Upon a Dark and Winding Road

Upon a dark and winding road I walked,
And on my shoulders bore a load of stone.
With grinding bones and trembling legs I walk
Bent-backed I leaned upon my spindly staff
And every stone I saw upon the road
I lifted up and added to my load.

Upon the dark and winder road I saw
A man who bore a greater load than I
A mountain seemed to sit upon his back
And bent he walked, his hands upon a staff.
His breathing came in gasps and coughs
He seemed half-blinded by his salty-sweat

Upon the dark and winding road he turned
And saw me stagger down under my load
My strength gave out, I sank unto the ground
Crushed and bruised under my load of stones
And he set down his load and came to me
Lifted mine up and added it to his

Upon the dark and winding road I said
“I beg you sir, do not, for that is mine
I gathered them myself and so should bear
the load alone, and yours already seems
Too large for one to bear alone. I see
That you are weary, leave to me my load.”

Upon the dark and winding road he set
My load and his upon his aching back
He took his staff in hand and smiled to me
He set me on my feet and said “My friend,
You are not strong enough to bear that load
So let me take it from you, for I am.”

Death

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock
These are the sounds of my footsteps
This is the sound of my knocking
Soon I will stand on your doorstep
Soon you will come at my calling

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding dong
That is the cry of my trumpet
Heralding my nearing presence
Have you begun to prepare yet?
Are you awake for my summons?

Call to arms

Sudden changes rock my being
Sudden answers, sudden laughter
Up I spring, I cannot rest now!
Worlds are opening to conquer!
Foes now press from every side and
Hark! The trumpets and the clatter!
Swords are clashing, spears are shining
Horses neighing, shields are shattered
Arrows flying, cannon roaring
Hosts invisible and armored
Marching past while I lay dozing
I, who proud professed my honor
I, so eager for the battle
Shed my blood for causes lesser
Shall I lay and play the coward?
Shall I stay a mere deserter?
Sword! A sword! Give me my weapon!
Beat my heart to match this drummer!
Give me a place in this great army!
Marching makes the legs grow stronger!
Obedience makes our freedom sweeter!
Now shall I seek for true glory!
Now shall I live in true valor!
Shirt of hair now be my breast-plate;
Scripture be my keen-edge saber!
Queen of Heaven be my damsel
Christ my King and Pope commander
Inmost thoughts my field of battle
Foes be devils and all error
Fall I may, but fall in glory
Laughter on my lips and prayer
Let my heart with steel be sharing
Men, now rally ‘round my banner
March to battle and to glory
Hark! Your King calls you for soldiers
Join my company and serve Him
All the Earth our feet shall wander
Ever seeking our next battle
To no coast will our blood be stranger
‘Til at last the war is ended
So my soul declares in fervor
Racing forward past all reason
Oaths I take within my fever
Bind me still when I awaken

Big Bad Tor

(This is a little tribute I wrote about a year ago to wrestler/actor Tor Johnson. Sung to the tune of "Big Bad John")

Big Tor
Big Tor

He stood solid and he walked with a powerful stride,
Stood six-foot-three, weighed three-eighty-five
He was broad at the shoulder and broader at the hip
And everybody knew you couldn’t give the slip to big Tor

Big Tor
Big Tor
Big Bad Tor
Big Tor

Everybody knew Tor from the Matinee show
From scary old pictures where the kids used to go
He was gentle and sweet but don’t push him too far
If he spoke at all he’d just say ‘RAR!’ Big Tor.
He’d worked for mad doctors on the drive-in screen
Till his heart would go soft for a screamin’ queen
With a crashing blow and a wrestler’s squeeze
He’d bring many a hero down to his knees. Big Tor

Big Tor
Big Tor
Big Bad Tor
Big Tor

Now most of his pictures weren’t all that good
They were by Colman Francis and old Ed Wood
But knees were quaking and hearts beat quick
Everyone knew it was gonna be slick with Big Tor
Through the lights and the smoke of science-born hell
Walked a giant of a man that the kids knew well.
With his big, bald head and his whispery yell
Many men fought him, and many men fell to Big Tor.

Big Tor
Big Tor
Big Bad Tor
Big Tor

And with all his strength he did his best
To show kids things they’d not forget
With Rathbone, Lugosi, and Carradine
He made his mark on the silver screen, Big Tor
Well, he quit doing movies as he got to the end
Everybody who knew him called him a friend
He’d been in the films since ‘thirty-four
And he’ll be remembered forever more, as Big Tor

Big Tor
Big Tor
Big Bad Tor
Big Tor

Now he passed away some years ago,
And everyone was sorry to see him go
But the films keep playin’ and as long as they’re lit
Nobody will ever forget that Big, Big Man. Big Tor.

Big Tor
Big Tor
Big Bad Tor
Big Tor

I Cannot

I could gaze at your picture for hours on end
And count the time well spent.
I could read your name again and again
And feel I was content.
I could hear you speak for days and days
And thank God for my lot.
I could say that I love you in so many ways
But I cannot.

I would wait in the rain for a day and a night
To sit with you a while.
I would spare myself no scorn or sleight
If it would make you smile.
I would sing of your beauty and kindness and grace
As what I long have sought.
I would gaze long and loving at your lovely face
But I cannot.

I wish I could tell you what goes through my soul
Each time I catch your glance.
I wish, oh I wish that I somehow could know
If I even have a chance.
I pray that the hour may come sometime soon
To say what I dare not.
I wish I could offer my whole life to you
But I cannot.

Plasma notes

This is poem I tossed off for a creative writing assignment, but I liked the way it came out, so I decided to share it. There's no real themes or messages here; it's just a funny little poem about plasma. Enjoy!

Plasma

So many uses they can see
For this mysterious glow.
I hear they can make light bulbs light
And cause more food to grow.
I’m told it can turn waste to fuel,
(though this costs quite a lot)
I’m also told it helps with pests
(But maybe it does not).
Yes, Plasma can do many things,
Like help and feed and heat
And after eating plasma food,
It even cleans your teeth!
I’m told it’s not like other things
And truly I don’t know
But all I care is that I’ve heard
That it makes things explode!

Death’s Plea

What will, Oh Lord, become of me,
Your humble servant Death?
When you at last fulfill your plan
What then will I have left?

Well do I know how late it was
I entered in your plan
For I was born from sin and pride
And from the fall of man.

Yet Lord, I still have served you well
Through many ages past
It was with me you saved the world
And vanquished sin at last.

Yet still, oh Lord, they hate and fear
And curse my very name.
For through their sins they come to grief
And give to me the blame.

But you alone I serve, oh Lord
As you do know so well;
It is through me they come to you,
If yet, through me, to Hell.

So what, oh Lord, becomes of me?
Oh Lord, I ask you why,
If all your servants come to life,
That Death alone should die?

Normandy Poem notes

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.

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.

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.

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.