Poem of an Angel from Paradise

 

This poem was primarily inspired by Dante's Paradiso. I imagined this poem from the pictures of paradise from Gustav Dore. This is an English sonnet concerning the future resurrection of the dead.  

                                                

                                                As the curtains of heaven unfolded,

                                               I saw those who are Christ-devoted, 

                                               from sin, they have eternal freedom, 

                                               theirs, is the glorious heavenly kingdom.

                                         

                       
                                               While I watched this unearthly scene,

                                              an angel came down to me, 

                                              I asked him where were the former dead, 

                                              and he replied, that I had nothing to dread. 

                                             My eyes looked to the clouds above,

                                            I saw saints standing beside the Paraclete-Dove, 

                                            I realized then, that all things had become new,

                                            the scriptures, bear witness to all that is true. 

                                           Let not the fear of death be of dread to us, 

                                           If in Christ, we be faithful and in Him, forever trust. 

                                            

Poem to a Roman Female

My vision was more obscure in this poem. I wasn't sure to who I wished it to be addressed. However, the text supports the conclusion that it is to a Roman female (possibly divine). 

Sweet angel of light, be mine one last time,

great goddess of goodness, hear my rugged rhyme, 

Now or never, I do not wish to be alone, 

Yours, is the loveliest sight that I have ever known.  

Oh, Mercury, deliver this message unto her person, 

that she is the most beautiful of the lower heavens. 

My Italian Sonnet

 

I've written this poem as similar to an Italian sonnet. It has an octave in the first stanza, followed by a sestet in the second. I lacked specific inspiration that had helped my recent previous poems address a Dryad. However, I wanted to write this as I've never done an Italian sonnet before. Who the poet is describing in the poem is at best, ambiguous. Throughout the poem, however, I had in mind a Medieval minstrel wooing an Italian girl. 

Let love be found in my lent speech,

and your beating heart be within my reach.

your affection I wish to again attain,

let not my veneration be in vain.

Now, as I become ready to read, 

let me to you, surely lead. 

I pray that my voice not vex, 

what I am to narrate next. 

Of all the things that a heavy heart does feel, 

let my warm wooing make an appeal. 

I admire thee as with all my admiration, 

You capture and conquer my full comprehension. 

Worthy or no, this writing be, 

Same as ever, is this song in me. 

Poem to a Crusader Knight

               

         

 

  I decided to write a poem to a pilgrim knight who is en route to Outremer. It has been established in the style of an English sonnet. 

                                           

                                                Behold, a mounted horseman comes, 

                                                Indeed, he is praised by many tongues, 

                                                 a red cross he bears on his white shield, 

                                                 he rides ferociously to the battlefield. 

                                                Behold, the pilgrim prepares for the fight,  

                                                he is England's best and bravest knight, 

                                                his lance he stabs into the enemies, 

                                                his courage is hardly plenary. 

                                               Behold, the crusader returns triumphant, 

                                               he responds gladly to the court's trumpet, 

                                               he begins to sheath away his sword, 

                                               knowing that Outremer is again restored. 

                                               Valiant and honorable be Lord William,

                                               who is the greatest of all Christian pilgrims. 

                                                

                                               

                                               

                                                

                                               

                                                 

                                                 

Balancing Writing with Literature

 One of the things that I've learned most over the years is that writers have to write continually to do it well. They can't write every so often and expect to do well at it. With the possible exception of 2014, when I was focusing more on theology than anything else, most of my life I've focused on writing every year since at least 2011. However, writing often is not the only charge for authors and aspiring ones. 

Knowing the literature of the past is arguably the most important aspect of being a good writer. Knowing good composition and the essentials of storytelling may work for some who are ignorant of literature, but for most writers, knowledge of past literary works such as the Iliad by Homer and Hamlet by William Shakespeare should be expected. By knowing the literature of the past, writers will more naturally pick up on themes of storytelling, good punctuation, and the smoothness of the classics. In many ways, writers can do this even if they are not grammar experts. 

That said, the literature of the past is not all the writer needs to know. They must understand what is interesting to people in the present. Reading contemporary fiction is also important because the styles of some older books are sometimes not appealing to modern audiences. As much as I could say otherwise, Jane Austen and Sir Walter Scott's novels would likely be less popular today if they were just now published than they were in the early nineteenth century. 

As Stephen King once noted, writers ''Read, read, read.'' The same is true for writing. Good writers must write frequently (I don't consider Facebook and Twitter posts as either professional or creative ''writing.''). Learning to balance how to read both literature and stay in one's own works, is one one the most important aspects of a writer's life. 

Third Poem to a Nymph

This is the final of my three sonnets to a Roman nymph. While I did not plan three such sonnets, I greatly enjoyed writing the first one so much that I decided to add two more. 

                                           As ageless as some things be, 

                                          so is the love found within me, 

                                          if words cannot express what my senses do not allow,  

                                          I pray that music alone be the language for me now. 

                                          A graceful nymph has captured my desire, 

                                         my affection, she has entire, 

                                         her beauty, never rests from my thoughts, 

                                         my admiration, she has bought. 

                                        Let my wooing not be meaningless, 

                                        For truly, let me bear witness. 

                                       Never to my love, need there be revise, 

                                       I adore the nymph of my heart's paradise. 

                                      I pray these poems justice do, 

                                      for the returned love that I desire in you. 

Second Poem to a Nymph

                                         

                

                                                          While the muses assemble,

                                                          the Romans worship in their temple, 

                                                          the Latins offer honor to the Deities,  

                                                          with their utmost faith and piety. 

                                                          Juno looks with jealousy, 

                                                          she sees how Jupiter is ever jolly, 

                                                          by a sight most fair, 

                                                         as of it, all the gods become aware. 

                                                         By the roaring river stream, 

                                                         is she who is gay with a gleam, 

                                                         my nymph plays a tune, 

                                                         as all gaze at her by noon. 

                                                         Let these words be taken, 

                                                         that this tree-lady is the adoration of creation. 

                                                          

                                                         

                                                         

Poem to a Nymph

Below, I have written a sonnet. Greek mythology usually finds a way into my poems. I began work on this last night.                           

                                                             As the lovely lilies sway by the wild wind, 

                                                             summer's evening grace does begin, 

                                                             The muses now sing of a nymph,

                                                             her presence transcends all other myths. 

                                                             As a lady among the forest trees, 

                                                            she is a fair sight for all to see, 

                                                            she dances as she makes a melody, 

                                                            her laurel wreath is her great glory. 

                                                           Oh muses, forbid me not of my sight, 

                                                           let my poetry praise her as I write, 

                                                           that in all of the garden greenwood, 

                                                           this nymph is the picture of maidenhood.

                                                           As sure as sweet summer ends, 

                                                           let this labored love make amends.