Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Monday, November 7, 2011

The Trolls

Inspired by my students on a day when faith and optimism were... difficult.

They ramble polymorphous on;
they wild and careless play.
They try their different faces on;
their costumes they display.
 
Who are they, and what shall be?
they wonder. So do we,
we rooted, turgid, frozen folk,
no more formless-free.
 
They dance and play and sing their way -
pirate, ninja, queen -
as shifting shadows shiftless slide
From beast to superbeing.
 
So we were once, and once were so,
Astronauts and elves
Wizards, cowboys, paupers, princes;
Now merely ourselves.
 
They change and grow and change still less
Discarding extra faces
They slowly pick out one last few
They still, and take their places
 
As they become what they shall be
As they join us frozen
We cry in fear or ecstasy
At finished forms they've chosen
 
Some are heroes, strong and brave
Some are butterflies
Some are gypsies, wild and free,
Some are sages wise
 
Some are beauties, some are beasts
Some are dancers 'mid the throng
Some are jesters, some are kings
Some raise voices e'er in song
 
Some, more daring, change still more
Growing tree-like high
Stronger, fairer, stranger still
Child of sun and sky
 
And some, more careless, change still less
like troll-folk, trollish grown,
Shunning sun, sky, joy, and life
Till sunlight turns them stone

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Irony

Institutional learning demands that we cease to use
rote filling out of forms; we must encourage creative
originality:
now, go fill out these forms in approved fashion, and
yawp along with everyone else.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

On Poetry

Earlier work reprinted again, but I like to reference it often enough that it's worth reposting. This was from LJ, so I know that it was Wednesday, August 20, 2003 (aren't dates wonderful?) Combined rant/thought experiment.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Let Grow

This is actually a song I wrote in the summer of 2007 - but I feel like posting it now. :)

So easy just to be
Content to always just be me
And just to say,
"I've always been, will always be that way."
But I'm content with less than your perfected plan
Content to be much smaller than your love and life demand

I'm learning to let grow
Dive into a brand-new life
I need to get to know
Leave my dreaming daze behind
I need to chase my dreams and live
For you, for me, I need to give
Let my smallness go
And let you grow...


So hard to be this way
Aching to change, but longing to stay
I need to see
How strange will this change be for me?
But I've already found that your unfolding plan
Can make much more of me than I yet can understand

I'm learning to let grow
Dive into a brand-new life
I need to get to know
Leave my dreaming daze behind
I need to chase my dreams and live
For you, for me, I need to give
Let my smallness go
And let you grow...


However I've fallen, if you say to fly
I'll follow the call and I'll take to the sky

So easy to forget
That I may be small, and yet
To limit you
Would be more than my limits can do
To bind you to my poor inadequacy
Is limiting you in unlimiting me

I'm learning to let grow
Dive into a brand-new life
I need to get to know
Leave my dreaming daze behind
I need to chase my dreams and live
For you, for me, I need to give
Let my smallness go
And let you grow...

Friday, October 2, 2009

For the Muse of Uninspiration

Hello! And welcome to my third blog! This is to encourage me to record my stories and poems, when the muse strikes. However, in recognition of the muse that comes to me most often, I start with an old poem of mine:

For The Muse of Uninspiration --

Be cursed, cruel Muse!
Your sisters never
Tormented a supplicant so.
You still abuse -
You hinder ever,
Sentencing us poor souls to woe.
Memory's child
By faithless Zeus,
Your sisters would succor and teach;
But you, reviled,
Have found your use
Removing art from artist's reach.
Faithless eldest,
Man you spurned.
-- The Greeks refused to give you name --
Knowing best
There's none you earned:
Absence, not presence, your domain.
Americans
In our conceit
Forget this silence meant to mock.
Our stilled pens
Will readily greet
And dub thee, dread muse, "Writer's Block".