Warmth

Poetry, Thoughts
I think there is a certain degree of warmth that comes with the feeling and emotions of bitterness and betrayal. Warmth. It has the capability to encapsulate the heart and soul with the feeling of release once you let go. The heat fills your stone-cold innermost being that was frozen due to the betrayal, due to the knowledge that a person just simply meant much more to you than you did to them. That is where the warmth comes from. The heat that rises in your body and seeps through every single cell once you feel the sense of relief that NOW - now that you know their true thoughts, you are set free and can reciprocate the same nonchalant not giving a single f--- attitude. Warmth. In a way, you might become so warm inside that you'll sweat. You'll become hot like fire blazing its way across lands and astray. Stay hydrated, and remember - some people are only meant for seasons, some of which are more prone to such fire. Nothing lasts forever. Does it? 

Words Are Magic

Poetry, Short Stories
The young boy came home filled with frustration. His mother asked him what was wrong, and by the squint of his eyes and fire on his face, he started to tell her how his schoolfellows are the ultimate disgrace.

They speak a language that he cannot understand. They speak words foreign, not from Oxford or Webster. Not a thesaurus in sight, swimming in a desolate word desert. And then he goes on to say...  

“It’s the worst mistake. They fill the air with insults and spite through words from a place that no child should ever face. Yes, it is true..they've stumbled upon a cursed lexicon called urbandictionary.com.”

The mother’s sweet little boy, radiating with rage, looked at her so sad and she said…

“Fear not my son, I have the perfect page! 

Fortunate for you that your mom studies words, now you will carry this knowledge and confuse the whole herd!”

Proudly she presented and exclaimed, “Here my boy, have a book blanketed with magic. Study these Shakespearean insults and let them have it!”

“The teachers will never understand, and you can tell those kids off with alluring words that come from another land.”

“Remember”, she spoke, “to tell them out loud -  that it's impossible to wager for wits when they walk around weaponless.” 

With a final chant, the mother told the boy, 

“Words are magic my little son, speak those words and POOF, they'll be gone!” 

Swimming in the Deep End

Poetry
When I was little my parents made sure I would learn how to swim. 

They figured that since we 
lived next to Lake Michigan 
that if I didn't learn to swim, 
it'd be wrong. 

It would be just wrong to 
live next to a Great Lake 
and not learn 
how to manage 
the waves. 

So when I was four I was put in swimming lessons. 
Here I'd be able to learn. 

I'd get a feel for the water 
and the way your eyes burn 
when you've been exposed 
to the chlorine. 
Yes, I think I had goggles
but you know what I mean. 

Feeling the flow of the water wasn't really scary. They strapped me into those floaties so 
I'd always be carried. 

Eventually you learn to let those floaties go. 

After time the deep end becomes the real prize. 
You know, when you first learn to swim you start with just a toe?
You dip it in the cool water
and then 

s l o w l y 


you put in a little more and keep going until 
your feet finally touch the floor 
of the swimming pool. 

It can take some time to get to the deep end. Some people love to just dive in. 
Not me.
I had to work my way up. 
Finally, when I did it 
I felt like the ultimate winner - 
like I was a real Olympic swimmer. 

I'd need a gold medal to showcase my mettle and to display to the world 
how I made it to the deep end 
and I'd be unforgettable! 
Little me, tiny little me -  
can you imagine? 

With all of the lessons I was more than prepared for Lake Michigan. 
I was prepared for the salty oceans, the streams, rivers and the little ponds. 
There was not a single body 
of water that I'd not dive upon. 

Head first as I
submerge 
myself into the wells of the world 
where maybe
just maybe 
I'd learn
something new about myself and everybody else. 

In the process of it all, it seems like it was so long ago 
that I really learned 
what it meant to 
go off the deep end. 

The deep end endeavor 
is all too heavy 
for any regular swimmer 
to comprehend. 

You'd need pristine training, and 
even then - 
you might not fit in. 
Sorry to be blunt, not everyone is meant for the deep end. 
I was just a lucky one. You might think of it as chosen. 

By experiencing the deep end, 
I learned not to depend. 

F r e e z i n g.

Ice cold waves resemble the ways 
of old and familiar former companions 
who shapeshifted into shadows and
who all became so shallow. 

S W I M. 

The waves, broken 
and choppy, 
they'll push you around 
and pull you down. 

Ride them. 

They will always try to drown, but there's a secret. 
Listen. 

In the deep end you can never feel the bottom. 
That may be part of the problem; 
In the deep end do you have 
the ability to feel? 
Or comprehend what is even real 
if you never hit the bottom? 

Once you've been in the deep end for a while, you despise all things shallow. 

When they say I've gone off the deep end, just know that it's true. I was built for this; no, trained for this. Not everyone can handle the deep end blues. 

Not everyone can swim. 
Not everyone can handle 
the weight of the waves.
Can you? 

Product of Consumerism – Freeverse Poem

Poetry
 
I’m just a product 
In a department store. 
Waiting on a shelf 
To be used like a whore. 

And when they are done they 
Turn their backs 
On the shelf once again.  

They consume me 'til they’re done. 
'Til they have no use for me anymore. 

It never matters that I cared. 
It never matters how long I was there. 
It never matters the time we spent. 
It only matters what they spent. 

They want a return. 
They want a refund. 

They want the newest model, the next best thing. 

Except, now -
I’m vintage. 

They don’t make ‘em like me anymore. 

The new models are not as efficient. 

They say the new models are cheaply made - 
or that they’re all the same. 

They break down easily and they don’t work. 
They’d never have a warranty. 

Maybe the consumers should have thought of that before. 
Maybe the consumers should have recognized my value. 

I’m a product with nothing left to prove. 

They made their choice, they are the 
Ones who choose. 

I don’t have an option and really -
I never did. 

Donate me NOW to some “less fortunate” person - 
Maybe they will bid! 

Maybe they will cherish me, 
And keep me safe. 

They’ll look at me and say: 

“This one’s a keeper.” 

“A real collector’s item - she’s rare - she’s got old school features.”

Unique - I’d be. 
Complete - I’d be. 

Finally - I’d be 

Loved.  

© KIMBERLY ANNE INC. 2022

A Glimpse of Nature and Paganism in Medieval Poetry

Thoughts

Recently, I found myself wandering around the pages of one of my textbooks. I stumbled upon the poem, The Wanderer.

The Wanderer is a beautiful and ancient poem that details the themes of grief, acceptance, and struggle. Indecisiveness, lament, nature, and paganism also make a strong appearance in the poem. The poets of the Middle Ages were skilled at writing and creating poems and verses that were impactful without having to overshare details or overuse words. This technique is found in The Wanderer, making it a perfect piece of medieval literature to examine and analyze. The version of the poem that I specifically refer to in this article is from the Norton Anthology of English Literature. Tenth edition.

The Wanderer in the Exeter Book manuscript

    The Wanderer falls into the genre of elegy and is expressed by lament. These literary devices were common in Germanic-inspired Anglo-Saxon poems. “The lament of The Wanderer is an excellent example of the elegiac mood..” (Greenblatt, 2018). Readers of this poem are able to recognize lament and elegiac tones throughout The Wanderer, and also in other epic poems, such as Beowulf (Greenblatt, 2018).  

    After analyzing The Wanderer it was exciting to see many elements of mythology, paganism, nature, and religion all combined. Throughout the poem, the tone remains somber and reminiscent. As “the wanderer” recalls memories; nature, elegy, and paganism are found throughout. What is striking is the similarity of this poem to the concept of Ragnarok found in Norse Mythology. This is a personal theory of mine after the examination of the poem and of Norse myth. The connection to Ragnarok seems evident as Ragnarok was said to have been the end of days for men and the gods. The connection between The Wanderer, Ragnarok, and nature and paganism are intertwined tightly within the poem’s verses. The Wanderer describes elements of death, mentions nature, and appears to be struggling overall with the concept of death, as well as the concept of leaving his pagan ways behind him which is a symbol of elegy. Lament and elegy within The Wanderer include the death of family, friends, traditions, humankind, and personal beliefs. 

    Based on personal analysis there appears to be a direct link between The Wanderer and the Germanic god Odin. Though there are several examples, line 80 of The Wanderer shows the connection well: 

“Battle took some, bore them away; a bird carried on above the high waves; the gray wolf took another, divided him with death; dreary spirited an eorl buried in an earthen pit. “Mankind’s Creator laid waste this middle-earth..” (Lines 80-85) 

“Odin the Wanderer” (1886) by Georg von Rosen

The mention of battle resembles Odin, due to Odin depicted as god of war. Associated with ravens and Valkyries; the bird carrying the spirits on high waves could be a symbol for the ravens or Valkyries which Odin is deeply connected with. Mention of “the gray wolf”, as personal theory, is symbolic of Fenrir, who is one of the direct causes of Ragnarok in Norse myth. The gray wolf taking “another” represents death. As Larrington mentions in her Poetic Edda translation, Fenrir is who takes Odin down. Another tale of Norse myth is The Binding of Fenrir which is a widely popular story that explains why and how Fenrir contributes to Ragnarok or the end of the world. 

Prior to Ragnarok taking place, the Norse myths say that a great winter would take place and would last for several years (Fimbulwinter/Fimbulvetr). The last bit of The Wanderer, specifically in lines 95-115, mention the darkness, the cold, and the winter that is symbolic of an end of ways and days, such as Ragnarok. The world serpent in Nordic myth also plays a key role in Ragnarok and line 97 of The Wanderer poem references only walls being left that have serpents on them. This is a foreshadowing of Ragnarok thus demonstrating heavily pagan viewpoints in The Wanderer. By the end of line 115, paganism has vanished, a new world or kingdom is born, and “middle earth” is no longer mentioned. The Wanderer appears to have let go of his traditions, and has accepted the “Father in Heaven” who has a “fortress for all”. 

Portion of The Ragnarök Frieze (Freyr, Gullinbursti, Skadi) by Herman Ernst Freund Germanic Mythology

Odin is present in this poem as well as Christ. Mention of Germanic customs, traditions, gods, and nature are therefore common themes in The Wanderer. Odin himself was a wanderer. Several stanzas found in the Wanderer highly reflect viewpoints in The Havamal, also called “The Sayings of the High One”, or “The Words of Odin”. (See lines 65-72 of The Wanderer). The resemblance to Larrington’s translation of The Havamal is nearly identical thus reflecting the paganism and nature found in The Wanderer. What is truly fascinating regarding that is The Wanderer poem pre-dates the Eddas and Havamal by several hundred years.

Stanza 6 and 7 in Carolyne Larrington’s Havamal translation directly relate to Lines 65-72 of The Wanderer. 

“About his intelligence, no man should be boastful,/rather cautious of mind;/when a wise and silent man comes to a homestead/blame seldom befalls the wary;/ for no more dependable friend can a man ever get/than a store of common sense” (Sayings of the High One, Stanza 6, Larrington, 2014). 

“The careful guest, who comes to a meal,/keeps silent, with hearing finely attuned;’ he listens with his ears, / and looks about with his eyes; / so every wise man spies out what’s ahead (Sayings of the High One, Stanza 7, Larrington, 2014). 

Identifying similarities in The Wanderer can be done by examining lines 62-72. 

“… So this middle-earth / from day to day dwindles and fails; /, therefore, no one is wise without his share of winters / in the world’s kingdom. / A wise man must be patient, / not too hot of heart nor hasty of speech, / not reluctant to fight nor too reckless, / not too timid nor too glad, not too greedy, and never eager to commit until he can be sure. / A man should hold back his boast until / that time has come when he truly knows / to direct his heart on the right path” (Greenblatt, 2018). 

The resemblances stood out instantly based on new examination and previous analyses of each text. The ideas mentioned in each ancient poem reflect Germanic pagan viewpoints which did often include nature. 

The little bit of this poem has so many symbols and devices that one could write a book on how paganism and nature around without. The examples above are only from a small analysis and prior readings that led to the connection of the sources used. For people in the middle ages, life was hard for plenty of reasons. It is important to not overlook the conflicting feelings of religion among the ancient people, as well as the importance of nature and old sayings full of wisdom.  

References: 

Greenblatt, Stephen, et al. The Norton Anthology of English Literature. TENTH ed., W.W. Norton & Company, 2018. 

Larrington, Carolyne. The Poetic Edda Translated by Carolyne Larrington. Oxford University Press, 2014. 

Blog That I Recommend for More Reading:

The Norse Mythology Blog – The Wanderer (Seigfried 2016)

Harmless

Poetry
Don't you know? Silly girl!
You probably caused this!
He's harmless.

You're the reason why he acts that way...
Maybe you pushed him
Over the edge.

Oh, you don't know him?
Then maybe it's how you were dressed
instead.
Or the way you painted your lips
red.

Surely, you are at fault!
You're the monster, silly girl, remember?
He is harmless.

If they are all harmless then make me
harmless too.

When we defend ourselves
let us be harmless too!

"Free from harm. Not capable of injury."

What is injury?! What is injury?! Can it be
a philosophical buzz word?

Yes, if you ask me!

How does one define injury?

We all know what it means
but to each of us it means
something
different !

Every abuser was harmless.
Every serial killer was harmless.
Every rapist was harmless.
Every theif, every liar every cheater -
Every murderer was once harmless!

We are all harmless until we are not!
Now there's food for thought.

I hope you shove it down
your throat and choke!

It's all harmless. . .

© KIMBERLYANNEINC 2022

Fury

Poetry
          Fury.
    She is fury.
Fury like the waves
    Of the Michigan Lake
         On a stormy day.

She sees them.

       Sitting on a window’s ledge
            Atop a high rise, she is
                       Hanging
                     H a n g i n g

Letting the wind feel her
                    And free her
As she lets the smoke rise
Out of her lips and let it kiss
                   The Sky
               With Passion.

She sends her whispers into the galaxy
Where the darkest purple clouds live
                           And black waves
                      Crash
                       And
                      Shake

                     No - it is not a dream.
               It is a very real scene.
A memory of her youth; so pristine.

The Mist of Skógar

Experiences, Poetry, Travel
I can taste the mist and sense the air beneath my skin.
Shadowed by the spirits who kiss me in the wind. 
When the cold air blows; I hear their stories told.

They tell me to close my eyes, and in the darkness I’ll see. 
Unseen cyphers and traditions they teach are boundless and bold. 
In exchange I left them my heart and they keep it for infinity; in the mist of Skógar.
Skógafoss Waterfall in Iceland by KimberlyAnneInc.
Skógafoss Waterfall in Iceland by KimberlyAnneInc.
For the Landvættir and my Best
Skógafoss Waterfall in Iceland by KimberlyAnneInc.

Room 121

Experiences, Poetry, Thoughts

Room 121 – a Tribute to the Mule

Narrative Poem by @kimberlyanneinc

Welcome. Before you begin reading this narrative poem, I want to say thank you for being here. Room 121 is a place that you have been to before. It is a place that we have all been to before, in some way or another. It is up to you to determine what Room 121 is about. Room 121 is a diverse room filled with every kind of energy and emotion that is possible for human beings to demonstrate and feel. Room 121 is full of mysteries that are not meant to be solved. Room 121 is what you want it to be.

This post is best viewed on desktop or tablet. 

Room 121 – a Tribute to the Mule

What’s going to happen in Room 121? 
I swore to myself the last time we were there that I’d never set foot in a courthouse again. 
You know it was not supposed to happen this way. 
Like an out of body experience I see the stupid happy plastered look on my face. 
Walking with you like I should be so proud when in fact I should have 
hid my face. 
Then maybe now I wouldn’t be so embarrassed 
and ashamed of being associated with your name. 
Almost reaching Room 121 I’ve practically crumbled and just might 
disintegrate. 
 
What will happen in Room 121? 
In Room 121 I’ll become brand new and it’s going to be like I never even knew you. 
Remember that moment in Cinderella? There’s a fairy godmother who completes the impossible. 
She made it all possible for a transformation to take place. Can you see the wand now waving? 
Waving around now right in front of her face? A transformation I’ll go 
through even though I think really, it’s you who needs one too and 
you probably need it much more than me since you have issues with your eyes, 
your ears, and all things. You need glasses so you can see. A hearing aid so you can listen. 
 
What is going to take place in Room 121? 
If only a real fairy godmother exists, then she could help me help you! 
With this issue of vision. 
Helping you would be much too kind considering there is no hope for you anyway. In Room 121
I will release all of the pain 
and the guilt 
and the misery 
and the shame - 
along with all of your lies and your undiagnosed illnesses 
and that fake bit of chivalry that brays out of you like a True ass.
 
In Room 121 I will walk in alone and I won’t mind at all because I’ll be one step closer to 
escaping any thought of you 
for the rest of my life. 

Sometimes I wonder if the world only knew 
how weak and infantile you truly are 
if it would 
HELP. 
 
Do you think it will be beautiful in Room 121? 
Then they’d be able to escape you too; but like me they wouldn’t have to run 
because you’d already be gone. 
Faster and faster just like a marathon 
of foolishness and mental fragility due to your frail existence. 
In Room 121 donning silver attire, I will walk in with pride and 
explain my mistakes of how I fell for your 
schemes, 
your strategies 
and your lies 
and how 
NOW
they have made me only so much more indestructible - 
Rugged and impenetrable either through the heart or unmentionables, thank you. Thank. You. 
My armor is heavy, and my battle scars are unseen. Only those who wear this armor too will 
understand what that means. 
With my head held high and curious eyes glaring at the gleam 
that my iron shield, metal plate, and inlaid sword bring - 
everyone will know that you are not a real King. 

Just another imitation descended from swindlers and shams, who could only hope and dream to move on to better things 
instead of constantly being masters of the masquerade. I’m sorry you were built that way.

The crudeness of my words, is veracious as your credentials
of being extremely detrimental. 

The fact that you are a mule, and one that is destructive is comical to say the least.  
Being a tool is exactly the purpose of such an animal. Stubborn and a certified beast 
of burden - 
of this I’m certain. 

As I lift the helmet off of my head, and start to remove my sheathing, the verdict is reached and now I am breathing. A sigh of relief blasted out of my chest knowing that I was heard and that your cowardice 
made it all so easy.

Sailing out now of Room 121 
I go away and in search of anything that isn’t you 
for eternity now. 
Sailing out now of Room 121, 
off and away there I go, here I go, to anything or anyone that isn’t you 
forever now. 

Sailing out now with my armor, weapons, and my ship, hands on my waist with the hips you will miss - 
farther than ever so you can never taste my lips 
again.

Assailant should have been your title once long ago, but you can’t be called that anymore. 
You’ve lost this battle and I’ve won the war. Now thanks to Room 121 I am perpetually 
unassailable. And when the truth hits the ears of all who will listen, this is how the tale will go. 


Thank you for reading. If you’re a rebel writer, let me know what literary devices you can spot in this poem. I’d love to hear from you. ❤ ‘Til then, happy writing!

Ode to Anonymous – Let’s Talk About Lyrical Poetry

Poetry

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Ode to Anonymous - Pindaric Ode - Lyrical Poem

New beauty with frosted skin and colorful harmony,
Singing warrior songs, under skies covered with nightfall.
A sleek princess with a voice like warm honey,
Your soft tongue, well-influenced by life’s days, your arsenal.

You sound just like a fantasy, and never could be heartless; I am consumed. 
With piercing eyes, like sapphire ocean waves, you struck me leaving wonderful wounds.
A whirl of energy enters me, and I’m enthralled with you; it is so wrong,
Searching for your taste, to you I do not belong.

Your lips are unafraid, and bitter as vinegar.
Grim lady, you are genuinely magnetic. 
Your melody is lucid; haunting and sinister.
The chaos that is you, inspires only those most poetic.
My captivating, candy-coated glacial Queen,
Your euphonic touch is so surreal, this must be a dream. 


by KimberlyAnneInc
Art by Mélanie Delon

My poem was definitely inspired by someone. It’s an Ode, so that should be pretty self-explanatory.

For all you know, it could be the Queen of England, or Betty White. Maybe I’m a bit fond of her. Whoever this is about, can be revealed at a later time. For now – let’s talk about lyrical poems.

The more I’ve been studying poetry, and its different forms and structures, they less intimidated I feel by it. I remember writing poems as a little kid in my bedroom. Music and words have somehow always made me feel more complete. For as long as I can remember I’ve considered music, poems, storytelling, art and everything in between as the most important and valid forms of expression. Emotional expression, artistic expression – these are actual declarations of human existence.

Despite writing little rhymes when I was a kid, somehow in my adult life within the last decade or so I started to let poetry intimidate me. I thought I couldn’t do it. I thought it would be pointless or a waste of time. Somehow along the way, I lost a piece of my creative self-expression. I’m grateful now to have put more time into learning, and I mean truly learning more about poetry and reconnecting with my own creative spark of self-expression.

My poem above, Ode to Anonymous is an example of a Pindaric Ode. During my studies, I learned about many different kinds of poetry; and lyrical poetry was one of them.

Lyrical poetry does not just consist of odes, but in this blog – that is what I’ll be focusing on. Generally, lyric poetry focuses on a brief description of intense thoughts and emotions. Sometimes this style of poetry is about nature, romance, grief, or death – just to name a few.

In my example above, it does have a bit of romance, but there are plenty of other elements that are hidden and not so hidden. Lyric poetry is also meant to be read aloud. By studying even further, I realize how important it is now to read poems aloud and hear them read aloud by others.

The thing with poetry is that when it’s spoken, and you hear it vs. just reading it, it can be interpreted differently. It’s like you experience the words differently. You feel the emotion differently. The message that the poet is trying to send is just absorbed so much better when you hear the words aloud.

The form of my poem above is called Pindaric Ode. The Pindaric Ode originated in ancient Greece and is named after Pindar. He was known as one of the most epic lyric poets of all time. Pindar is also the reason why Odes exist.

The word ode derives from the Greek word oide, which means “to sing or chant.” Odes were originally performed to music. The duration, metrical patterns, and rhyme of these songs were certainly different long ago. Since the time of the ancient Greeks, odes have evolved into three different varieties, but the core form and premise have remained the same.

Pindaric

Horatian

Irregular

If you want to learn more about all three types of Odes, check out the Poetry Foundation website. (By the way, The Poetry Foundation is based in my hometown, Chicago – so you know I have to show love!)

The structure of an ode is distinct from that of other forms of poetic expression. Each of the three varieties of odes has its own particular characteristics. In contrast to Pindaric and Horatian odes, which must adhere to strict rules, irregular odes are free to take any form. It is common for odes to be constructed of several lines or stanzas of poetry, but they can be of any length.

In ancient Greece, odes to sports or other events were designed to be performed with dancers and a chorus. Odes were used in celebration of major athletic affairs, such as the Olympics.

Pindar enjoyed including mythical allusions in his art as a way of paying homage to the gods. See, now this is something Pindar and I have in common. If you know me, you know how much I love allusions and mythology. Pindar was spot-on by making sure everyone knew that mythological allusions are the best. Pindar was one super cool dude; he even taught Sappho a thing or two. Epic.

Before I get carried away about mythology and allusions, let me get back to the point!

The particular form that I used above is the Pindaric three stanza form, also known as a public/celebration form. The reason for this is due to Pindaric odes commonly being used for public events, sports competitions, or celebrations.

Generally speaking, Pindaric odes are separated into three sections, or stanzas: the strophe, the antistrophe, and the epode.

  • strophe – first section of an ode; a group of stanzas of alternating metrical form (see my 1st stanza and check out the ending words of lines 1-4)
  • antistrophe – second section in a poem consisting of alternating stanzas in contrasting metrical form (kind of like the 1st stanza, but AABB pattern instead of ABAB for rhyming end words)
  • epode – third section that follows the strophe and antistrophe and completes the movement (Stanza 3 (6-line sestet) – lines 9-14)

And there you have the structure and form of a Pindaric Ode! Writing poems with strict form and rules is actually quite challenging – especially if you’re a rebel writer like me. One time I did get in trouble for writing too many words over the limit on a school assignment. I have issues, I know – but only the best kind. It’s embarrassing since that happened not so long ago, but it’s true! If you are a rebel writer, tend to overwrite or just totally despise following forms and structures of any kind – but especially in writing, then you understand what I mean. 🙂

An Ode that I read, that really helped me understand the form of a Pindaric Ode was the poem, The Bard by Thomas Gray.

Here’s a stanza from his poem:

II.2.
"'Mighty victor, mighty lord,
Low on his funeral couch he lies!
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.
Is the Sable Warrior fled?
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.
The swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born?
Gone to salute the rising Morn.
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows,
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes;
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway,
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

See the rhyme scheme and pattern?! The poem was crafted with excellence and has provided me with a perfect example on how I could attempt to write my own Pindaric Ode (even though mine is much shorter!).

In this poem by Gray, he presents ideas about two nations sharing a common history. Gray sought to investigate the concept of the significance of Wales within an old British nation.

Gray chose the poem’s structure and words with care and intention in order to make his poem appear a bit more ancient, and more important, so that he could use it to convey his ideas.

The conflict between Edward I, the English invader, and the last bard of Wales is depicted in Thomas Gray’s poem “The Bard,” which was written in 1757. The poem was a major success, and it played a significant role in establishing the image of the Welsh mountains as a symbol of liberty in popular culture.

I could probably go on and on about this, but it’s late so I’ve got to stop right here. A post from me was way overdue, so I figured this would suffice. If you’ve read this far, thank you. Your attention span makes me extremely jealous! I hope you enjoyed this post and maybe learned something new. Let me know in the comments.

To read more, you can check out these links for reference:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44298/the-bard-a-pindaric-ode

https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/edward-i-the-dutiful-conqueror/

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/sappho

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/pindar

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/thomas-gray

https://www.instagram.com/melaniedelon/?hl=en