Poe and stuff
Once-a-week updating is dead and buried, obviously, but I'll see what I can come up with.
For the past two weeks, I've been working on a poetry project, on Edgar Allan Poe. Part of it was to write a poem mimicking his style.
"Dreamings of a Cold Night"
Look - she travels through the night,
Small form trembling, trembling, trembling.
It’s the cold - Even so,
It’s the chill of fear resembling.
Now she’s knocking on the door
And she’s calling, calling, calling,
But there’s no one there to answer,
So she enters with foreboding.
And the screaming, screaming, screaming -
Can you hear it?
Can you smell it?
Can you taste it in the copper tang of blood?
Painting pictures on the floor
Of the dying, dying, dying,
And you hear the woman’s shriek
As she sees the body lying
On the floor in the shadows and she flees.
Now she gazes at the moon,
Pale face weeping, weeping, weeping,
Throws out wide her arms in welcome
To the shadows inward creeping
Lets the darkness know her sorrow and she falls.
I would appreciate being told that it is not so horrible as to require being hidden under a rock. ^_^
I read a heartening article on the subject of homosexuality and Christianity here. Amen, brother. Not that I'm particularly Christian. But the idea that some people can think sensibly about the issue is nice. I'm tempted to print it out and show it to one of my Baptist friends.
Happy Turkey Day to everyone! (I'm going out of town for the next few days, not that that affects the frequency of journal updates much. ^_^)
For the past two weeks, I've been working on a poetry project, on Edgar Allan Poe. Part of it was to write a poem mimicking his style.
"Dreamings of a Cold Night"
Look - she travels through the night,
Small form trembling, trembling, trembling.
It’s the cold - Even so,
It’s the chill of fear resembling.
Now she’s knocking on the door
And she’s calling, calling, calling,
But there’s no one there to answer,
So she enters with foreboding.
And the screaming, screaming, screaming -
Can you hear it?
Can you smell it?
Can you taste it in the copper tang of blood?
Painting pictures on the floor
Of the dying, dying, dying,
And you hear the woman’s shriek
As she sees the body lying
On the floor in the shadows and she flees.
Now she gazes at the moon,
Pale face weeping, weeping, weeping,
Throws out wide her arms in welcome
To the shadows inward creeping
Lets the darkness know her sorrow and she falls.
I would appreciate being told that it is not so horrible as to require being hidden under a rock. ^_^
I read a heartening article on the subject of homosexuality and Christianity here. Amen, brother. Not that I'm particularly Christian. But the idea that some people can think sensibly about the issue is nice. I'm tempted to print it out and show it to one of my Baptist friends.
Happy Turkey Day to everyone! (I'm going out of town for the next few days, not that that affects the frequency of journal updates much. ^_^)