Bball's Poetry

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Baker -> Bball's Poetry (8/31/2008 1:02:22)
Welcome to my house of poetry! The poems below are a bit of everything: most of the poetry I do is for school, so I have a little of a lot of different forms at the moment. We'll see if that changes as I forge out and write more poetry on my own, but I hope you enjoy the variety for now! New things: Merlet - An epic poem about a young prince's journey to win his rightful throne from a usurping uncle. As an epic poem, it has epic similes, epic lists, epithets, etc., as well as gods and beasts and all sorts of things! See that thread for more of my comments on the poem. Shall I compare them to slippery snakes? - A sonnet that I was tempted to make silly but was persuaded to write more seriously. Think I got a bit of both in there, though, and I actually like it. :) The Beginning is the End... and vice versa - A myth poem about Ragnorak. In contrast to "Lessons", I like the content here but not the current title too much! I think I had a better one saved elsewhere, which I will look for. Others Cyclic - A two-voice poem I did with a friend of mine (we'll call him MW). The idea is that the two sides of the poem make sense alone, but make more / extra sense when put together (each side is meant to be read by a different person at the same time as the other side is being read). I didn't love the way the formatting turned out here, but it's the best I could do without making invisible text to indent the lines and all that, which would have been a pain. Factual Uncertainties - This one is a pantoum. Wikipedia has a good page about the form, but the basic idea is a loop of repeating lines with minimal word substitutions Frozen Torment - Written from the point of view of... well, you guess! I tried to conceal the subject a bit, but in my rewrites I had to make it more obvious because readers were a bit confused about it. Lessons - This is a confessional poem about me as a child. I don't love how this one turned out; I don't think enough regret really comes through in the end. I do think the title is pretty clever, though. XD The Noble War - A poetic version of my narrative by the same name. The poem itself is still very narrative-ish, but it was fun to try to spin it into a poem. Thirteen Views - An exercise we did to describe an object in thirteen different ways (note: the capitalized "Today" is a little reference to the beautiful backgrounds that NBC's Today show films in front of during the fall... for some reason they came to mind, and I for one liked the little play :P).

Baker -> RE: Bball's Poetry (8/31/2008 1:13:05)
The Noble War For many years the two kings waged the war, Sending troops more and more. Our cause is just, They would insist. But never would they Themselves join in the fray Until at last all their forces were depleted. So certain they were they would soon be defeated That they gathered the old men and boys – their last reserves - And marched to the field so quickly they could not be observed. The two foes finally met, Upon the earth where so much blood was to be let. A leader’s conference was held: The customary meeting before the struggle for the field. They gathered in the tent, And after much discussion realized the war had begun by accident. Thus, the two ended the war. A war fought with thousands of lives, ended with at most fifty words, no more.

Baker -> RE: Bball's Poetry (10/7/2008 23:16:52)
Frozen Torment I really need it. C’mon, please? Well, why do you get one? I’m tired. We’ve been shopping all day, and it would really perk me up. I promise, just this once, and I won’t talk for the rest of the day. I’ll even clean up my room for the next week! How about one of those healthy ones? We could even have them put some nuts on top; I could use the protein. You always tell me I need to eat better. I must have it! I’m having a hot flash! It’s medicinal! Please! You bought her one! It doesn’t matter that she’s smaller and cuter than I am, it’s only fair. Would you change your mind if I cried and pounded the ground with my fists? You always seem to give in when she does that. I mean, it just looks so wonderful. Sitting there, white and perfect, a creamy little ball. It’s so pretty, adorned with color and finery. Great quality work; the best, some say. Look, it’s not even that expensive. It’s a bargain. I’ll pay you back! Happiness truly is priceless, you know. Fine! But just look at it chilling up there, smug as can be. You can almost see its smug smirk, as though it thinks no one’ll ever get it. Let’s teach it a lesson! Okay, okay, I give up. I’ll just go sit and bake in the car, not thinking about what I could be enjoying. Really, don’t you worry: I’ll be quite alright. Take your time, enjoy yours down to the last delicious lick. See if I care!

Baker -> RE: Bball's Poetry (10/7/2008 23:21:28)
Thirteen Views I Luscious greens, Sprouting from the branches and limbs, Adorn it in summer. II Shade for a boy playing football in the morning, A veritable playground in the afternoon. III Gnarly decorations, Rising out of the dull life that surrounds it. IV Bare branches, Splayed out against the darkened sky, Swaying in the winter’s wind and snow and storm. V Last refuges of woodland creatures, Holed up in its solid depths. VI Provider of warmth and life, Even in death. VII Beginning of life; The spring summons back growth and energy, Brightening the landscape once more. VIII Nourishment for animals of all sizes, Shelter for many more. IX Flowers burst into view, Beautifying not only sight but also smell. X Leaves fall as autumn arrives, Changing colors, From green to fashionable yellows. XI Outdoor decorators, Adorning the barren dirt. XII Backgrounds for pictures, See them Today. XIII Hardly consistent – Except in usefulness – A perfect blend of all things.

Baker -> RE: Bball's Poetry (11/25/2008 0:44:59)
Cyclic (with MW) Behold the city Surrounded by enemies Behold the forest Full of life Bathed in morning red Bathed in morning red The defenders The leaves of autumn Fall by the thousands Fall by the thousands Into dust Into dust The gate The light Bursts Open, soldiers Over [beat] the trees Destroying Destroying The night The innocent Arrows Sparrows Fly Fires Rivers Roar In chaotic mayhem In lovely harmony Charred houses Ancient trees Collapse Collapse Residents flee Residents flee The scene The decay The fires The rivers Sweep away the old Sweep away the old To make way For the new For the new The carcasses of the past The carcasses of the last Littering the hearth Littering the earth They are cleansed With good purpose For a new cycle is beginning For a new cycle is beginning And as night arrives And as night arrives All is calm All is calm

Baker -> RE: Bball's Poetry (11/25/2008 0:50:24)
Factual Uncertainties History winds around, Repeating and circling. Countless mysteries abound, Gaps in the cycling. Repeating and circling, The hands of the past reveal what is to come. There are gaps in the cycling, Matters on which history remains mum. The hands of the past reveal what is to come, Their actions shaping today's reality. Still, there are matters on which history remains mum. Facts that, if uncovered, would be a great bounty. Actions that shape today's reality: Did Atlantis exist? Is it a myth, or did a city truly sink into the waves? Facts that, if uncovered, would be a great bounty. What happened to the Roanoke Colony? Was it abandoned, or assimilated by natives? Did Atlantis exist? Is it a myth, or did a city truly sink into the waves? The lines of theory spin about. What happened to the Roanoke Colony? Was it abandoned, or assimilated by natives? We may never clear away all of the doubt. The lines of theory spin about Countless mysteries that abound. We may never clear away all of the doubt, As history winds around.

Baker -> Bball's Poetry (3/18/2009 22:16:22)
Shall I compare them to slippery snakes? Poems, in all their beauty and grace, do not readily make themselves available to me. Ideas and metaphors slip away and flee, not unlike Emily’s narrow fellow in the grass. Rhymes and rhythms, vital aspects of any worthy poem, remain veiled behind the milky white page on my screen. Meanwhile, the greats of the art transform even the obscene into works from which elegance pours. One day, I will twist words with the best. I’ll craft metaphors and similes like a Muse, my poems will contain clever allusions to whomever I choose, and my fidelity to form will leave all duly impressed. I sincerely hope this day will arrive promptly… perhaps once I have completed my first sonnet properly?

Baker -> RE: Bball's Poetry (5/5/2009 0:15:01)
Lessons A glance at a watch, a sigh escaping after a long day in captivity, a frenzied stuffing of a backpack, and it’s out the door and on to freedom. I rush to the carpool line, heaving my books into the back before settling into the front seat. I stretch out my legs and adjust the radio before it hits me: it’s Monday. It’s Monday, and that means a dreaded tennis lesson. As I mope on the court, delaying the whole time, I jog this way and that swatting at balls and mourning my complete lack of free will. I’ll arrive home after a long day or week of class and plop down on the couch, but without exception there is an activity or something else I have to do. The other kids never have to do this stuff. Their parents let them sit around all day, idle and delighted to be so, and they all have better Myspace pages and know more lines from Friends. As I leap forward and draw back my racket to smash a volley right down my best friend’s throat, it snaps into place: This is great! Ben can beat anyone on Nintendo and is undisputed foosball champ, but he falls 6-1, 6-2 to the serves and volleys reluctantly developed every Monday. The scene becomes fairly common, my extra practice putting me ahead, and I pay attention during lessons in a scramble to atone for past sins. Just as soon as I value my instruction, however, it’s over. Middle school comes, the teaching ends, and I’ve squandered my shot at greatness. There could have been much more – matches and tournaments entered and won – if only I’d seen real baseball and golf like the video games and TV simulating them. But as much as my actions make me cringe today, my parents’ determination and nagging keep me ever grateful.

Baker -> RE: Bball's Poetry (5/5/2009 0:23:18)
The Beginning is the End… and vice versa Our own blood brother. We always knew Loki was tricky, knew he had gone too far before, but hoped the cave held him forever trapped. Perhaps we grew too comfortable with our power. The great old Jotun seemed defeated and controlled, locked away like maidens in a tower. Our might made us lazy and content, and we did not pay heed to the great prophesy. Loki stripped us of splendor – one of the events long promised – and escaped to gather his evil brothers and his spawn. United they came, beasts and giants, against we the rulers of this world. As when we young ones rose against those tyrants, everything was consumed by war. The two great hosts clashed, and death seized the immortal. Few escaped the wrath of the monsters’ fangs and claws: survival for anyone seemed impossible. In the end, everything burned. The remaining foes triumphed, destroying nearly all that crawled and bloomed – the final work of history’s greatest traitor. Some of us, however, inhabit this world still, and we again rise from the Jotun; as it was in the beginning, so it is today. You two humans and we few gods must build a fresh world, and give these new races something of their own to one day betray.

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