Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

A bit of Ogden Nash

The other day I picked up a book of Ogden Nash, and found this wonderfully funny poem within. He is a master at rhyme.

The Hunter

The hunter crouches in his blind

‘Neath camouflage of every kind,

And conjures up a quacking noise

To lend allure to his decoys.

This grown up man, with pluck and luck

Is hoping to outwit a duck.


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A Poem by Lord Byron

For school right now we are studying the poetry of Lord Byron, and as I was reading a few today, I came across this one. I think it’s pretty good, particularly the reference to harps 🙂 To those of you who don’t know, I have bought a harp, though it is still in the making. Today I’ll start sanding the soundbox, if I have time. I hope to have it finished soon, so I can start learning how to play it.

Anyway, this is the poem I read:

My Soul is Dark (from Hebrew Melodies)

My soul is dark–Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o’er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again:
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
‘Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first;
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence long;
And now ’tis doom’d to know the worst,
And break at once–or yield to song.

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Blood and Chickens

A few days ago, my Dad, my Brother, and I butchered some meat chickens that some friends of ours had given us. We were in a dreadful hurry, and even though we went as fast as we could, it still got too dark on is before we were done. As we were cleaning up the scene of death, I thought up the first two lines of the following poem, and then the next day I finished it. I will withhold my opinion on it’s quality, however, and allow you, the reader, to decide for yourself.

White and red beneath the tree
Feathers and blood intermingle
High above the moon shines bright,
All around gathers the silence.

Right before the sun went down
Tied to the tree by their legs
Chickens died, and spilled their blood
Carnage and gore all around

Now the sun no longer shines
Darkness has covered the place
high above the moon shines bright
All around gathers the silence.

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This is one of my most favorite poems of all time, so I thought I’d put it on here so you could read it too. There might be some words in this poem that you aren’t familiar with, and I encourage you to look them up, so you can understand better what it’s talking about.

The Shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, ‘mid snow and ice,
A banner with a strange device,

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,

In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,

“Try not the pass!” the old man said;
“Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!”
And loud that clarion voice replied,

“O stay,” the maiden said, “and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!”
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered with a sigh,

“Beware the pine trees withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!”
This was the peasant’s last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,

A traveler, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,

There in the twilight cold and grey,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

note: excelsior is Latin, meaning “higher”.

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Please forgive my absence here

For I’ve been busy everywhere,

That I’ve not had the time to sit

And write, and blog a little bit.


It may be weeks before I write

again, for I’ll be out of sight

At Camp Blue Haven, where the night

Is black as black, and stars are bright.


And so I leave you with these lines.

And as I wander through the pines,

I’ll try and find a subject that

Will blog for me – that won’t go splat.

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