Whispers of an Era

I’m posting this here as well as on Facebook, with the hopes of eventually reviving this blog into what I had hoped it would be years ago. For now, it’s just a placeholder. With a note to myself at the start, apperantly.
Grey coastal rocks
Meld with the clouds.
Decrepid old docks
Wrapped in fog shrouds
All waiting for Westerly Winds

Moss covered shingles
And nets left to rot.
Boat rigging jingles
As they sit in dry lot.
And the yearn for those Westerly Winds.

Oh to see better days
Through this old aged haze,
For the herring fleet to set out once more.
Oh the famlies of old
Wish for nothing so bold
As to watch the docks teem with life as before.

Old timers tell tales
At the bar every night.
Yarns about whales
Or the storms they would fight,
And about bygone Westerly Winds

Their frail minds are more wise
Than they were long ago,
And the light from their eyes
Shows the strength of a soul
That was powered by Westerly Winds.

Oh to see better days
Through this old aged haze
For the herring fleet to set out once more.
Oh the famlies of old
Wish for nothing so bold
As to watch the docks teem with life as before.

The sun set as it must
On those glorious times.
Rods now gather dust;
The sea no longer chimes,
With the sound of the Westerly Winds.

You’ll hear rumours take flight
Of just what went wrong.
Though few hear the plight
Of the Fishermans Song
How they embraced those old Westerly Winds.

Oh to see better days
Through this old aged haze,
For the herring fleet to set out once more.
Oh the famlies of old
Wish for nothing so bold
As to watch the docks teem with life as before.


Warily I greet thee, O Blogosphere!

Welcome to the ramblings of an untrained wordsmith!

I enjoy writing. It runs in my family, I believe, and it certainly helps to have been brought up with a love for the written word instilled in myself since the time I could comprehend the English language. If you enjoy reading, please peruse my offerings I bring here. I do not claim them to be well written, I have no aspirations of them attaining any sort of status, and I have no misconceptions of my flawed tendencies.

That being said, I will reiterate, I enjoy writing. Why write a public blog, you may ask? The truth as far as that is concerned is that until now, I have not. The vast majority of my writing is both private and a good deal more unintelligible to someone outside of my brain than the shoddy presentations I place here. What I do enjoy about the public setting a blog brings is the opportunity to express oneself in ways that vocal words never can. The written word has a kind of magic to it, it can convey thoughts and feelings and emotions in ways that are otherwise impossible. Poetry, in particular, can accomplish this very well and so it is going to be the main focus of my entries on here.

My first four posts will be copied from my facebook notes, starting with this, a poem I wrote at the beginning of December 2010. It is simply titled Winter.



Tonight, the air, it feels so still
It seems so dark and deep.
A quiet comes upon this Ville
As across the land, all sleep.

Then starts the wind, down from the North,
The sleet begins to fall.
Dreary moods and thoughts come forth,
As Winter comes to call.

It makes its presence known most clear
When air turns crisp and cold.
The Autumn sun, it sheds a tear,
For fallen leaves grown old.

Shut indoors, we all gather ’round
To escape Jack Frost’s bite.
Music, hot tea and laughs abound
As we gladly pass the night.

We do not rue the cold, nor dark,
Nor cringe ‘gainst winters’ wrath.
For once a joyous mood embark,
Grief dares not cross its path.

Pressing On

The following is an exact copy of my fourth facebook note poem, including the explanation I posted there.

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This is the fourth of my publicly placed poems. Particularly pervasive, perhaps? Ahem. All wordplay aside, this was inspired by the title and style, though not especially the content, of Robert William Service’s “Courage”. Robert William Service actually wrote (to my knowledge) three poems entitled “Courage” so to save you from trying to find the one I’m referencing, here is the link.




It follows a pattern of two sets of three rhyming lines, broken in the middle and end by two lines which rhyme. Like so: 1 1 1 3 2 2 2 3. Each number represents a line that ends with a rhyme for a line with the same number. The next “verse” (I don’t know my terminology, is “stanza” correct? Or verse?) does not coordinate with the first at all, but does follow the same pattern (4 4 4 6 5 5 5 6)


I did not use any meter in this, and it was written rather late, so it may lack flow when you read it. While it is formed from and for my mind, and so maybe only I will see it this way, it seems fitting to me for going on an adventure. As such, I dedicate it for Kait.




Pressing On

When you decide to do what’s right,
Not turn your back whence heard a plight,
Share with those who have no light,
The world will will think you not so smart.
They will say to scheme and plot
Take what you can, or life is naught,
But you will have what they have sought:
A blindingly bright and golden heart.

When you forge ahead, undaunted but scared,
You feel the fear that heroes have shared,
As they struggled and fought, their hearts bared
Simply to see someone smile.
It will be hard, however you try.
At times you’ll feel your heart run dry.
Yet it’s okay, go ahead and cry,
For He is with you, all the while.

Courage is funny, it’s not what you think.
It’s doing what others will not, in a blink.
You know God will never allow you to sink
So always get back on the saddle.
He called you by name, so do not fear.
When you want to give up, I’ll share a tear,
So long as you promise me this, my dear.

Be sure to hang on to that paddle.

A foray into poetical storytelling

The following is an exact copy of my third facebook note poem, including the explanation I posted there.

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Continuing in the same vein as my last “note”. Check there if you wish to see what I’m talking about here.

It turns out, after actually reading something about the subject (shocking to do so, I know!), the term “Dactyl” refers to the feet in a given meter of poetry. It is not, in and of itself, a “form” of poetry. As far as I can figure, dactyl refers to three “stresses” per “foot”, which I do think I accomplished in my last spot. It goes kinda like this: “DA dum dum DA dum dum” for alternating syllables. In comparison, the Iambic meter is like so: “DA dum DA dum”.

I suppose I really would have driven an English major mad with my last “poem”. In this second attempt, I’m going to try and stick to more rigid guidelines, rather than figuring it out as I go.

This is an attempt at the Villanelle form. It consists of nineteen lines, comprised of five tercets (three lines each) and a quatrain to conclude. If you don’t know what any of those terms mean, you may want to look them up, I had to. 🙂 Or you can just get the general idea from reading this. It is quite a popular form, one of the more well known English Villanelle poems is Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night” although personally I’m not that fond of it. I’ll try to write in Iambic Tetrameter, but we’ll see how it goes, I reserve the right to change my mind at any point. Also, this isn’t so much my thoughts, but more a story-esque thing in poem form.


Bering the weight

The days are long and harsh and cold,
My eyes, they sting, from flying sleet,
My God, up here I could grow old.

As a boy I was often told
To work up there was quite a feat,
The days are long and harsh and cold.

When I grew, I thought my self bold,
I set out to the challenge meet.
My God, up here I could grow old.

Weak souls should not try fit the mold
Strong minds and backs will danger greet.
The days are long and harsh and cold.

For coming here, myself I scold,
I often think of my home street.
My God, up here I could grow old.

My fam’ly honour, I did uphold
Until my life, I did deplete.
The days were long, and harsh, and cold.
My God, up there I did grow old.


Somewhat depressing, perhaps, but I think I like it. I’m considering starting a blog to write about my attempts at writing these, but first I think I’ll wait and see if I can keep myself motivated to continue writing these notes for a while.

Experiments in Wordcraft

The following is an exact copy of my second facebook note poem, including the explanation I posted there.

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I decided to see what it’s like trying to stay conformed to a certain style of writing. Over the next while I’m going to attempt to try out a few different “types” of poetry, just to see how they work. There are SO many different ways to go about expressing ideas and thoughts. Some of them are more practical and straightforward, others are more for beauty and flow. I figured it would be an interesting experiment to try a few out, since I have never given myself a set form to follow before.

This first foray is an attempt at Dactyl poetry. The idea of Dactyl poetry is to have “feet” with three syllables. In each “foot”, the first syllable is stressed and the second two are unstressed. It is not a rhyming kind of poetry, it’s the flow that is the goal. An example of Dactyl poetry is “The Charge of the Light Brigade” by Lord Alfred Tennyson. Mine is, of course, no where near the caliber of that poem, but it is an attempt. Not ever having written, and read very little of this form, I may be butchering it. If I drive any English majors insane with my inadequacies, I apologize in advance.


To run not a race

From no where, to no where,
Running on, running on,
One foot goes in front of
The other, always moving.

Always on, never back,
Looking at stars as they pass above,
Wondering what lies around the bend.
Why do they run, those who have not hope?
They run a race of flesh. They run to finish first
To gain glory, gain wealth, fortune and fame.

Not for that, I do run. Not to race.
I press on, all my might strained to the breaking point,
Just for this: naught but joy.
Not for the purpose of outrunning,
Of passing those whom I hold most dear,
Leaving them behind me.
Rather this; I run along side them,
Keeping them close to me.

Pressing on, exploring, seeking truth.
Seeking love, family, and friendship.
I run to completion. So that a good work that
Was begun in me may come, one day,
To fruition.

Winning a race is folly. Running the course before us is faith.
For the first shall be last, and the last shall have joy.