Lamassu Rework

By order of the mad prophet

Smash! Sledgehammer bashes stone

Soldiers advance on unmoving targets

Bravely facing carved stone in heated battle

Cameras ready to bring news of dark deeds

All contrary meanings and measures

Smashed! Burned, erased

Whether man or works of hands

To demonstrate resolve for war

Until only cycles of blood remain

The camera moves, the music swells

Smash! Another statue falls

Praise Allah! Hammers in the air

The world watches the destruction

of men long dead, now dying again

For the first time since it birth

Lamassu looks up

Sees itself, head lost to body

Forced to watch invaders

Destroy its home once more

You Poem - On the Way to the Tomb (Repurposed Easter Poem)

Will you return to that place

See Him die again in your eyes?

You heard the clang of hammer, spike

The air was thick with cries of pain

You saw that nails that bound Him

to that tree that ripped Him from this world

Will you return to that place?

Can you look upon His grave clothes-

Anoint His body—the Teacher you admired

and see Him die again in your eyes?

Villanelle on Villanelle

A villanelle is stupid, wrong, and dull
Why can't we learn more Shakespeare/Robert Frost?
This torment over I, in writing, mull

Such wretched forms the foolish poets lull
into complacency, then leave them lost
A villanelle is stupid, wrong, and dull

In writing this, I feel my talent fall
Such forms, like Arnold, leave me feeling crossed
This torment over I, in writing, mull

This piece doth set a migraine in my skull
Continuing, much ire I amassed
A villanelle is stupid, wrong, and dull

Perhaps I need espresso, double tall
To get this done, then pay the sleepless cost
This torment over I, in writing, mull

Considering its fate (the brazen bull?)
Anon, complete! This poem shall be tossed
A villanelle is stupid, wrong, and dull
This torment over I, in writing, mull


Editor's note: Yes, I am aware that Frost did in fact use the villanelle. However, I was unaware of its existence when first writing this. Besides, I was not about to change the rhyme scheme over such a minor detail.

Revised Writing Plan

Brainstorm: 6/6:30-7am, depending

Location: Campus Center

Method: index cards

Writing time: unknown

Writing Plan Review

Verdict: Failure!

Analysis: I do not work well under strict time schedules for working. While fixed due dates are acceptable, even preferable, preplanned work sessions are doomed to failure.

Rhetorical Query: Who is able to plan one week ahead of time as a Houghton student, let alone one month?

Extrapolation: The proposed writing plan requires far more control over the particulars of one’s schedule than is possible in this place. Recital requirements alone rendered useless several of my scheduled sessions. Unplanned meetings for other classes had similar effects, though not nearly as often.

Confession: When originally asked to make such a schedule, I was still under the impression that this was a week-long experiment, a chance to try out various times of day. When asked to continue with the written plan, I had… reservations.

Statement: I do not much care for pre-planned schedules, anyway. It requires knowing how much sleep I will get the night before. The dorm situation makes this difficult at the best of times. Earplugs are not nearly effective enough to properly bock out the noise.

Conclusion: Revision of the schedule is inevitable. I do not follow the plan, anyway. However, I am hesitant to commit to any such plan, considering the chaotic nature of my work in all other areas of my studies. That said, I will post something shortly.

Sonnet Draft

From distant shores, long past from mortal sight

across the waves of now forgotten seas

Great ships, the finest works of human hands

a mighty fleet towards horizon speeds

Ten thousand years or more, these ships did sail

towards one final war against the world

to fight–to stab the heart of consequence

and burn the earth to ash–begin anew

But so fixated on the way ahead

they do not see the clouds above them form

She sings her songs in wild gusts of wind

the ancient storm appears, her name is Fate

The waves–her hands–obliterate the fleet
Her waters claim all those who worship death

The "Stop Bleeding the Page and Write It Already" First Draft for Narrative Poem Attempt Try

Lamassu

Before the gates of Ninevah

Protectors guard the gate

Two fearsome beasts of stone

winged bulls with human heads

Lamassu, pride of the Assyrian Empire

Testament to the glory of civilization

Assyria lies in dust and ruin

yet Lamassu remain

They could not save their city

Now resigned to stand among relics

Still, they remain, dust covered

reminders of our common fate

Smash! Sledgehammer bashes stone

Soldiers advance on unmoving targets

Bravely facing stone carving in heated battle

Cameras ready to bring news of dark deeds

And the world recoils in horror, watching

Another statue crumble, crushed

By order of the mad prophet

All contrary meanings and measures

Whether man or works of hands

Smashed, burned, erased from the world

To demonstrate the resolve for war

Until only cycles of blood remain

Lamassu, unable to avert its gaze

Cold eyes watch the destruction

of men long dead, now dying again

The guardian will not leave its post

Even as the hammers turn upon

the ancient winged protector

For the first time since it birth

Lamassu may look up

Towards the sky, upon the world

It sees itself, head lost to body

Forced to watch invaders

Destroy its home once more

Art and beauty are silenced

beneath death's siren song