Assorted Poetry from '06 and '07
In the interest of consolidating my writing, I'm posting these here.
Sestinas
A Sestina for Chewbacca
There stands a proud and noble beast, a Wookie,
Whose upright bearing speaks of ancient glory
And noble ancestry, whose people first
Did tame the forest wild and, standing solo,
Does keep vigil and watch o’er the Millennium
With bearing high and mighty as a falcon.
Soaring above the clouds a single Falcon,
Carrying our just and noble Wookie,
Rides the very tail of the Millennium
And promises to bring its riders glory;
The stalwart wookie and the man named Solo,
Who captains her, and always fires first.
When danger low’rs, Chewie is the first
To spring to action, focused as the falcon,
And wield the arms to aid the man, Han Solo;
Crying mad havoc as only a Wookie
Can loose his voice, to ululate in glory
And shake the very end of the millennium.
Like unto time itself, the namesake Millennium
Quivers to hear the call, for 'twas the first
To tame the Kessel Run, and know the glory
Of Twelve parsecs only, speedy as a falcon.
Joyous in his triumph, the laughing Wookie
Barks his rapture to the man, Han Solo.
And like his friend, but silent, the man Solo
Takes once more the helm of the Millennium;
And always by his side, the noble Wookie
Returns to his right hand to be the first
To aid and serve, much like the loyal falcon
‘Turns to his master’s hand in ancient glory.
Ancient and e’er present is the glory
That, resplendent in fur and fire, stands solo;
Second in command aboard the Falcon,
As ever he shall stand, til’ the Millennium
should die; yet Second is the First
In all our hearts, our love the gentle Wookie.
Quicksilver fast and fleet, the Millennium Falcon;
And handsome is its First, the man Han Solo;
But glory be to Chewbacca, the Wookie.
-------
Yes, it's an ode to Chewbacca, written in probably the most aggravating and difficult poetry form there is. I wrote it for a contest at Something Awful that I didn't win. In all fairness, the guy that won wrote an entire children's book, so... yeah.
Reflections of the Storm
The sky is dark and heavy with the storm.
The clear and orange glass, besieged by wind,
Rattles in the frame; is shaken by the force
Of the thunder, and battered by the rain.
The lights flicker. All is silence here.
I close my eyes and, longing, think of home.
The rolling fields and verdant hills of home,
So fine a setting for so great a storm!
A lavish backdrop. Not so pretty here
Where concrete stands unmoved by the wind,
And pavement is not nourished by the rain,
And steel will not be bowed by Nature's force.
Not even so formidable a force
As ravishes the houses of my home,
And soaks the grasses with the driving rain
As sirens call the coming of the storm:
The sky-black Vortex; finger of the wind!
Such things belong at home and never here.
The so familiar there is alien here.
A terrible and most oppressive force
To those who do not know to love the wind,
And have not called the roaring thunder home,
Nor delighted in the passion of the storm,
And laughed to feel the cleansing of the rain.
These people only curse the blinding rain.
It slows their frantic pace from there to here.
They only see a hinderance in the storm.
They do not love the storm, yet fear its force.
Intensely in this instant, I miss home,
Surrounded by the rushing of the wind.
So close and yet so far, amidst the wind
The thunder and the lightning and the rain.
Behind closed eyes, it almost feels like home,
But when I open them, I am still here.
I brace myself against the sudden force
Of loneliness which rages like the storm.
I force myself to make this place my home.
My tears like rain; my restlessness the wind,
For like the storm, I am a stranger here.
-----
The first sestina I ever successfully completed, after years of trying. Typically, it came to me while I was sitting at work.
Villanelles, a Rondel, and an Angry Free Form
Her figure silhouetted in my door
A shadow on the still and broken tile
I'll speak my peace and then say nothing more.
I know a sad conclusion is in store
For when she meets my eyes, she does not smile.
Her figure silhouetted in my door
Begs comfort, if I only had the cure
To heal her hurts and make her stay awhile
I'll speak my peace and then say nothing more.
She's frightened now, misguided and unsure,
This circumstance has never been her style.
Her figure silhouetted in my door
Turns to leave, I know my words are poor
Too poor to change her, but I'm versatile
I'll speak my peace and then say nothing more.
"It's done," she says, and walks across my floor.
And after all, would it have been worthwhile?
Her figure silhouetted in my door,
I'll speak my peace and then say nothing more.
___________
I do not think I know the words to say
To chase the dark expression from her face,
To make her want to live another day
Her once bright eyes now turn an ashen grey
Where once they filled with joy and made hearts race
I do not think I know the words to say
For my heart, too, has missed the gentle play
Of her laughter, but I fear it's not my place
To make her want to live another day
Her body weakens now, a slow decay
That sends her fears that nothing can erase
I do not think I know the words to say
If only I could make her turn away
And shun the touch of sorrow's cold embrace
To make her want to live another day
She leaves me now to go too far away
I cannot call her back; there's too much space
I do not think I know the words to say
To make her want to live another day.
-----
Written about a friend I haven't heard from in years, who I'm still desperately worried about.
If I can put the past behind me,
Bend down and tie the laces on my shoe,
Repetition always seems to find me.
And if the now treats me kindly,
Will fear of the future darken my view
If I can put the past behind me?
Snaking unseen tethers bind me.
Can I truly experience something new?
Repetition always seems to find me.
The world calls out to me; I follow blindly.
So much to hear and taste and do
If I can put the past behind me!
The best of any outcome cannot hide me
From a sick sense of deja vu.
Repetition always seems to find me
But I ramble; please don't mind me.
What's done is done, and I'll do what I'll do
If I can put the past behind me.
Repetition always seems to find me...
-----
The title is goofy, I know. But the poem is still surprisingly relevant for me.
Sleep is something that happens to other people
And sorely pressed am I to do without it
But I can't do a goddamn thing
About it
The more things change, the more they stay the same
I know that's just a cheesy platitude
But knowing doesn't change a goddamn thing
About my attitude
Something I looked forward to has changed
I know there's a hope there, but I can't see one
Change the channel, this is
A goddamn rerun.
-----
Because sometimes I get angry and intense at work.
Sestinas
A Sestina for Chewbacca
There stands a proud and noble beast, a Wookie,
Whose upright bearing speaks of ancient glory
And noble ancestry, whose people first
Did tame the forest wild and, standing solo,
Does keep vigil and watch o’er the Millennium
With bearing high and mighty as a falcon.
Soaring above the clouds a single Falcon,
Carrying our just and noble Wookie,
Rides the very tail of the Millennium
And promises to bring its riders glory;
The stalwart wookie and the man named Solo,
Who captains her, and always fires first.
When danger low’rs, Chewie is the first
To spring to action, focused as the falcon,
And wield the arms to aid the man, Han Solo;
Crying mad havoc as only a Wookie
Can loose his voice, to ululate in glory
And shake the very end of the millennium.
Like unto time itself, the namesake Millennium
Quivers to hear the call, for 'twas the first
To tame the Kessel Run, and know the glory
Of Twelve parsecs only, speedy as a falcon.
Joyous in his triumph, the laughing Wookie
Barks his rapture to the man, Han Solo.
And like his friend, but silent, the man Solo
Takes once more the helm of the Millennium;
And always by his side, the noble Wookie
Returns to his right hand to be the first
To aid and serve, much like the loyal falcon
‘Turns to his master’s hand in ancient glory.
Ancient and e’er present is the glory
That, resplendent in fur and fire, stands solo;
Second in command aboard the Falcon,
As ever he shall stand, til’ the Millennium
should die; yet Second is the First
In all our hearts, our love the gentle Wookie.
Quicksilver fast and fleet, the Millennium Falcon;
And handsome is its First, the man Han Solo;
But glory be to Chewbacca, the Wookie.
-------
Yes, it's an ode to Chewbacca, written in probably the most aggravating and difficult poetry form there is. I wrote it for a contest at Something Awful that I didn't win. In all fairness, the guy that won wrote an entire children's book, so... yeah.
Reflections of the Storm
The sky is dark and heavy with the storm.
The clear and orange glass, besieged by wind,
Rattles in the frame; is shaken by the force
Of the thunder, and battered by the rain.
The lights flicker. All is silence here.
I close my eyes and, longing, think of home.
The rolling fields and verdant hills of home,
So fine a setting for so great a storm!
A lavish backdrop. Not so pretty here
Where concrete stands unmoved by the wind,
And pavement is not nourished by the rain,
And steel will not be bowed by Nature's force.
Not even so formidable a force
As ravishes the houses of my home,
And soaks the grasses with the driving rain
As sirens call the coming of the storm:
The sky-black Vortex; finger of the wind!
Such things belong at home and never here.
The so familiar there is alien here.
A terrible and most oppressive force
To those who do not know to love the wind,
And have not called the roaring thunder home,
Nor delighted in the passion of the storm,
And laughed to feel the cleansing of the rain.
These people only curse the blinding rain.
It slows their frantic pace from there to here.
They only see a hinderance in the storm.
They do not love the storm, yet fear its force.
Intensely in this instant, I miss home,
Surrounded by the rushing of the wind.
So close and yet so far, amidst the wind
The thunder and the lightning and the rain.
Behind closed eyes, it almost feels like home,
But when I open them, I am still here.
I brace myself against the sudden force
Of loneliness which rages like the storm.
I force myself to make this place my home.
My tears like rain; my restlessness the wind,
For like the storm, I am a stranger here.
-----
The first sestina I ever successfully completed, after years of trying. Typically, it came to me while I was sitting at work.
Villanelles, a Rondel, and an Angry Free Form
Her figure silhouetted in my door
A shadow on the still and broken tile
I'll speak my peace and then say nothing more.
I know a sad conclusion is in store
For when she meets my eyes, she does not smile.
Her figure silhouetted in my door
Begs comfort, if I only had the cure
To heal her hurts and make her stay awhile
I'll speak my peace and then say nothing more.
She's frightened now, misguided and unsure,
This circumstance has never been her style.
Her figure silhouetted in my door
Turns to leave, I know my words are poor
Too poor to change her, but I'm versatile
I'll speak my peace and then say nothing more.
"It's done," she says, and walks across my floor.
And after all, would it have been worthwhile?
Her figure silhouetted in my door,
I'll speak my peace and then say nothing more.
___________
I do not think I know the words to say
To chase the dark expression from her face,
To make her want to live another day
Her once bright eyes now turn an ashen grey
Where once they filled with joy and made hearts race
I do not think I know the words to say
For my heart, too, has missed the gentle play
Of her laughter, but I fear it's not my place
To make her want to live another day
Her body weakens now, a slow decay
That sends her fears that nothing can erase
I do not think I know the words to say
If only I could make her turn away
And shun the touch of sorrow's cold embrace
To make her want to live another day
She leaves me now to go too far away
I cannot call her back; there's too much space
I do not think I know the words to say
To make her want to live another day.
-----
Written about a friend I haven't heard from in years, who I'm still desperately worried about.
If I can put the past behind me,
Bend down and tie the laces on my shoe,
Repetition always seems to find me.
And if the now treats me kindly,
Will fear of the future darken my view
If I can put the past behind me?
Snaking unseen tethers bind me.
Can I truly experience something new?
Repetition always seems to find me.
The world calls out to me; I follow blindly.
So much to hear and taste and do
If I can put the past behind me!
The best of any outcome cannot hide me
From a sick sense of deja vu.
Repetition always seems to find me
But I ramble; please don't mind me.
What's done is done, and I'll do what I'll do
If I can put the past behind me.
Repetition always seems to find me...
-----
The title is goofy, I know. But the poem is still surprisingly relevant for me.
Sleep is something that happens to other people
And sorely pressed am I to do without it
But I can't do a goddamn thing
About it
The more things change, the more they stay the same
I know that's just a cheesy platitude
But knowing doesn't change a goddamn thing
About my attitude
Something I looked forward to has changed
I know there's a hope there, but I can't see one
Change the channel, this is
A goddamn rerun.
-----
Because sometimes I get angry and intense at work.