Okay, this one I started working on shortly after I got back from France while I was in Austria, then it just sort of sat there for awhile until I finished it up today. Basically this is an attempt to express some feelings I had while visiting the cemetery at Omaha Beach. I don't think I need to add much more to that.
My first experiment with Anapestic Tetrameter, which, if all goes well, I'll be obliged to use quite a bit in the future.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Normandy Poem
Omaha Beach Cemetery
In rank upon rank the white crosses all stand
Facing homeward beneath the beloved old band
Where the guns and the planes and the cannons once roared
Now a garden of trees reaches down to the shore
From the cities and farms and the towns they were sent
From their wives and their parents and children they went
For they so loved their country that for her they left
On an alien shore they gave her their last breath
Now the crosses all stand tall and straight on the field
For the men there that fell since they would never yield.
In rank upon rank the white crosses all stand
Facing homeward beneath the beloved old band
Where the guns and the planes and the cannons once roared
Now a garden of trees reaches down to the shore
From the cities and farms and the towns they were sent
From their wives and their parents and children they went
For they so loved their country that for her they left
On an alien shore they gave her their last breath
Now the crosses all stand tall and straight on the field
For the men there that fell since they would never yield.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
The Last Artist notes
Okay, this is the first poem I'm posting here; I wrote it while I was in Austria, mostly while waiting for class to start. It's intended as a tribute to my favorite artist, William Adolphe Bouguereau. It seemed to me that here was a classical artist of the renaissance or baroque school (although I don't know enough about differing art styles to specifically label him) who lived after his time had passed; the impressionists, post-impressionists, cubists, and 'they-just-don't-seem-to-care' artists were taking over and he was the last great one of his breed. It's written in the Ballad format (which I find to be the easiest and most fun to write in).
Just a side note: I don't want people to think that I hate impressionists and the like; I don't. I generally enjoy Van Gogh, Monet, and their ilk, and I find Dali's stuff to be fascinating in a nightmarish kind of way. The thing is, for me, they're generally curiosities and 'one-shot' fads; their fine on their own, but I'm disturbed by their techniques taking over the art world completely. I much prefer the more 'traditional' artists like, well, Bouguereau.
Just a side note: I don't want people to think that I hate impressionists and the like; I don't. I generally enjoy Van Gogh, Monet, and their ilk, and I find Dali's stuff to be fascinating in a nightmarish kind of way. The thing is, for me, they're generally curiosities and 'one-shot' fads; their fine on their own, but I'm disturbed by their techniques taking over the art world completely. I much prefer the more 'traditional' artists like, well, Bouguereau.
The Last Artist
The Last Artist
A man is painting portraits
In garish gold and red
Another gives us paintings
Of nightmare dreams instead
Still others paint the city
As seen through powdered glass
But the last great artist in the world
Paints children in the grass
A kind old man from Paris
Paints flowers in the fall
And many dull and sad young men
Paint nothing now at all
A cruel man in the city streets
Paints ugly broken shapes
But the last true artist in the world
Now paints true love’s escape.
Now men paint only simple shapes
Or paint an empty wall
They try to draw like music sounds
Or do not try at all
To all who paint now listen well
Look back across the years
The last great artist living drew
Madonna all in tears.
A man is painting portraits
In garish gold and red
Another gives us paintings
Of nightmare dreams instead
Still others paint the city
As seen through powdered glass
But the last great artist in the world
Paints children in the grass
A kind old man from Paris
Paints flowers in the fall
And many dull and sad young men
Paint nothing now at all
A cruel man in the city streets
Paints ugly broken shapes
But the last true artist in the world
Now paints true love’s escape.
Now men paint only simple shapes
Or paint an empty wall
They try to draw like music sounds
Or do not try at all
To all who paint now listen well
Look back across the years
The last great artist living drew
Madonna all in tears.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
RE: Mst3k and other things
Hi. I know all five of you are probably wondering when the Mst3k reviews are going to resume. Well, frankly, I don't know; I recently had the reconfigure my computer and lost most of my files, including my reviews in progress. What's more, YouTube, my main source of episodes, has apparently taken down the majority of their episodes, so the reviews are on hold until I find another source or someone else starts posting them on YouTube. Sorry.
The good news is that I'm planning on posting other things; specifically some of my own works of fiction-in-progress (some of which has been seen before on Facebook, others will be new).
The good news is that I'm planning on posting other things; specifically some of my own works of fiction-in-progress (some of which has been seen before on Facebook, others will be new).
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