I write with ease

I Write with ease and shall write as I please,
oh world, swallow my words and hold me high,
I will conquer all before ends my life’s lease.

for etched in me are the pain and the mysteries,
that I chase away each day with my toil and not cry,
I write with ease and shall write as I please.

chasing lofty aims I seek honey with the bees,
dare stop me in my quest, oh, fate, you do try,
I will conquer all before ends my life’s lease.

I shall strive to give shade though I lack it, like trees,
some seasons been good to me, though some left me dry,
I write with ease and shall write as I please.

with time, effort and company the pain does decrease,
some day will totally cease, for my dreams I’ll fight till I die,
I will conquer all before ends my life’s lease.

those that scorned shall come flocking like geese,
my words conquer, me the one without words, ever shy,
I write with ease and shall write as I please,
I will conquer all before ends my life’s lease.

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle in to that good night is a poem by Dylan Thomas. It is the first and only poem that I have read on this topic of old age and death where the old are asked to rebel and revolt against the impending death. All others including my feeble attempts on this topic ask to embrace the eventuality. This poem is a stark contrast to it. If I remember correctly this poem is mentioned on the movie ‘Interstellar’ by Christopher Nolan.

Another unique feature is that the poem is written as a Villanelle (or Villanesque). It is a very unique structure and it will be explained later in the post. First let us grasp the magic, the poem is given below, followed by a brief paraphrase and discussion of the Villanesque form. Much of the material of this post is taken from other posts.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The gist of the poem is thus. The speaker demands that people “rage, rage against the dying of the light.” He insists that elderly men should “burn and rave” against death as if they were young.

  • Stanzas two through five introduce four kinds of men: wise men, good men, wild men, and grave men. Wise men understand that death is inevitable (“know dark is right”), but knowing this doesn’t make death any easier.
  • Wild men live carefree lives and learn too late that they’re not immune to death. Good men cry because they weren’t able to do enough in life. Grave men, already near death, see what others cannot.
  • In the final stanza, the speaker begs his dying father to “rage, rage against the dying of the light.” He says it forcefully, like a command, revealing his grief at the thought of losing his father.

A villanelle is a fixed-form poem consisting of five tercets and a quatrain and also follows a specific rhyme scheme using only two different sounds. A tercet is a stanza with only three lines, and a quatrain is a stanza with four lines. Thus, the villanelle has nineteen total lines. There is also a pattern of two refrains, which are repeated lines in a poem or verse. Therefore, in a villanelle, two different lines repeat throughout the poem. Specifically, the first line recurs as lines 6, 12, and 18, and the third line recurs as lines 9, 15, and 19.

In addition, the pattern becomes even more complex with a specific rhyme scheme. The rhyme scheme uses letters of the alphabet to show which lines must end with words that rhyme. In a villanelle, the rhyme scheme is ABA ABA ABA ABA ABA ABAA. This means that the final word in the first and third lines in every tercet rhyme together, and the middle lines also rhyme with each other. In the quatrain, the first, third and fourth lines rhyme with the rest of the ‘A’ lines, and the second line rhymes with the rest of the middle lines, or the ‘B.’ In this way, only two different rhyming sounds are used throughout the entire poem. This intricate pattern is hard to master and with it to create magic as this poem above is simply mind blowing.

There are other posts in this blog that talk of other famous poems. Given below their links.

Charge of the light brigade

La Belle Dame sans Merci: A Ballad by Keats

Solitary Reaper

Happy Reading.

The Roads are lit

The roads are lit wayfarer lost inside,

your strides seem purposed, flurried, what a lie,

the roads diverge that is their nature, tied

to take you where you want to go and try;

a newer life beckons but you want old,

forgot the road that brought your shy self here,

then why do fools like you come out alone,

keep walking steady, you are somewhere near,

for stop and you’ll sure rot to tired old crone;

your journeys soon will come to weakly end,

seek greener pastures wild before that then,

oh, your weak will shall not allow to bend,

hear me, you walk any road as you see fit,

for each is splendid, filled with joy and wit. 

(A english sonnet written in strict iambic pentameter and rhyme scheme.)

Early on in my life

Early on in my life I got in to the habit of mindless rhyming

the wheels in my mind accustomed to its chiming,

with no lofty matter dwelled or sweet musical meter,

can’t capture the subtle nuances ever so sweeter,

yet hope you’ll relish the thoughtful punches in my scribbling.

I write raw

I write raw,

with many a flaw,

else no thaw,

frozen the writing claw,

there is some rhyme,

but little to no meter,

can I call it poem after,

is it worth a dime;

I write simple,

on things trivial,

like a baby’s dimple,

sweet but not quite cordial;

I am a dare that writes without a care,

yet longing for words and thoughts you can spare.

Familiar strangers

(All poems in school days’ Rhymes section were written in school days. This one is close to heart, reminiscent of that shy boy. Boys or girls, the shy have it hard. This poem was inspired by my reality, yet social consciousness and international Amity are underlying. )

Mysterious is the lure of the past,
though all early memories were lost,
when saw her the other day,
memories long forgotten held sway;

knew each other, yet none seemed to bother,
been together, seldom spoken,
this one of my dream wing’s many feather,
so many then, to rule heart no single Queen;

a heart wide as sky, needs many to lean,
when together under same roof,
learning lessons of life, was aloof,
wall between, to break, not too keen;

being shy, unheard went heart’s cry,
takes time to open wings and fly,
in full flight my magnificence seen,
yet what girl has patience to be so keen;

inhibitions posed many an obstacle,
which together might have been a tackle,
crushes last long than love, in end all lost,
forgotten such passion of the past;

at horizon, the sky and the sea,
so close they seem, yet so far apart,
so is the case of people’s heart,
of same roots, yet towards war glee;

like blades of same scissors,
cause each other pain and tears,
unwanted are these brothers,
for humanity and love who cares;

to deal with unknown strangers,
may possess several dangers,
but confusing the presence,
of familiar strangers;

heart yearns unity to go to past glory,
who knows what ends the sad story.

I Vainly

I vainly scribble passing lonely time,
not poems, rather heart’s tired furlong,
no meter, symbol, rhythm, true in song,
unable to call it poem, call it rhyme,
to test my mettle, tried to meter chime,
yet what ever I did, it just went wrong,
no Keats or Frost, am slow, yet surely strong,
for dirty worm does spring a silk sublime;

the meter, rhythm, did capture song, not heart,
I know its lack of talent, those great go high,
in nature, people, vested little my dart,
then what can I ever write about nigh,
oh, little dewy drops of wondrous thought,
what shape, what words, will carry you away.

Humans evolved

Humans evolved into robots of functioning perfection,

the choices made by dictum of society and popular perception

compulsions of economics, a force inescapable to a distraught many,

yet the cog wheels tuned smoothly, only a wisp of tyranny;

the hardware failures, slowly corrected, or found alternate uses,

the software bugs are fixed now and then, temporary patches,

the systemic failures, far and few, viruses, spyware regular cleaned,

those without technology also into the ambit, made robots, spirit gleaned;

there is a froth of the rejected meritorious few,

Oh, glorious hackers, crash the system, to begin a new.