What can I say... I'm a senior, and life is crazy! It's been full of fun, beauty, joy, love... full of everything wonderful! (except keeping up on this blog)
One of the many activities I'm participating in this year is a Shakespeare class. We've been reading and discussing various plays (putting on short scenes at each class) and are now launching into preparations and practices for a production of Twelfth Night. And one of the assignments for this week's class was to write a sonnet. It was my first attempt at writing one, for that matter my first attempt in writing in meter at all, and I very much enjoyed it.

I cannot seem to write a good sonnet
No rhymes, no subjects to my thoughts do spring
From my mind inspiration has been let
And any creativity ta'en wing.
Though potential subjects before me lie
As numerous as sands upon the shore
Nothing concrete from thoughts can I pry
Though I upon my fogginess make war.
Mayhap my poem had waxed quite eloquent
Describing laughter, lovely friends or snow
If I had but a smudge of his talent
Oh then such sonnets from my pen would flow.
Yet none of Shakespeare's blood is in my veins
And in this poem tis foolishness that reigns.

I've Been Tagged

A. Lynch tagged me for this meme. What fun!

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

"Of which he was the patron. I was there
From college visiting the son- the son
A Walter too with others of our set,"

(From Poems of Tennyson the poem is The Princess; A Medley)

I Tag:

All of the ChesterTeens.

A Little Literary Math

Frequent rereading of The Ballad of the White Horse, especially of the third book, in an attempt at memorization + reading through the script of Alice in Wonderland (combined with Through the Looking Glass, our drama groups' first performance) numerous times= the rather odd combination, which you see below, running through the head:

How swiftly and with peril
They gather all good things,*
Shoes and ships and sealing wax
Of cabbages and kings*

*The high horns of the forest beasts,
Or the secret stones of kings.
-From book three of The Ballad of the White Horse By G.K. Chesterton

*And why the sea is boiling hot
and whether pigs have wings
-From Through the Looking Glass By Lewis Carrol

The Battle of Lepanto

Since today is the 436th anniversary of the battle of Lepanto and since I am a Chesterton lover, obviously I must post part of Chesterton's poem on that rightly famous battle. So voila, the actual battle scene from the poem you see below your current eyelevel, assuming you are reading this. The earlier part of this poem is well worth your time (my mom and I just read it outloud together, and it sounded amazing) and you can read it here. Oh and the Wikipedia Lepanto page is quite interesting as well. Anyways, time for the poem.

The Pope was in his chapel before day or battle broke,
(Don John of Austria is hidden in the smoke.)
The hidden room in man's house where God sits all the year,
The secret window whence the world looks small and very dear.
He sees as in a mirror on the monstrous twilight sea
The crescent of his cruel ships whose name is mystery;
They fling great shadows foe-wards, making Cross and Castle dark,
They veil the plumèd lions on the galleys of St. Mark;
And above the ships are palaces of brown, black-bearded chiefs,
And below the ships are prisons, where with multitudinous griefs,
Christian captives sick and sunless, all a labouring race repines
Like a race in sunken cities, like a nation in the mines.
They are lost like slaves that sweat, and in the skies of morning hung
The stair-ways of the tallest gods when tyranny was young.
They are countless, voiceless, hopeless as those fallen or fleeing on
Before the high Kings' horses in the granite of Babylon.
And many a one grows witless in his quiet room in hell
Where a yellow face looks inward through the lattice of his cell,
And he finds his God forgotten, and he seeks no more a sign--
(But Don John of Austria has burst the battle-line!)
Don John pounding from the slaughter-painted poop,
Purpling all the ocean like a bloody pirate's sloop,
Scarlet running over on the silvers and the golds,
Breaking of the hatches up and bursting of the holds,
Thronging of the thousands up that labour under sea
White for bliss and blind for sun and stunned for liberty.

Vivat Hispania!
Domino Gloria!
Don John of Austria
Has set his people free!

Cervantes on his galley sets the sword back in the sheath
(Don John of Austria rides homeward with a wreath.)
And he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,
Up which a lean and foolish knight for ever rides in vain,
And he smiles, but not as Sultans smile, and settles back the blade....
(But Don John of Austria rides home from the Crusade.)

Trees

Trees
By Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts it leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

On the Nativity

By St. John of the Cross

The time now having finally come
When his birth was due,
Like a husband newly wed
From his chamber he withdrew

Embracing his beloved spouse
With outstretched arms so deep.
Him the gracious mother then
In a manger lay to sleep,

Amid the stable's animals
Who their resided at their ease.
Men entoned their canticles
Angels sang their melodies,

Rejoicing in the wedding feast
Of two such spouses side by side.
But God as a tiny infant now
In the manger wept and cried.

Tears were the only bridal gems
To adorn this espousal strange.
The mother watched in wonderment
To see such marvelous exchange:

For God was bound to human grief;
In humans boundless joy had grown,
Which to one and to the other
Before this time was never known.

Another gem found in O Holy Night, from Sophia Insititute Press.

Happy New Year!!!!!

Hodie Christus Natus Est

Hodie Christus Natus Est
The little child lays now to rest
On that most holy wonderful night
The stars did not shine too bright
Nor was the angels song too great
To praise the mighty love that laid
God in a cattle manger

His virgin mother held him close
He was the one she loved the most
His human father made a bed
In a manger where cattle fed
Yet that stable cold and bare
Held the thing on earth most fair
God in a cattle manger

His plan of redemption has begun
The world will be saved through God the son
Now in the cradle one day on the cross
His sacrificial life of earthly loss
Would win for us the gates of paradise
But now He sleeps surrounded by snow and ice
God in a cattle manger

Now all is peace and calm
Not possible seems hurt or harm
As He lays so peaceful there
All around Him love and care
Shepherds and Kings came to the stable
They came to kneel before His cradle
God in a cattle manger

And even now we celebrate
Give gifts and parties to commemorate
The birth of a tiny helpless child
We give gifts and act more mild
Now let us bring gifts of love
To Him whose birth it is the day of
God in a cattle manger.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

My First Triolet...

I have finally written a triolet, I must give credit to Gus for coming up with the great first line. So without further ado, drumroll please...... my first triolet:

Methinks me stinks at poetry
And soon you will think so too
As I continue my bad poem merrily
Methinks me stinks at poetry
You don't have to read this catastrophe
You have much better things to do
Methinks me stinks at poetry
And soon you will think so too.

And there you have it! What do you think?

More from our fridge

We have a bit more than usual since our friends the Henebrys stayed over last night(whose visit I will probably post on in not to long) and used our set too. Here is what is on our fridge:

this idle dinosaur decieveth a loathsome foul owl thus that butterfly bestowed a peaceful silent color ere an envyous flower glowed

a mortal lover measure love like

speak lightly of thy farewell

the funny drunkard was a trifle saucy

the wicked woman whispered which spot she tempt villain to forswear growing perilous pink ghostly garden

mischance methinks alas I am merry

mud songs fly lightlywith pigs playing in rain

discontent doth dream down dark dire drunk dog

alas I have love but I shall never have my maiden hence I will yield to melancholy and death

a man dost give good fortune from out of heart

oft nest mercy in thine breast

ne'er torment slander or curse lest she dream

Fun with Magnetic Poetry

We have two sets, the basic set and the Shakespeare set. Although we don't really use them for poetry it is so much fun to make up crazy sentances.
Here is what is currently on our fridge:

farewell vile codpiece death
methinks I would poison thee
perchance I will bestow a butterfly
of loathsome garden to your lordship
with vehemence and torments

I like that silly melancholy glow

be merry fairy owls
for discontent doth belch

pig out good fortune
I grow silent lovely and lazy

thence a peasant must make some joyfull jest

his hat hast heart hence her haste

the whispering winter went walking wantonly

he flew the happy foul fat fed perilous flower.

I think my favorite is 'his hat', I like them all though.

UPDATE:I corrected some typos and missing words.

The King and the Child

Sheila recently posted a poem by Eugene Field which I really liked and I knew another poem which I thought which was also by her. Turns out it is by Eugene Hall but it is still a really cool poem so here goes.

The sunlight shone on the walls of stone
And towers subline and tall:
King Alfred sat upon his throne
Within his council hall.

And glancing o'er the splendid throng
With grave and solemn face,
To where his noble vassals stood,
He saw a vacant place

"Where is the Earl of Holderness?"
With anxious look he said.
"Als, O King" a courtier cried,
"The noble Earl is dead"

Before the monarch could express
The sorrow that he felt,
A soldier with a war- worn face
Approached the throne and knelt.

"My sword," he said, "has ever been,
O King! at thy command,
And many a proud and haughty Dane
Had fallen by my hand.

"I've fought beside thee in the field,
And 'neath the greenwood tree;
It is but fair for thee to give
Yon vacant place to me."

"It is not just," a statesman cried,
"This soldiers prayer to hear,
My wisdom has done more for thee
Than either sword or spear.

'The victories of the council hall
Have made thee more renown
Than all the triumphs of the field
Have given to the crown.

"My name is known in every land,
My talents have been thine;
Bestow this Earldom, then, on me,
For it is justly mine."

Yet while before the monarch's throne
These men contending stood,
A woman crossed the floor who wore
The weeds of widowhood.

And slowly to King Alfred's feet
A fair-haired boy she led-
"O King! this is the rightful heir
Of Holderness" she said.

"Helpless he comes to claim his own,
Let no man do him wrong,
For he is week and fatherless,
And thou art just and strong."

"What strenght of power," the statesman cried,
"Could such a judgment bring?
Can such a feeble child as this
Do aught for thee O King,

"When thou hast need of brawny arms
To draw thy deadly bows,
When thou art wanting crafty men
To crush thy mortal foes?"

With earnest voice the fair young boy
Replied: "I cannot fight,
But I can pray to God O King!
And Heaven can give thee might!"

The King bent down and kissed the child;
The courtiers turned away
"The heritage is thine," he said,
"Let none thy right gainsay.

"Our swords may cleave the casques of men,
Our blood may stain the sod,
But what are human strenght and power
Without the help of God?"

My First Attempt at a Clerihew

I have been trying to figure out a Clerihew. This is my first completed one (well sort of complete, I'm sure it could be made much better.)

There's a story about the unfortunate family Baudelaire
There's Violet who would always tie up her hair
Then Klaus who was always wearing glasses
And Sunny who had sharper teeth than most young lasses.

One Clerihew done. Now I have to write a Triolet for the contest at Enchiridion before the deadline....
Oh and work on making my Clerihews better (:

My New Background

Ever since my mom and brother discovered the possiblities with changing your blog look they have been anxious for me to follow suit. But we could not find the right background, until yesterday that is.

We were sitting at the local dance studio waiting for Bernie to get out of class. I had brought The Ballad of the White Horse (as usual). My mom, being rather bored, decided to read some of it out loud (we were sitting outside the studio). While thus engaged we realized that the illustrations of that book would be quite suitable for my blog.

The picture I chose is that of King Alfred dressed as a minstrel in the Danes camp about to sing his song (which I love). King Alfred was dressed in this poor attire to go about the country and see if his people would help him in overthrowing the Danes. It was on this journey that the famous story of Alfred and the cakes came about.

You see he had asked for dinner at a small cottage and the woman had consented if he watched her cakes that they would not burn, while she went to round up the sheep. He fell asleep on the job and when the old woman returned, she scolded him severly and likened his failing to watch the cakes to King Alfred's failure to watch the country. This along with the woman's assurance that her husband would help in an uprising, helped him a great deal in his decision to take the country back from the invaders.

Anyways back to his song, after many of the Danish lords sing their songs Alfred takes up the harp,

"When God put man in a garden
He girt him with a sword,
And sent him forth a free knight
That might betray his lord;

He brake Him and betrayed Him,
And fast and far he fell,
Till you and I may stretch our necks
and burn our beards in hell.

But though I lie on the floor of the world,
With the seven sins for rods,
I would rather fall with Adam
Than rise with all your gods." (305-310)

"What have the strong gods given?
Where have the glad gods led?
When Guthrum sits on a hero's throne
And asks if he is dead?

"Sirs I am but a nameless man,
A rhymster without a home
But since I come of the Wessex clay
And carry the cross of Rome

I will even answer the mighty earl
That asked of Wessex men
Why they be meek and monkish folk
That bow to the white lords broken yoke
What sign have we save blood and smoke?
Here is my answer then.

"That on you is fallen the shadow,
And not upon the Name;
That though we scatter and though we fly,
And you hang over us like the sky,
You are more tired of victory,
Than we are tired of shame." (330)

That thought you hunt the Christian man,
Like a hare on the hillside
The hare has still more heart to run
Than you have heart to ride

That though all lances split on you,
All swords be heaved in vain,
We have more lust again to lose
Than you to win again.

"Our monks go robed in rain and snow,
But the heart of flame therein,
But you go clothed in feasts and flames,
When all is ice within;

Nor shall all iron dooms make dumb
Men wondering ceaselessly,
If it be not better to fast for joy
Than feast for misery." (350-355)

"Therefore your end is on you,
Is on you and your kings,
Not for a fire in Ely fen,
Not that your gods are nine or ten,
But because it is only Christian men
Guard even heathen things.

For our God hath blessed creation,
Calling it good. I know
What spirit with whom you blindly band
Hath blessed destruction with his hand;
Yet by God's death the stars shall stand
And the small apples grow." (370-375)

Soon after, the Danes were put to flight by the determined Wessex Men led by King Alfred the Great. Although the untrustworthy Danes made trouble for long after, the peace to come would never have happened if it weren't for King Alfred.

Update on My Ballad Memorization

In the last few days I have been working on my memorization alot, trying to make up for the month or so of neglect. Before I started this attempt I knew about forty-eight stanzas including seventeen I memorized in book three, I now knowseventy. My efforts have brought me up to and past one of my favorite stanzas,
The men of the east may spell the stars
and times and triumphs mark
But the men signed with the cross of Christ
Go gaily in the dark.
I have three stanzas left to perfect my knowledge of in the first book before I begin my conquest of the next. Memorizing this is going to take a long time.

The Ballad of the White Horse by G.K. Chesterton 1

I still have not read the Ballad of the White Horse but I have read little parts of it.
I am going to read it all the way through soon.
This is one of my favorite parts which is also in The Shadow of the Bear by Regina Doman:

The Men of the East May spell the stars
and times and triumphs mark
But the men signed of the Cross of Christ
Go gaily in the dark.

The other part is much longer.
This is it's setting.

King Alfred is fighting a losing battle with the Danes.
He is disguised as a poor singer and is in the enemy camp.
Many Danish lords perform their songs or poems for the king
After they had finished King Alfred disguised as the beggar asks to perform.
This is his song:

When God put man in a garden
He girt him with a sword
And sent him forth a free knight
that might betray his Lord,

He brake him and betrayed him
And fast and far he fell
Till you and I may stretch our necks
And burn our beards in hell,

But though I lie on the floor of the world
With the seven sins for rods
I would rather fall with Adam
Than rise with all your gods,

What have the strong gods given,
Where have the glad gods lead?
When Guthrum sits on a hero's throne
And asks if he is dead,

Sirs I am but a nameless man,
A rhymster without a home
But since I come of the Wessex clay
And carry the cross of Rome,

I will even answer the mighty Earl
that asked of Wessex men
Why they be meek and monkish folk
and bow to the white Lord's broken yoke
What sign have we save blood and smoke
Here is my answer then:

That on you is fallen the shadow
And not upon the name
That though we scatter and though we fly
And you hang over us like the sky
You are more tired of victory
Then we are tired of shame,

That though you hunt the Christian man
Like a hare on the hillside
The hare has still more heart to run
Then you have heart to ride,

That though all lances split on you
All swords be heaved in vain
We have more lust again to lose
then you to win again,

Your lord sits high in the sadle
A broken hearted king
But our king Alfred lost from fame
Fallen among foes or bonds of shame
In I know not what mean trade or name
Has still some song to sing,

Our monks go clothed in rain and snow
But the heart of flame therein
But you go clothed in feasts and flames
While all is ice within,

Nor shall all iron dooms make dumb
Men wondering ceaslessly
If it be not better to fast for joy
Then feast for misery,

Nor monkish order only
Slides down as field to fen
All things achieved and chosen pass
As the white horse fades in the grass
No work of human man,

Ere the sad gods that made your gods
Saw their sad sunrise pass
The white horse of the white horse vale
That you have left to darken and fail
Was cut out of the grass,

Therefore your end is on you
On you and on your kings
Not for a fire in Elly fen
Not that your gods are nine or ten
But because it is only christian men
Guard even heathen things,

For our God hath blessed creation
Calling it good I know
What spirit with whom you blindly band
Hath blessed destruction with his hand
Yet by God's death the stars shall stand
And the small apples grow.