ink_n_imp | Good Lord! It's Poetry Month!

I TOTALLY FORGOT GUYS.

So, in the last year, I've not only come to terms with poetry, but one could almost say I've buried the old hatchet of prejudice against it by (poorly!) trying my hand at it. You don't understand, this is a huge step for me. The scales of intense loathing have fallen from my eyes; I can finally overlook the total dribble and see the glorious technical mastery of a good poem. I can finally see the ancient trees in the new growth forest of insipid free-verse un-rhymed gobshite, and they are actually rather lovely. I say, if I can even overcome my hatred of poetry, there may be hope for Jane Austen yet!--

--On second though, let's not lose our heads here.

But anyway, before April as passed, I--if you, gentle reader, won't mind--would like to share some of my newly-acquired favorites.

Starting of course with Chesterton! Because his poems are so wonderfully flippant in a smart way, sometimes I can't help but imagine that he spoke in rhymed ballad form all the time in real life.

The Myth of Arthur by G. K. Chesterton

O learned man who never learned to learn,
Save to deduce, by timid steps and small,
From towering smoke that fire can never burn
And from tall tales that men were never tall.
Say, have you thought what manner of man it is
Of who men say "He could strike giants down" ?
Or what strong memories over time's abyss
Bore up the pomp of Camelot and the crown.
And why one banner all the background fills,
Beyond the pageants of so many spears,
And by what witchery in the western hills
A throne stands empty for a thousand years.
Who hold, unheeding this immense impact,
Immortal story for a mortal sin;
Lest human fable touch historic fact,
Chase myths like moths, and fight them with a pin.
Take comfort; rest--there needs not this ado.
You shall not be a myth, I promise you.