had_not_lived | ♕ |[47]| We didn't just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey

[Anonymous Voice Post is Anonymous!]

[There's a pause before he begins speaking in a stage whisper theoretically designed to disguise his voice. If you know him (or his brother, for that matter,) it might be obvious; but really, it's for effect. Don't stifle his flair for the dramatic okay.]

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.

We of the Dead Poets believe that, although our academic pursuits are a matter of great importance, such work is not what we live for; poetry, passion, the appreciation of beauty, are what keep us from being bound to lives of quiet desperation.

So tell me, gentlemen, ladies-- can you keep a secret?

[In addition, one might find here and there random bits of poetry-- mostly of the Romantic era-- chalked unobtrusively on walls and sidewalks, occasionally 'signed' with the initials DPS, or the words Dead Poets Society.

Any student of any school who expresses interest in this post-- anyone he can identify, anyway-- will be slipped a piece of paper at some point with a few lines of Coleridge and a time tomorrow evening written on it.]

[ooc; All replies will be text or the same 'anonymous' whisper >3 Neil's AU bio is over hyar, along with all my others. ^_^ a-as always please don't fourth-wall the Dead Poets :X Todd will be posting re: the meeting tomorrow!]

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Eating life is kind of a contradiction, though, don't you think?

Is it? You can certainly have an appetite for life, can't you?

I guess so. If it comes with sprinkles.

You could argue that sprinkles are an acceptable way of celebrating our philosophy.

No one can really live when there's a lack of sprinkles in their life. At least not deliberately. Maybe sadly. I'd be willing to help you out with this, but it's pretty hard without a name to put to the voice.

Under the circumstances, it isn't a good idea. I doubt the present administration would care for what I'm trying to do.

Ready poetry?

Words can change the world. There are those in power who'd prefer we didn't know that.

I always kind of thought teachers were supposed to encourage us to think for ourselves. Which doesn't really explain the whole pack mentality, but still. There are probably English teachers who'd pee their pants knowing some student wanted to make a poetry club.

We're meant to think for ourselves, up to a limit. This is more than just a poetry club; this is a celebration of beauty, an exuberant instance of creation.

Do you think yourself a poet?

[Slight hesitation on the line, like she's needed the extra few seconds to look around and make sure no one is nearby.]

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Don't think I'm a poet.
How 'bout you?

I still don't think it sounds so bad, but it's definitely more interesting than trying to pretend you're all some rebel without a cause.

What about rebels with a cause?

So much more badass. I feel a swoon coming on.

Women have been known to swoon, it's a common effect of poetry.

It's a good thing I won't be joining this club. I'd spend the entire thing unconscious.

You can always swoon in our honor, if you like.

I could probably get the squad to work out a cheer for that.

[Which makes her pause, since... she's pretty sure that would never fly.]

Well, maybe we could just make it a you guys and me kind of thing.

Well, I appreciate the exuberance. A full squad cheering might spoil the secrecy, anyway.

If the cheering itself didn't, the scissor kicking definitely would.

I'm pretty sure we don't have the space for that.

Do you meet in a broom closet or something?

I can't divulge information about where we meet to non-members.

But no.

So if I decided to join, then I could find out?

Maybe.
You say you don't write poetry-- do you read poetry?

I've read Where the Sidewalk Ends? And things that we've had to read in class. I don't really go out of my way, though, sorry.

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♕ |[47]| We didn't just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey

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