A broken kingdom, the one at hand-
The king is far away.
The stories, the stories of what he be,
Fine ladies' tongues at play.
They say he has a skin so bronze,
It needs no golden dusts.
They say he has his nights so sweet
That every lady lusts.
They say his shoulders are so wide,
And ever are so strong-
Every knight does envy him,
So what, pray tell, is wrong?
His lady, the queen, knows him best,
Beyond all woven lore.
Before his leave, these tales he sowed,
But his heart was gone before.
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Showing posts with label irony. Show all posts
Showing posts with label irony. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Late Blooming Irony
Late spring peppered on a bough,
Whispered words, ghosts
Upon a woven pool;
Hung in the silent leaves,
Eavesdropping
For a story all its own:
A glorious rose of the moment,
Extended for a wiry time.
No expected blush
Nor freshest pride.
But a last fray, alone,
For curious blythe sweeping
In a gown too plain.
It never quite caught summer's eye,
Racing through, beckoning,
Thornless,
From a sheer shadow.
Whispered words, ghosts
Upon a woven pool;
Hung in the silent leaves,
Eavesdropping
For a story all its own:
A glorious rose of the moment,
Extended for a wiry time.
No expected blush
Nor freshest pride.
But a last fray, alone,
For curious blythe sweeping
In a gown too plain.
It never quite caught summer's eye,
Racing through, beckoning,
Thornless,
From a sheer shadow.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Oh, the irony!
I was suddenly compelled to think back into the past, today. I recalled a particularly significant quote that someone said to me in seventh grade. My older brother saw that I was getting a B- in Algebra I, as well as some pretty nasty looking grades on my tests. We sat down and had a talk. I literally cried before I was dragged to the sofa. He threatened to kick me out of the house if I didn't listen to him.
When I calmed down, he said (in Chinese), "Without math, you're not going to get anywhere in life. Maybe you'll become a writer, but you know that doesn't go far. All of the real jobs involve math. You must excell in math. You are a student, and your duty is to study. Is that too much to ask? What else are you supposed to do? What else should you really do in life?"
It's ironic in that I actually wouldn't mind having a writing career and doing nothing else. I actually like math, now. It's strange how bits and pieces of wisdom wear through the years, while other words prove to be more cruel than bright. I do agree with him at some points, but in others I simply can't see why someone would want to follow something other than what their being tells them (for the heart alone is not enough). It may not be a direct cause of misery, but I'm sure it's up there on the list.
In a sad way, the statement is not so ironic. I'm not going to be a full-time professional writer, despite my dreams. I really do want to be, though, and cold reality doesn't mean that I will never get what I want. Meaning, I'm going to try anyway. I think I'm going to major in both pharmacy and writing, if possible. If not, I can always have writing as my minor. It's not as if good writers really need a degree in creative writing to be good writers. More than once I've been mistaken for an English major ranging from 18 to 23 (because my other blog used to be strictly poetry/prose and said nothing about my personal life, at least for about five months), until I brought in a little bit of my annoying personal life with a sudden spurt of immaturity and I showed myself otherwise. That really taught me a lot about my dreams, though. They're more powerful that I can imagine.
I actually live by the idea that a student's duty is to be extremely studious, except I see more than that in the definition of a student. A student is not only a student in the eyes of the teacher, after all. A student is a student in the eyes of the world, in his or her own eyes, and in every aspect of his or her existence. A student's duty is not only to be faithful to the school system, but to be faithful to lessons of heart, society, and reason. All these make up the voice within. What is this voice, you ask? It is a mix of heart and reason, with mirrors and lights to make a nice show for the world to see. Yet, at best it is not a show. It has something that even the best reality shows will never have. It has personality as the mixing spoon. It can be either firmly gripped, mechanized by one of those new electronic blenders (though I feel quite sorry for people with this sort of grip on their lives), or left for the flies to suck at.
We are forever pupils, even after school and after we seem to know what ever we want and need to know. To me, even if my school life isn't up and great, this is what makes life worth living. We fall hard, but we're all heroes in the greatest way when we learn to get back up: we are our own heroes. Ironic, or no?
When I calmed down, he said (in Chinese), "Without math, you're not going to get anywhere in life. Maybe you'll become a writer, but you know that doesn't go far. All of the real jobs involve math. You must excell in math. You are a student, and your duty is to study. Is that too much to ask? What else are you supposed to do? What else should you really do in life?"
It's ironic in that I actually wouldn't mind having a writing career and doing nothing else. I actually like math, now. It's strange how bits and pieces of wisdom wear through the years, while other words prove to be more cruel than bright. I do agree with him at some points, but in others I simply can't see why someone would want to follow something other than what their being tells them (for the heart alone is not enough). It may not be a direct cause of misery, but I'm sure it's up there on the list.
In a sad way, the statement is not so ironic. I'm not going to be a full-time professional writer, despite my dreams. I really do want to be, though, and cold reality doesn't mean that I will never get what I want. Meaning, I'm going to try anyway. I think I'm going to major in both pharmacy and writing, if possible. If not, I can always have writing as my minor. It's not as if good writers really need a degree in creative writing to be good writers. More than once I've been mistaken for an English major ranging from 18 to 23 (because my other blog used to be strictly poetry/prose and said nothing about my personal life, at least for about five months), until I brought in a little bit of my annoying personal life with a sudden spurt of immaturity and I showed myself otherwise. That really taught me a lot about my dreams, though. They're more powerful that I can imagine.
I actually live by the idea that a student's duty is to be extremely studious, except I see more than that in the definition of a student. A student is not only a student in the eyes of the teacher, after all. A student is a student in the eyes of the world, in his or her own eyes, and in every aspect of his or her existence. A student's duty is not only to be faithful to the school system, but to be faithful to lessons of heart, society, and reason. All these make up the voice within. What is this voice, you ask? It is a mix of heart and reason, with mirrors and lights to make a nice show for the world to see. Yet, at best it is not a show. It has something that even the best reality shows will never have. It has personality as the mixing spoon. It can be either firmly gripped, mechanized by one of those new electronic blenders (though I feel quite sorry for people with this sort of grip on their lives), or left for the flies to suck at.
We are forever pupils, even after school and after we seem to know what ever we want and need to know. To me, even if my school life isn't up and great, this is what makes life worth living. We fall hard, but we're all heroes in the greatest way when we learn to get back up: we are our own heroes. Ironic, or no?
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