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Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Saturday, January 26, 2013
A Sonnet's Rigor
A sonnet's rigor tames the rowdy mind;
iambic paths commit the thought to word
with constant progress far less apt to wind
and thus ensure the mind is better heard.
With arrow straightness poets here proceed
nor sideways drift, though they have wont to roam
to other pastures by capricious deed
as forward poets never feel at home.
Cauterize this wound, break this cold chain of meter,
Deviate with dactyls and never count the strong beats.
I scorn Shakespeare, exploring unblank verses
but turn and gaze with terror at unnavigable freedom.
Dismayed, I find I'd rather be restrained
so I may know my verse, though it is pained.
iambic paths commit the thought to word
with constant progress far less apt to wind
and thus ensure the mind is better heard.
With arrow straightness poets here proceed
nor sideways drift, though they have wont to roam
to other pastures by capricious deed
as forward poets never feel at home.
Cauterize this wound, break this cold chain of meter,
Deviate with dactyls and never count the strong beats.
I scorn Shakespeare, exploring unblank verses
but turn and gaze with terror at unnavigable freedom.
Dismayed, I find I'd rather be restrained
so I may know my verse, though it is pained.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Solidarity
In months when frigid gales impose
a psychopomp upon the rose
and cast her crimson trappings down
to join the monochrome of brown,
we feel compelled to flee the chill
before, like roses, we fall ill.
a psychopomp upon the rose
and cast her crimson trappings down
to join the monochrome of brown,
we feel compelled to flee the chill
before, like roses, we fall ill.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
The Worthy Pride of Man
I'd pray for you to never pray if it would skew your faith
It pains to see you credit God where I see human power
I think I'd rather fall to Hell, to rings beyond the eighth
Than live outside of Babel and refuse to build a tower
I find no worthy meaning in a puppeted endeavor
If God is here, I welcome him and hope to find his love
But let that love not be the force I press against a lever
I live no life if all my acts are licensed from above
A Reasoned Hubris
"Is it too soon for me to die?
Must I wait for my time?
No sir, my mind is not awry
nor have I done a crime.
Although, at that, shall I arrange
to lose claim of my sense?
If I should sin, are you less strange?
What justifies you?"
"You've seized your life without a fee.
You hold no deed; you're squatting.
It's owned by you as much as me,
so I've no need for plotting.
I have no plan, no karmic law,
no art within my action.
So sin, go mad, or hold no flaw;
I'm still coming."
"I found my life by happenstance,
a penny on the paving.
No theft, and yet, by happy chance,
it's mine for careful saving.
And since I hold it, you cannot
without a mugger's ethic.
You must have some small moral thought --
what justifies you?"
"This right which you presume to hold
finds governance in Nature.
She'll never do as man has told,
she'll make no deal or wager.
Your mind of ethics, law, and art
does not persuade her agents.
We simply act, no code or heart.
I'm still coming."
"You draw too near, you draw too near!
Stand back and let me speak!
With all you take, lend just an ear
before I grow too weak.
I've much to say before I
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Random Seed Poetry 4: "The Trials of Oddity"
Seed words: century, subject, raving, attachment, hum
If you don't know what this means, read the first post in the series for an explanation.
"The Trials of Oddity"
Oh, please don't mind my raving;
I do it all the time.
They've called it "misbehaving,"
but so far never "crime."
I'm baffled by this century,
this inquiry,
this perjury.
Commentary: This one is a bit short, I know. I tried to add on to it, but I kept finding that I had nothing to add. And it's also a bit late, I know. I haven't gone to bed yet, so I'm still going to count it.
This one is partly inspired by some specific past experiences of mine which I will not thoroughly detail here, but mostly it's a reflection on how people react to me. Or, rather, how they used to react to me; I've changed since then, and I'm honestly not sure how to feel about that. There is value in being strange, and I think the pressures that "they" placed on me might have robbed me of it to a degree. But of course, I do still try to utilize what I've got left, as evidenced by the perhaps overstated name of this blog.
If you don't know what this means, read the first post in the series for an explanation.
"The Trials of Oddity"
Oh, please don't mind my raving;
I do it all the time.
They've called it "misbehaving,"
but so far never "crime."
I'm baffled by this century,
this inquiry,
this perjury.
Commentary: This one is a bit short, I know. I tried to add on to it, but I kept finding that I had nothing to add. And it's also a bit late, I know. I haven't gone to bed yet, so I'm still going to count it.
This one is partly inspired by some specific past experiences of mine which I will not thoroughly detail here, but mostly it's a reflection on how people react to me. Or, rather, how they used to react to me; I've changed since then, and I'm honestly not sure how to feel about that. There is value in being strange, and I think the pressures that "they" placed on me might have robbed me of it to a degree. But of course, I do still try to utilize what I've got left, as evidenced by the perhaps overstated name of this blog.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Random Seed Poetry 3: "Sight"
Seed words: cross, blessed, engine, astronomy, con
If you don't know what this means, read the first post in the series for an explanation.
"Sight"
The purest truth dissatisfies;
knowledge will ruin me.
An honest con with laser sight
never sees perfectly.
The engine's not the motive force,
it only carries it.
Before the fact, a vision forms,
something more beautiful.
Commentary: Alright, the random word generator is screwing with me now. The day that I have promised to write about something other than religion, the first two words it gives me are "cross" and "blessed." In any case, I did manage to write about something else, although I'm honestly not as happy with how this one turned out as compared to the last two. That may be due in part to two new structural things that I'm trying here. Firstly, I deviated from my usual tendency to use a single repeated metrical foot; instead, the lines alternated between iambic and dactylic meter, which I think gave it an interesting sort of staggered rhythm. Secondly, I wrote it unrhymed — which may not seem like a big deal, but rhyme is usually what I use to tie my poems together, aesthetically. Without rhyme, it risks seeming less cohesive, which might actually have happened — you'll have to tell me.
The topic is probably not very clear. I didn't state things very directly in this one. What I'm getting at is the notion that the experience of something is often more beautiful than the understanding of it. When analysis runs too deep, it can undercut and completely miss the things that made the investigation worthwhile to begin with. And yes, I am painfully aware that this sounds rather reminiscent of a certain pair of rapping clowns, but just because the way they say it is so inane, that doesn't mean there isn't any validity to the philosophical notion that they are trying to discuss. Except, unlike them, I'm not going to go around shouting angrily about scientists.
If you don't know what this means, read the first post in the series for an explanation.
"Sight"
The purest truth dissatisfies;
knowledge will ruin me.
An honest con with laser sight
never sees perfectly.
The engine's not the motive force,
it only carries it.
Before the fact, a vision forms,
something more beautiful.
Commentary: Alright, the random word generator is screwing with me now. The day that I have promised to write about something other than religion, the first two words it gives me are "cross" and "blessed." In any case, I did manage to write about something else, although I'm honestly not as happy with how this one turned out as compared to the last two. That may be due in part to two new structural things that I'm trying here. Firstly, I deviated from my usual tendency to use a single repeated metrical foot; instead, the lines alternated between iambic and dactylic meter, which I think gave it an interesting sort of staggered rhythm. Secondly, I wrote it unrhymed — which may not seem like a big deal, but rhyme is usually what I use to tie my poems together, aesthetically. Without rhyme, it risks seeming less cohesive, which might actually have happened — you'll have to tell me.
The topic is probably not very clear. I didn't state things very directly in this one. What I'm getting at is the notion that the experience of something is often more beautiful than the understanding of it. When analysis runs too deep, it can undercut and completely miss the things that made the investigation worthwhile to begin with. And yes, I am painfully aware that this sounds rather reminiscent of a certain pair of rapping clowns, but just because the way they say it is so inane, that doesn't mean there isn't any validity to the philosophical notion that they are trying to discuss. Except, unlike them, I'm not going to go around shouting angrily about scientists.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Random Seed Poetry 2: "Theodicy of a Cynic"
Seed words: staff, partitioning, flour, circuitry, consequence
If you don't know what this means, read the first post in the series for an explanation.
"Theodicy of a Cynic"
Among the dead, some live instead,
no less deserved of death,
the consequence of actions hence
defied with ev'ry breath.
The wrath of God, through Aaron's rod,
was illustrated plain,
but these few laugh and mock the staff
and yet they still remain.
Our laws defied and vilified
by villains and their gall,
we can't avoid that we're devoid
of any laws at all.
No justice then, within our ken,
appears to be at play,
and we cannot describe our lot
with what the prophets say.
Commentary: I know, there seems to be a pattern forming here. I'll try to get onto a new topic tomorrow. I suppose my religious views have been on my mind a lot the past couple of days, but to my credit this is at least about a different aspect of them. Here the title is fairly on-the-nose. It's a somewhat cynical discussion of theodicy (which is the field of religious studies concerned with answering the question, "Why does God allow evil to exist?"). The speaker of this poem isn't really me, it should be noted. I don't share these views precisely. It's simply a perspective which I find interesting to consider, and which arrives at a similar conclusion to mine.
If you don't know what this means, read the first post in the series for an explanation.
"Theodicy of a Cynic"
Among the dead, some live instead,
no less deserved of death,
the consequence of actions hence
defied with ev'ry breath.
The wrath of God, through Aaron's rod,
was illustrated plain,
but these few laugh and mock the staff
and yet they still remain.
Our laws defied and vilified
by villains and their gall,
we can't avoid that we're devoid
of any laws at all.
No justice then, within our ken,
appears to be at play,
and we cannot describe our lot
with what the prophets say.
Commentary: I know, there seems to be a pattern forming here. I'll try to get onto a new topic tomorrow. I suppose my religious views have been on my mind a lot the past couple of days, but to my credit this is at least about a different aspect of them. Here the title is fairly on-the-nose. It's a somewhat cynical discussion of theodicy (which is the field of religious studies concerned with answering the question, "Why does God allow evil to exist?"). The speaker of this poem isn't really me, it should be noted. I don't share these views precisely. It's simply a perspective which I find interesting to consider, and which arrives at a similar conclusion to mine.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Random Seed Poetry 1: "Trinity"
Inspired in large part by Jonathan Coulton's Thing a Week and Jonathan Mann's Song a Day, I have decided to take on a similar (but far less ambitious) project. Every day, I will randomly generate 5 common nouns and use two of them in a new poem. I will publish them to this blog as I complete them, along with a commentary of some sort (since, unlike many writers, I like explaining my work). Let's see how long I can keep this up!
Seed words:socialist, known, contraception, prayer, receiving
"Trinity"
I can't remember my last prayer
living in this earthly box
there once was power in the air
sealed away with cosmic locks
in lack of faith, I'm like a stone
so sure am I, so solid here
I drop the soul and keep the known
I place my faith in what is near
Commentary: This poem discusses my drift towards agnosticism and eventually atheism, which occurred over the course of my adolescence. I tried something new and possibly gimmicky with this. Try reading the poem three times — once in its entirety, once skipping the indented lines, and once skipping the unindented lines — and think of each as a distinct poem. The idea is to show a sort of internal back-and-forth, with different perspectives emerging from the conflict. The name is suggestive of both the Holy Trinity which I used to worship and the trinitarian nature of the poem itself.
Seed words:
"Trinity"
I can't remember my last prayer
living in this earthly box
there once was power in the air
sealed away with cosmic locks
in lack of faith, I'm like a stone
so sure am I, so solid here
I drop the soul and keep the known
I place my faith in what is near
Commentary: This poem discusses my drift towards agnosticism and eventually atheism, which occurred over the course of my adolescence. I tried something new and possibly gimmicky with this. Try reading the poem three times — once in its entirety, once skipping the indented lines, and once skipping the unindented lines — and think of each as a distinct poem. The idea is to show a sort of internal back-and-forth, with different perspectives emerging from the conflict. The name is suggestive of both the Holy Trinity which I used to worship and the trinitarian nature of the poem itself.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Untitled and Unfinished
I came upon an awesome sight,
and poetry attacked me.
I suffered then a reckless need
to write the words exactly.
So when my verse could not create
complete
the soul form of what
I'm
The poem died; I won the fight,
embittered by my failing.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Rhetor
Show me the method of seeing the universe;
I am untrained, I am vulgar and ignorant.
Tell me your notion of how to imagine; my
mind is unbridled, but I need it tame.
My prior experience, childhood fantasy.
Laughable, really, and none of it usable.
Savage ideas. But I now know the dictum:
The first one to think something has to be wrong.
I am untrained, I am vulgar and ignorant.
Tell me your notion of how to imagine; my
mind is unbridled, but I need it tame.
My prior experience, childhood fantasy.
Laughable, really, and none of it usable.
Savage ideas. But I now know the dictum:
The first one to think something has to be wrong.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Unbroken (version 2)
The sacred silence, savored by the students in the sanctum
strains to show the silken flow of simple, solemn scenes.
But chivalrous, the scrapes and shuffles, stopped, subdued, and stifled
seem to sound, support, surround, declare the smallest deed.
(I think this one accomplishes more fully what I was trying to do with the alliteration.)
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Unbroken
The sacred silence, savored by the students in the sanctum
strains to show the silken flow of simple, solemn scenes.
But chivalrous, the imperfections, rising to the summit,
seem to sound, support, resound, ignite the smallest act.
strains to show the silken flow of simple, solemn scenes.
But chivalrous, the imperfections, rising to the summit,
seem to sound, support, resound, ignite the smallest act.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Brittle
This was actually written as a song, but I'm not entirely happy with the melody I've come up with. Also I don't have the means to accompany it with any instruments. But the lyrics aren't quite awful. So here they are.
I don't know what I want to say
I think I'll say it anyway
I never get it right
And so I never sleep at night
And I'm in love with the idea of love
I'm prayin' to the stars above
But I don't hear a voice
And I don't think I get a choice in that
I don't
Want to be awake
I do not know what I can take
I am afraid that I will break
'Cause I am brittle
At risk from curiosity
A champion of heresy
I'm on my feet, I'm on my knees
It's killin' me
I don't know where I want to go
I'm not sure if I'll ever know
I know it isn't far
'Cause I can't even drive a car
But just believe me, I am happy here
I think, I guess, it isn't clear
My throat is getting sore
And you just tell me if I bore you, please
I don't
Want to be awake
I do not know what I can take
I am afraid that I will break
'Cause I am brittle
At risk from curiosity
A champion of heresy
I'm on my feet, I'm on my knees
It's killin' me
My resolutions need to start
I think I've had a change of heart
This time it's really true
And I will prove myself to you
But wait, I think we're getting hasty here
I think I need to be more clear
I know I need to change
I'm just a little too deranged for that
I don't
Want to be awake
I do not know what I can take
I am afraid that I will break
'Cause I am brittle
At risk from curiosity
A champion of heresy
I'm on my feet, I'm on my knees
It's killin' me
I want to be awake
There isn't much that I can take
But really even if I break
I'll just be brittle
A cat needs curiosity
I can't submit to destiny
I'm on my feet, I'm on my knees
I don't know what I want to say
I think I'll say it anyway
I never get it right
And so I never sleep at night
And I'm in love with the idea of love
I'm prayin' to the stars above
But I don't hear a voice
And I don't think I get a choice in that
I don't
Want to be awake
I do not know what I can take
I am afraid that I will break
'Cause I am brittle
At risk from curiosity
A champion of heresy
I'm on my feet, I'm on my knees
It's killin' me
I don't know where I want to go
I'm not sure if I'll ever know
I know it isn't far
'Cause I can't even drive a car
But just believe me, I am happy here
I think, I guess, it isn't clear
My throat is getting sore
And you just tell me if I bore you, please
I don't
Want to be awake
I do not know what I can take
I am afraid that I will break
'Cause I am brittle
At risk from curiosity
A champion of heresy
I'm on my feet, I'm on my knees
It's killin' me
My resolutions need to start
I think I've had a change of heart
This time it's really true
And I will prove myself to you
But wait, I think we're getting hasty here
I think I need to be more clear
I know I need to change
I'm just a little too deranged for that
I don't
Want to be awake
I do not know what I can take
I am afraid that I will break
'Cause I am brittle
At risk from curiosity
A champion of heresy
I'm on my feet, I'm on my knees
It's killin' me
I want to be awake
There isn't much that I can take
But really even if I break
I'll just be brittle
A cat needs curiosity
I can't submit to destiny
I'm on my feet, I'm on my knees
Thursday, September 15, 2011
A Lover Covets Love
Love, debasing,
luring, chasing,
never thought to be a flaw, but
now erasing,
warring, pacing,
beats the heart and wears it raw.
Have a flower,
hunger, power.
He loves you, and you love that he'd
wait an hour,
gloomy, dour,
just to know you love him back.
Feeling happy,
warm and sappy,
nothing sweeter, sweetest fall from
feeling crappy,
twitchy, tappy,
angry that he didn't call.
Now you're weaker,
smaller, meeker.
You don't want to be alone so
you're a shrieker,
crier, weeper,
can't go back, and can't atone.
Trapped by needing,
begging, bleeding,
best to force it, make it fit in
what you're seeding,
growing, breeding.
Work the land and never quit.
luring, chasing,
never thought to be a flaw, but
now erasing,
warring, pacing,
beats the heart and wears it raw.
Have a flower,
hunger, power.
He loves you, and you love that he'd
wait an hour,
gloomy, dour,
just to know you love him back.
Feeling happy,
warm and sappy,
nothing sweeter, sweetest fall from
feeling crappy,
twitchy, tappy,
angry that he didn't call.
Now you're weaker,
smaller, meeker.
You don't want to be alone so
you're a shrieker,
crier, weeper,
can't go back, and can't atone.
Trapped by needing,
begging, bleeding,
best to force it, make it fit in
what you're seeding,
growing, breeding.
Work the land and never quit.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Prophecy
A mountebank will teach a man that reckless faith is grief;
no prophet brings an iron word to men who know a thief.
no prophet brings an iron word to men who know a thief.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Tock
The mainspring of the clock unwinds,
but mine is tight; each tick reminds.
Eternal cadence binds me short:
no time for work, no time for sport,
for each of two will rob the one.
Though time is endless, I have none.
but mine is tight; each tick reminds.
Eternal cadence binds me short:
no time for work, no time for sport,
for each of two will rob the one.
Though time is endless, I have none.
Monday, January 24, 2011
My Fire
A bit of boasting burns a bridge,
and brashly will I kindle.
With sickly glow,
the fire's low,
but prideful flames won't dwindle.
Eternal blaze, I covet you
while you drive me to covet.
You cause me strife
but give me life;
I hate you and I love it.
You drive the lively forest back
by poisoning my vision;
I see a face
of friendly grace,
but your smoke paints derision.
I'd like to snuff you, but I won't;
I feel compelled to feed you.
I'll let you stay
again today,
but say that I don't need you.
and brashly will I kindle.
With sickly glow,
the fire's low,
but prideful flames won't dwindle.
Eternal blaze, I covet you
while you drive me to covet.
You cause me strife
but give me life;
I hate you and I love it.
You drive the lively forest back
by poisoning my vision;
I see a face
of friendly grace,
but your smoke paints derision.
I'd like to snuff you, but I won't;
I feel compelled to feed you.
I'll let you stay
again today,
but say that I don't need you.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Gall
How dare I laugh and play a game?
How dare I look for pleasure?
I'm selfish, starving for my glut,
a pig by any measure.
And no-one in the world (apart
from ev'ry other devil)
would dare to grin at idle thoughts
or close his eyes and revel.
For open eyes would see the stains
upon his merrymaking.
With ev'ry feast, a thousand starve.
We're cruel to not be aching.
Our joy is local, hoarded here;
we drakes adore our gold.
And dragonslayers, though they fight,
are killed for being bold.
But even now, apologetic,
I confess to smiling.
My verse — pretentious, pithy tripe —
delights me in its styling.
So I'm a monster. I confess.
Now burn me with the lumber.
But add a bit of hickory;
the other monsters hunger.
How dare I look for pleasure?
I'm selfish, starving for my glut,
a pig by any measure.
And no-one in the world (apart
from ev'ry other devil)
would dare to grin at idle thoughts
or close his eyes and revel.
For open eyes would see the stains
upon his merrymaking.
With ev'ry feast, a thousand starve.
We're cruel to not be aching.
Our joy is local, hoarded here;
we drakes adore our gold.
And dragonslayers, though they fight,
are killed for being bold.
But even now, apologetic,
I confess to smiling.
My verse — pretentious, pithy tripe —
delights me in its styling.
So I'm a monster. I confess.
Now burn me with the lumber.
But add a bit of hickory;
the other monsters hunger.
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