Inching forward, miserable worm:
Incapable
Insipid
Irrelevant.
Wishing for warm cocoon’d escape
Inch.
Inch.
Inch.
Inch.
Nibbling leaves, barely surviving
A worm’s life—
life: does a worm deserve such lofty appellations—
Inch.
Inch.
Inch.
Inch.
Finding space, cocoon spun,
Safe!
Warm!
Metamorphing!
Time has wrought a marvelous change
From worm to beautiful butter—
Fall.
Deranged.
Mutant.
Something’s gone wrong.
Category: Literature
I had to write a sonnet for a Shakespeare festival. This is my attempt at it. I hope you like it!
Knowledge is a burden, Wisdom a curse.
Alone I sit with thy infernal words
In veins you course and havoc wreak, like swords
in diabolic plots, the blades which verse
Destined to be buried in men’s live hearts,
And then, our lives to flotsam changed
Adrift in death’s dark sea. Wisdom imparts
Useless thoughts for our now brackish, estranged,
Encumbered souls. The words Wisdom doth speak
Unto the weary dead do sound as a
Folly. ‘E speaks with words of life which wreak
Havoc to we, the freshly dead. Give way
O Wisdom, leave us now to die in peace
Floating here, we sailors find our release.
Ho-kay. I know I don’t have a whole bunch of readers, but the complete lack of comments on the last entry tells me 1)I really am as bad at poetry as I thought I was or 2)Poetry isn’t you guys’ shtick, so I think I’ll refrain from any poetry posting here. Maybe some day I’ll make a separate blog for that.
In other news, I’ve been working on my application to attend Oxford for the Spring semester of 2009. To be completely frank, the very idea creates in me a giddy anticipation of the adventures (quests?) the trip will hold for me. At the very same time, that idea creates in me a nearly debilitating fear and trepidation that I’m nearly unable to work on the application process at all.
The last time I was considering doing this was just last year. I was thinking about going to Oxford this past fall semester, and following that trip up with a semester in Russia during this semester. I wussed out. As it turned out, though, what with all the crazy stuff that went on with my head, it’s probably a good thing that I didn’t end up going then.
As far as what I’ll do if I get in, I already know because I had to pick classes and things as part of the application process. For those of you who don’t already know, the British do things a bit differently in their university system than we do here in the states. I had to pick a seminar track, and a primary and secondary tutorial. The seminars are like typical lectures, given by a number of different faculty members at Wycliffe Hall. The tutorials are just that: one-on-one meetings with faculty to discuss readings, go over papers, etc. The style is largely self-motivated, because you only meet with your tutor once a week, and you have to make sure to get your assignments done in the meantime.
Looking at all the many different tutorials they offer, I decided on these, under the English Language and Literature seminar track. Primary Tutorial: Linguistic Theory; Secondary Tutorial: Old Norse Literature (which will be entirely in Old Norse, which they’ll teach us how to read); Alternate Primary (in case I can’t get into it): The History and Use of the English Language; Alternate Secondary: Old English Literature (Again, it’ll be in Old English, which they’ll teach us).
Those may or may not sound at all interesting to you all in the vast internets, but I can’t wait. ‘Course I’ve got to get myself accepted first. Wish me luck, and please forgive me if my next post is some ramblings as I try to straighten out my application essay.
So, to go along with the new bright color scheme, here’s a very dark poem about child abuse.
Not The Way it Ought to Be
But surely that’s not the norm,
Families taking such vile form,
Sisters at 6 years old to mourn?
Children going to bed with nothing to keep warm?
Surely that’s not the way it ought to be.
There’s a father who promises love unconditionally
Whether or not the dishes are done; see,
For Him, it’s ok just to be.
With all the hate, all rage and pain
With our other Father, we can regain
The life we’ve lost to our parents vain
And selfish with all their arguments inane.
Surely that’s not the way it ought to be.
A family who’s decree
Is pain and sadness confuses me,
I don’t understand how could we
As a people allow such travesty?
No support, no love, living alone
As children, when their parents are grown
Who, in their age, really should have known
A child needs reassurance, just throw them a bone
Surely that’s not how it ought to be.
Mimetic ghosts chasing, the children flee
Lost in their sanguine-filled sea
Surely, that’s not how it ought to be.
If only they knew about God’s love
The father whose mercy rains from above
The one who came down as a dove
And through ultimate sacrifice of
His son, He’s set us free.
Surely that’s the way it ought to be.
Wrapped in a warm blankee,
Ear to ear, smiling in glee
That there’s nothing to fear.
Sons and daughters near
To our Father who’s ear
A prayer never doesn’t hear.
Surely that’s the way it ought to be.
Brothers, sisters, mothers, daughters as holy family.
Surely that’s the way it ought to be.