First Post on the New Blog

[NOTE - NOVEMBER 24 - THIS IS NOT ONE OF THE SEVEN ENTRIES I'VE SUBMITTED FOR MARKS. THEY CAN BE FOUND ABOVE THIS POST]

Wow... all of this intimidating empty space. This is something I'm supposed to be happy about, I guess. I'm a creative person now, or so I've been told. Thereby and therefore, I present to you what I suppose is my first creative act. It is, in fact, a poem that I wrote... while taking a DIFFERENT ROUTE BACK TO MY DORM. Yeah, take that. I just killed two birds with one stone. So I guess I don't have to write another entry next week, huh? Man, that was easy.

And now, for the poem. I'm going to explain a little bit so that I don't get hate mail from women... women being who poetry is supposed to impress, after all. You see, there is a rather sexist line in this poem, but let me assure you, that is not my view. It is the view of the character who is, in fact, supposed to be shown as old-fashioned and misguided in the context of this poem. So, with that legalese out of the way, and no women coming to knock down my door and lynch me, I present my first poem in forever, "An Old Poet to his Pupil".

“Rhyme is poetry, they're together,

It has been such, it shall be ever,

Poetry, rhyme, they're together,

Don't forget this, never ever.

All of poetry shall be rhymed,

It has been such since beginning times,

Poetry is nothing without rhyme,

And words that sound at convenient times,

It is only beautiful and sublime,

If it carries with it rhyme.

A knight rides horses clothed in leather,

It has been such, it will be ever,

Man cannot predict the weather,

It has been so, this changes never,

Women fail at each endeavour,

And this will stay the same forever,

Rhyme and poetry go together,

Don't forget this, never ever.”

“But, Master,” the pupil asks, “What of the new poetry?”

“New poetry?” the master snaps.

“Yes, Master, the poetry of a new age.

Liberated from rhyme and structure.

For, rhyme and structure are the obstacles of beauty,

Not the marks of it. Beautiful words,

Ideas that contradict, yet confirm.

Challenge, and champion.

Words that burrow between the ears of the human, into the mind,

Then sharply descend, plummeting, striking the heart,

With a fierce, resonating blow.

Then spreading to the eyes,

Once closed, now open. Seeing green where before there was red,

And, most importantly, beauty where once there was grey.

What of that poetry, Master?”

“That poetry does not exist!

Poetry only can consist

Of rhyme and rhythm, not of this!

Sit down, boy, and do desist.

How shall you have the independent mind that you have sought,

If you ramble off of time and forget what I have taught?

Poetry, rhyme, they're together,

DON'T FORGET THIS, never ever.”