nightwriter

They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate.
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods….
But there is no road through the woods.

by: Rudyard Kipling

The story this poem narrates is really interesting. It talks about how this one foresty path was re-taken by the wildlife and nature. Of course, this process takes awhile to happen. Therefor, the poem could also be talking about how humanity has little use for those foresty paths ( maybe because of cars, roads, and the seventy years that have past ). I had to research a lot into this poem to understand it. For instance, I had to look up various words like anemone and coppice. An anemone is a type of flower and a coppice is an area that have been overgrown by brush. It is quite obvious how those two words fit into this poem. However, I do not know why he put the line,” they fear not men in the woods, because they see so few” in parantheses. Maybe the narrator is whispering this to the readers just as a little tid bit for why the otters arent startled. Towards the end of the poem a horse enters the scene. Now, you have to understand that when the forest paths were being used, it was a time of horse and carriage. So by saying,” as though they perfectly knew” the narrator is implying that horses have not yet forgotten the paths that their ancestors have trotted before them. I guess in that sense, you can say that the poem is about understanding ones roots and history. You can easily loose track of where you come from and it can be overgrown with excess foliage.

–lights out—
fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroine or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
I hop-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance–healing
all my sicknesses–erasing all–not even
a shred of “I-hope-you” or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless.  ‘When
a thoughts comes a-springing from afar
with its held-forth figure of image, you
spoof it out, you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes–and
with joy you realize for the first time
“Thinking’s just like not thinking–
so I don’t have to think
     any
     more.”
by: Jack Kerouac

The way Jack Kerouac describes meditation in “How to Meditate” is very accurate. He equates being in a meditative state to being in a drugged state, and he is not too far off. Both promote a state of thoughtlessness and calmness.  However, as far as meditation goes, it isn’t detrimental to the body like heroin or ecstacy is. Where as drugs destroy the body, meditation repairs it. Kerouac states that it heals “all my sicknesses” referring to this concept. He then narrates that when a thought “comes a-springing from afar”, one must “spuff it out”. Basically, he knows the drill when it comes to meditation ( an absence of thought is essential to meditation). At the end of the poem, he reaches that state of thoughtlessness and completes his meditation. However, there is another way in which to interpret this poem. Kerouac could be talking about drug use as a form of meditation.

What I found most interesting about this poem is it’s drug refferences. Jack Kerouac has had some incredible struggles with drugs growing up and I can see why he would write this poem. After a lifetime of drinking, he developed cirrhosis. His alcholism eventually killed him at the age of 47. I read this poem I wonder if it really is about meditation and not about drug use. When he starts off this poem, he is feeling a sense of nirvana. Then he slips off into his state of thoughtlessness. That is exactly what drugs can do to a person. The parallel is very interesting.

The Human Touch

’Tis the human touch
in this world that counts,
The touch of your hand and mine,
Which means far more
to the fainting heart
Than shelter and bread and wine.
For shelter is gone
when the night is o’er,
And bread lasts only a day.
But the touch of the hand
And the sound of the voice
Sing on in the soul always.

by: Spencer Michael Free

The touch of another human is the most important act of togetherness for our species. A simple touch can act as reassurance for a friend or adoration for a lover. It can be used as a contract between two businessmen in the form of a handshake. Or, it can even be used as a means of self defense with physical aggressivness. This cohesion that binds us is what “The Human Touch”, by Spencer Michael Free, talks about.  Free writes about how the act of giving shelter and food pale in comparison to giving touch. In the lines, ”When the night is o’er” plus “And bread lasts only a day” Free explains how quickly those niceties are spent. After all, they may only last a night. However, human touch is not something that simply goes away. I myself have a great deal of memories regarding touch. I remember my first kiss, my first fist fight, and some pretty important hand shakes.

This poem really touched home for me because of my future career in the medical field. Touching people in a kind and reasurring way melts away all of their fears and preconceptions about medicine. As a species, we humans are complete social creatures. We need interaction with each other on every sensory level. For example, we need the sound of children. One of the most disturbing movies I have ever seen was “Children of Men”. In the movie, mankind’s ability to procreate has ceased all together. The societies in the movie began to fall apart when people realized this terrible truth. One of the sadest moments takes place in a playground devoid of children and laughter. “And the sound of the voice”, is also very important.

I believe that human touch is most important for babies though. Babies basically think with their senses of touch, taste, sight, sound, and smell. I know that they prefer higher pitched voices, sweeter tasting foods, the smell of their mothers, bright colors, and the feel of body heat and heartbeats. My volunteer job at the hospital is as a “baby cuddler”. Basically, I hold a baby that cannot leave the hospital yet to foster its growth. Studies have shown that the more a child is held, the faster he or she will develope. I really dont know how I got this job but I am not complaining.

This poem is structured pretty normally. The rhyme scheme is something like A,B,C,D,E,C. As for capitalization, I really dont see any uniqueness. For instance, none of the words midway into the line are capitalized ( only the first words of the line are). The words that do stand out are “Tis” and “o’er”. Although that is because they are more old english than the rest of the poem.

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

FRAGMENT

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

What I like about “The Eagle” is it’s beautiful description of an eagle. The author of the poem, Alfred Tennyson, really brings out the eagle’s majesticness and grandeur. Describing the bird as “close to the sun” and “like a thunderbolt” make it seem otherworldy and untouchable. He also sets up some nice imagery with the “wrinkled sea” and “mountain walls”. At the end of the poem, the eagle “falls” from up on his mountain walls. This is obviously referring to the eagle’s bird of prey nature. However, some other critics of the poem believe the eagle to be falling ill in an ironic twist. After all the godly description of the bird, it would be ironic for it to simply fall because of gravity and sickness. I personaly still think it is referring to the eagles swooping down for food. One of the critics reasoned that “  Tennyson would not have compared the eagle to a thunderbolt, which is powerful and moves in a downward fashion with great force.  A dead eagle would not move in that way, but more like a rock dropping from the top of the mountain.” Even though this poem has brevity, it’s meaning is very clear.

Another interesting aspect of this poem is its structure (though truthfully not as odd as others’ works). It’s rhyme scheme is aaa for the first three lines and then bbb for the last three lines. The part of the the title labled “fragment” also tells us readers a great deal about the eagle. To me, it says that a simple poem could not come close to representing the true greatness of this bird. It’s praise is only a fragment of what can be said about the eagle. Overall, though not perfectly, I would say that it is in unstressed stressed iambic tetrameter.

Here is the site where I found comments on the poem: http://www.enotes.com/eagle

A Bag of Tools

Isn’t it strange how princes and kings,
and clowns that caper in sawdust rings,
and common people, like you and me,
are builders for eternity?

Each is given a list of rules;
a shapeless mass; a bag of tools.
And each must fashion, ere life is flown,
A stumbling block, or a Stepping-Stone.

by: R.L.Sharpe

“A Bag of Tools”, by R.L.Sharpe, is a poem about contribution to society by all levels of society. Each and every person on Earth can have an important and meaningful life. When Sharpe writes, “Each is given a list of rules; a shapeless mass; a bag of tools” he is talking about people having purpose. The “shapeless mass” is something everyone has to carve out for theirselves using “a bag of tools”. I believe the line “a list of rules” is either talking about culture or genetics. The Genome Project basically broke human DNA down into a list. Maybe it is that type of “list of rules”. After all, I know some people who were born with impossible amounts of ambition and some were born with little to no ambition. My sister is a good example of the ambitious type. She was only two grades ahead of me going through middle and high school. But every single teacher I had knew me as her brother. The impact she has made in our lives has been tremendous. With her “bag of tools”, she has achieved her college degree, and is now playing hockey abroad in Denmark. She has made many friends from here to Denmark. Theres no doubt in my mind that she will change the world ( even if just by a little). She is no “prince or king” but at the same time she is in now way a common person. I always wonder at what kind of “Stepping-Stone” she will leave for the future generations.

The two important capitalizations in the poem are “Each” and “Stepping-Stone”. “Each” is important because the poem applies to individuals and not groups. Each individual is different and is given different material to sculpt. “Stepping-Stone” is important in this poem because it is the fruit of our labors. Basically, we should try to leave a stepping-stone for our future generations to make it easier for them to climb up in life.

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
  And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
  And which is more; you’ll be a Man, my son!

Just a comic on Admiral Akbar ( however you spell it). Hope you guys enjoy these aesthetics!

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be ever at your back.

May the Good Lord keep you in the hollow of His hand.

May your heart be as warm as your heartstone

And when you come to die may the wail

of the poor be the only sorrow you’ll leave behind.

May God bless you always.

by: Anonymous

I found this poem searching through one of my mom’s poetry books. It was definately surprising because I don’t know it as a poem but rather as a prayer. Thinking back I guess I have never even considered prayers as being poems. Of course it makes sense. Both prayer and poetry are structured in the same way. Also, they both inspire and move people.

 ”An Irish Wish” strikes close to home with me because I always associate it with my brother Colin. When Colin passed away two years ago, the prayer cards at his wake held this poem. It definately fit because of how irish he is. However, looking closer I see that this poem is slightly different than the version I am used to. For instance, the line ,”May your heart be as warm at your heartstone” is unfamilar to me. However, I understand that although slightly different in words, it conveys the exact same concept. Basically, the poem talks about transcending life’s little quarrels and entering heaven. The line, “May the wind be ever at your back” talks about your troubles only being a thing of the past. Then the line, “May the Good Lord keep you in the hollow of His hand” talks about heaven ( the ‘hollow’ being heaven itself because of how God’s palm is probably the safest place in the universe).

Prayers are pretty straight forward though. I could interprut the meaning of each line but I think its pretty self-explanatory. Structure wise it is pretty simple too. There is no rhyme scheme, no funky punctuations, and not even personification. But it does it’s job of warming hearts and inspiring minds. It’s because of this poem and support from my family and friends that I made peace with Colin’s passing ( so please don’t say sorry). I know he’s up top knocking back a few cold ones with the angels.

Hey guys! I know this is not poetry, but it is creative. I was just wondering if I could get some feedback on my comics. Dont mind the messy paint style ( the paint program is the bomb). This one is for anyone who has seen V for Vendetta. Let me know what you think!