the mind far away. And the sun runs in circles.

I am wrathful. Therefore I sin.

But is wrath so abnormal?

The veins in the forehead pounding like hammers. A warmth lights the ears. There's only one path, and it is red.

I am envious. Therefore I sin

But is envy so shameless?

The stomach tightens, sickening, yet enlightening. Eyes like lightning shooting for what they want.

I am prideful. Therefore I sin.

But is pride so loathsome?

The rush of a hundred rollercoaster rides. The heart skips several beats. A smile stretching until sore. 

Reflective:

By choosing romantic, I can express what the different forms of the seven deadly sins, more or less, feels like when experienced in real life. The notion can also only be expressed through emotions, as they are about the human mind and body. If I had used the poet instead, I would not have been able to be this expressive. Lyrical functions have rules, that I would not be able to follow with this notion. The prophet could also be a great choice for the function. As a way of spreading the message of the seven deadly sins, and how they should not define one. In my writing I also tried to make sure that even though it was about sins, they would not appear as wrong. Even wrath with its warmth can be welcoming. 

Have you heard?

Servant to sister

-You know dear sister, yesterday when I was changing the duke's sheets in his bedchamber. I noticed by the door that he had a visitor. They were discussing some business arrangement, until the duke decided to show the poor newcomer his art collection. He is always trying to impress people with his finest piece made by that charlatan Frá Pandolf. Yet none of the staff has actually seen said piece. I wonder what it could be.

Sister to customer

 -Wow, you really blow me away every time my sweet sir, I don't understand how you do it. I know you must have a lot of meetings to attend. But I just heard from my sister, you know the one who works for the duke, that he had a visit the other day. Apparently some man, who he was discussing important arrangements with. The duke then showed this visitor his most private painting, that not even the staff have laid eyes upon. Made by Frá Pandolf, and knowing that ladies man, his piece was probably of some woman. So whomever the visitor is, he must be, or be sent from someone special.
 

Customer to wife

 -I told you Patricia, I was at a meeting with the others from the club, I'm sorry it ran so late. But on my way home I heard the most curious thing about the duke, erh.. from.. some random civilian, doesn't matter who told me. Apparently the duke have had a visit by someone sent from high up the hierarchy, it would not surprise me if it was from the count himself. And no one knows what arrangement they have been negotiating, but it is apparently very personal. The duke even showed the visitor his most precious painting of some woman, made by the womanizer Frá Pandolf. It is so personal that the duke does not even want the staff to lay eyes on it. It's gotta be a portrait of the late duchess, because what could be more be more precious than one's wife, right?

Wife to friends 

 -Now girls, my husband just told me a peculiar story about our dear duke. It seems that the duke has had a visit from an emissary of the count. Together they have been negotiating some arrangements. Considering the duke is a widower, it would be likely for the negotiations to be about the counts daughter. But weirdly enough, after their arrangement, the duke showed the emissary a most private painting of his late duchess. Made by that scandalous Frá Pandolf. Not even the staff is allowed to look at it. Should not surprise me, I heard the late duchess was a woman whom the men were very fond of starring at.

Friend to baker

 -Hmm, I think I'll have two of these and a sweet bun for our boy at home. Say, have you heard about the emissary of the count visiting the duke. Apparently they have been arranging a  marriage with the counts daughter. Now the duke is already a widower to more than one duchess, but he keeps a secret painting away from the staff, which he showed the emissary. A portrait of his late wife, made by that rake called Frá Pandolf. Thing is, our former duchess was not only desired by the duke, but by his male staff as well. I don't understand how the duke could've handled it, I would be furious with jealousy.

 Baker to wife overheard by errand boy

  -Honey, I knew there was something going on with the duke. I told you, he always order the same amount of bread and pastries every week. Yet last week he ordered more than usual, and now I know why. He had an emissary of the count on visit. The seem to be arranging a marriage between him and the count's daughter. Yet the duke shared more than just marriage plans. He also shared a painting that no one is allowed to gaze upon. It appears to be a portrait of his late wife, made by the stud Frá Pandolf. Now many know that the late duchess was favored by men all around her, which drove the duke furious. Now that I think about it, the duchess' demise came so sudden. You don't suppose?¨

 Errand boy to chef

 -Here is your weekly delivery from the baker sir. All orders for the duke should be there. I have to ask, is it true? I overheard a conversation between my parents about the duke. That he ordered the demise of our late duchess because she lay with all the men around her. Because I heard that he had a visit and…

Chef to servant
 -Can you stir in the soup for a few minutes? Thanks. I just spoke with the errand boy, apparently it was an emissary of the duke who visited the other day. And guess what, I know about our duke's secret art piece, and there's a great tragedy behind it…

Servant to sister

 -You know dear sister, I helped the duke's chef out the other day, and do I have some juicy stuff to tell you.

Two Minutes Until Midnight (On the Cold War in 1953)

To-day it is two minutes until midnight.
A few years ago, it was three minutes until midnight.
And a year from now, only time will tell. But to-day,
To-day it is two minutes until midnight.
The Marshall Islands lie silent in the ocean.

To-day it is two minutes until midnight.

Here is the reason for that sort of time.
Two bombs put  together, one of fission and one of fusion.
One of them detonates, while the other expands.
One of them is the ignition, while the other is the acceleration.
Suddenly outside the coast, a bright light blinds the sky.

Here is the reason for that sort of time.

Here is the shell, the shell to contain hell.
It is quite aerodynamic, which helps with send off.
Open the shell, and it gets more technical. At the top is the primary, 

At the bottom the secondary. And all around it,

Is polystyrene foam to keep it stationary. Waves part, a thick air draws near.

The shell to contain hell.

Here is the primary, also called the fission bomb. 

It is called the primary, as that is where the end starts. 

When activated, explosive fires will engulf the plutonium core, 

The foam will turn to plasma and awaken the secondary. 

The air hits the beach, trees are blown away, the mushroom rises.

That is where the end starts.

Here is the secondary, and it consists of three parts. 

A fissile sparkplug, to react to the plasma. Fusion fuel, 

To shake it all together. And uranium tamper, 

To make the big fire. Here is the deadly cocktail, 

For that sort of time. The mushroom darkens the sky, here comes the fallout.

To-day it is two minutes until midnight.

Grand old' time at Aros

So here I am 6 pm sitting in the bus, having a blast, on my way to Aarhus to spend a jolly good time with the family. Wait. No, that is wrong. I'm not having a blast, as I sit in the fucking bus with an overweight bald man beside me, whom smells like a dead horse from his armpit stains. It is not going to be a fun freaking time with my family either, because we are going to Aros museum. I decide to occupy myself, for as interesting as it would be to gawp at my obese neighbor trying to find a chocolate chip, which he lost between his third and fourth chin, I would rather read my book. Silkworm by J.K. Rowling. What's that? Has she made other books than the ones about the traumatized nerd with a scar? Why yes she has, and it is as about as mediocre as it could get, so it is perfect for this trip. As the bus nears its final destination I close the book, and  quickly draws attention towards two girls conversation . One of them whines about how she got drunk one night, and "accidentally" kissed her crush's best friend, and now she is sad as her crush would probably not like her now. Meanwhile my eyes are driving faster than the bus right now, from rolling too much. As we stop, I cannot get out of this cattle house of boredom fast enough. I meet up with my ma and pa, and we eat dinner at this Italian place. The waiter serves me a resemblance to Ristorante deep freeze Pizza, with Heinz ketchup on. What, did you run out of fucking tomatoes? After that we go inside the monstrosity, that has fucking rainbow road from Mario Kart on top, known as Aros. I immediately notice that I am not the only one having a miserable day, as I gaze upon the hideous colossal being (no not the guy from the bus) that is ‘Boy’. As I stare into the melancholy giant's eyes, I start to realize how familiar it looks, maybe it portrays me, maybe it portrays this world, maybe I don't really give a shit and just wants to go home already, who knows. I decide to let parents be parents, and starts to wander around. Now let me tell you about all the wonderful things I see. I study some photographs of poultry, like woodpeckers, hummingbirds and peacocks. What is this, fucking discovery channel? I glance at a painting with vegetables like red onions, carrots, garlic, sweet potatoes. What is this, fucking Nature’s garden? It could at least include a picture of someone with Down's syndrome. I find photos of city signs. Like a sign that says Aarhus, Aalborg, Copenhagen and Silkeborg. Seriously?! I don’t even. Moving on. I walk upon a sculpture of a giant Clinique lipstick. It looks like a dick. Some pictures were made in memory of Anker Jørgensen. My first thought, who? And here we have a collection of hardware, like a dishwasher, microwave and a TV, using people like the machines. I hate modern art. Lastly there is a picture taken of a Snub Nose gun firing. What I wouldn’t give for it to be real, and just end this trip myself. But then I find myself, in the fine art section. And I am looking upon this painting called ‘Mercury slays Argus’, of the roman god mercury killing the giant Argus. And for the first time this day, I couldn’t come up with anything negative to say. I am mesmerized, and this day was suddenly not so bad at all.
And if you think this is too long, then too bad, because you read it anyway.

Lord of the Phrases

Final is that and trip this on

Sounds like a phrase yet it isn't one

Therefore I intend, to make it so

And let me explain how it would go

When taking a look at English language history

More often than not, comes up a mystery

Phrases that are used to express certain things

Yet they do not contain, any sense that rings

But many of the phrases sounds neat and enthusiastic

Take this one for example 'Trip the light fantastic'

The grammar is poorly and words are random

And so is this phrase, that I'll make into an memorandum

'Tell us what it means, we can wait no more'

Now now, calm your tits and I'll make jaws hit the floor

For whenever you read, see or hear

An ending within literature which appear(s)

An ending that concludes, yet is ambiguous

It is indeed final, but also contiguous

Like in Lord of the Rings, with an ending that didn't flop

As Sam says 'You can't leave' manly tears would drop

The reason for me mentioning this scene

Is that it concludes the journey our heroes have on been

Yet it does not end, as Frodo goes on

For another adventure that has just been born

So that's what it means, my newly made phrase

A new trend among people I hope to set a blaze

For just like the ending for Frodo, Sam and Aragorn

My poem is final, and the phrase's trip is on