Great Expectations

Well, as National Poetry Month ends in thirty minutes, I am writing out a lot of poems that I've had rattling around my head for a while. I think this is kind of born from that famous paradox about all Cretans being liars.

Why Walk?

I realized that as I am someone who writes poems (I hesitate to say that I'm a poet, that implies a level of talent I lack), I am potentially expected to answer the question of why poetry is important. I don't know, all I know is that it's important to me.

Perceive the Poet

This poem is based on the thoughts of Lord Berkley, who speculated on the nature of being, namely that to be is to be perceived, or, more commonly stated, if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around, does it make a sound? He said that God is the knower of all, so we all have being because we are perceived in his mind. It's interesting stuff - to what extent is our existence based upon the perception of others?

Journey

I am very tired, and I have no idea what this means. But wrote it, and you read it. So it is something. And things mean things.

Why I Was Late to Class

So, today was my final day of classes, a bittersweet moment. For some reason, I started writing a poem in the last of the day and my college career, and it quickly morphed into something else. Well, this is in no way autobiographical, I figured I should state that up front.

Flying Kites

This poem is a bit odd, I started free verse, unrhymed, unmetered couplets, but then I had a section of rhymed pentameter, followed by a rhymed 8 syllable couplet (what's the term for 8 syllable lines, I can't think of any). So, I may or may not go back and clean it up, but I like the loose start that goes into a more ordered feel.

Sunny Day

Today is a rather pretty day in Chicagoland, and I have spent a fair portion of it outside. I always have an issue this time of year with which poets to read and what music to listen to, the reason for this being that most of my year is spent in miserable winter, and all the music and poetry I consume takes on a tint of bitter cold. So, in Spring, I try to break out the bright colored arts, like Hopkins or Wordsworth. The question is, now that I write poems more often, how do I write more cheerful verse? It's a bit of a shift, but one that's quite pleasant to try and figure out. So, here's an attempt at a happier poem.

Blissful Sight

Well, I can't stop thinking about Good Friday stuff, so here's another poem on the subject.

The Goodness of Friday

Today is Good Friday, the day when Jesus was sacrificed on the cross. I cannot write poetry on this day without being reminded first of George Herbert's "The Sacrifice," and second of W.H. Auden's "Horae Canonicae." Both are far, far deeper than anything I could hope to say. Nonetheless, I wrote, trying to struggle with the wave of mundane expressions I see on this day. How easily we forget how painful and bloody goodness is, and refashion the word into a Hallmark sentiment.

Roaming Minds

This is not quite a traditional Good Friday poem - actually, I'm not really trying to deal with those themes at the moment. This poem is simply my attempt at a minor romantic verse, I figured all the convoluted inner monologues could use some balancing out. I hope you enjoy this.

Sober Mercy

This poem came to me as I sat at breakfast and saw some friends who I know had recently been passed over for an opportunity - I won't say what, but I've had other friends passed over for the same opportunity, and was passed over myself, and I realized that given time, these friends might be tempted to become bitter over this situation. Having gone down that path, I know how foolish that is, so this is my advice to those who are tempted towards bitterness. I think it might be somewhat inspired by Gerard Manley Hopkins' "Carrion Comfort," or maybe I just hope it is.

Pseudo-Martyr

Ben Stephens and I were talking in our John Donne class about how great of a name "Pseudo-Martyr" would be for a band. So, I made it one. The original piece was an essay by John Donne about religious tolerance and persecution in England at the time, I shudder to think what he would say if he could read my version.

Balance Sheets

Some things in life shouldn't make sense, but do anyways. I seem to think about those moments a lot.

The Last Words of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

Here's a little speech that I imagine Hamlet making while lying on the floor, waiting for death. Not exactly cheerful, but then again, neither is the play. I hope Shakespeare won't be too pissed at me for this.

Fight

A poem on the nature of grit and determination, and their effectiveness.

In Illo Tempore

Much of the writing of the 20th century involved a good deal of longing for either the past or the future, which makes the 20th century like just about every other time period.

Undone

The words of the prayer of confession in the Book of Common Prayer are familiar to me, rolling off the tongue without effort, but something in me catches at one phrase, "In what we have done, and what we have left undone," speaking of how we have sinned. It's easy to admit your mistakes, but what about that which never was?

Free Will

To counteract the whimsy of some of my other poems, here is a serious look at the doctrine of free will.

Lovely Word

Unable to sleep at 1:36 am, sometimes all you can do is write whimsical poetry on love.

Working for the Weekend

As senior year rushes by, I realize that nothing should be taken for granted.

Illuminations

Written after a particularly spectacular lighting storm.

Hiding the Evidence

Today's poem is something of a midrash, an exploration of nuances in Biblical stories that are not explicitly commented on. Scott Cairns is the first poet I read to do this, and David Wright introduced me to the concept. This piece takes as its basis the collection of manna in the desert.

April Fools' Day

This is the start of NaPoWriMo, and the first day this week that I really didn't want to write poetry. I had a few ideas kind of come to me, but as I worked on them the lineation fell apart, or I felt like the idea needed a lot more work before I could show it. Still, writing is not something that just happens, it must be worked at, it's a craft, a skill that must be honed, so I sat and thought and wrote for an hour or so, and came up with something that hopefully is half decent.