For my poem blog of the month I chose my favorite poet, Robert Frost, and one of my favorite poems, the road not taken.

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;	5
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,	10
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.	15
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.	20

The poem I chose for this blog is one by Robert Frost.

 It is named "Soldier"

He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.

The speaker begins his drama by likening metaphorically the “fallen soldier” to a lance that has been “hurled.” The lance is lying on the ground, and no one retrieves it. It, therefore, is allowed to gather “dew” and “rust.” But still the lance points to a target. The dead soldier, although gone, still represents the goal for which he died, as the lance still points to some direction as it lies still on the dirt.

The speaker then draws the reader’s attention to those for whom the soldier has died, and claims, “If we who sight along it round the world, See nothing worthy to have been its mark.” The speaker assumes that it is difficult for many citizens to understand the purpose of the death of soldier, so he is going to explain why that difficulty exists: “It is because like men we look too near, / Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere, / Our missiles always make too short an arc.”

Many ordinary citizens cannot see the bigger picture in the cosmic scheme of things: they “look too near.” Using the same dramatic metaphor of the lance, the speaker evaluates the average citizen’s ability to grasp the life and death issues that nations have to face. They throw their lances, and they can never throw them far enough. They look at the world through stunted lenses. 

Continuing the lance hurling metaphor, the speaker dramatizes the shortness of imagination and vision by asserting, “They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect / The curve of earth, and striking, break their own.” The paltry imagination and lack of foresight make smug citizens think only in terms of selfish, immediate aims.

They fail to realize that soldiers do their work out of a sense of duty and mission just as others make sacrifices in their professions. Soldiers are professionals, not merely pawns in a chess game of politicians, as the ignorant are fond of portraying them.

In the couplet, the speaker makes an insightful observation that as the soul of the dying soldier leaves the body, it soars beyond any “target ever showed or shone.” The soul of the soldier who dies in service to his country is like a hurled lance that does not meet an impediment but continues into the spiritual sphere where it finds its true home.

The shaper

We actually live endless lives, in our heads we live on forever. Now before you get any ideas stating that someone died at this age and that isn't forever, well that isn't in our heads. If we look at us individuals, each a separate part of the vast universe, than to us we do live on forever... we do not realize when we finally give our last breathe. 

So now that the theory of existence has been sorted out and we understand everything about anything then we must move on to a much larger subject, the purpose of life. To some it may be the struggle-some and lonesome chase for knowledge, for others, those who believe in Aristotelianism, to achieve happiness. Some reject with wealth and try to become one with nature, while others strive to gain material wealth beyond their wildest dreams. Yet knowledge is far to large for us to always comprehend, happiness is a subjective term, and material wealth always becomes greedy. It is almost as if we have to point to two extremes. This is the idea of beauteous art and cold nihilism, two characters in Grendel represent this idea, the Shaper and the Dragon. These two have two completely different philosophies and purposes regarding life. 

The shaper, on one hand, the Shaper is perhaps one of the most powerful characters. He directs the hearts of men and instills within their minds ideas of pride and strength and victory. He illustrates hopes for the future, images of the wealth and harmony that lie ahead for the Danes. He paves the past behind them, telling stories of what once was, and how things came to be. Though blind to the light of the world, his inner vision is too bright to be ignored, and even the heart of a friendless monster is touched by this Shaper's designs, and he is moved to tears. The Shaper is merely a man, but he is also a weaver of a special kind of reality: the kind we choose to believe. But what of these illusions, the remolding of the past and present, the promises of a more beautiful future? As Grendel points out during his conflicted moments before his conversion, did we "kill each other more gently because in the woods sweet songbirds sang?"

The dragon, on the other hand the dragon explains that humans have a tendency to extrapolate theories and grossly generalize from the limited evidence they have, hampered as they are by their restricted vision of the world. The dragon also explains to Grendel how all nature inevitably moves toward more complex forms of organization.

So the consistent argument between these two theories is based on self-thought. Many people seem to think the philosophy of the dragon is much more appealing because it is more intelligent, clever, and almost pretentious. Yet us as humans consistently live as those under control by the shaper does. Why? Simply because we need to, The shaper invokes survival, warmth, happiness, and art… the dragon on the other hand leads us to believe that stagnation and a guarding of precious jewels is more important, which it isn’t. To believe in the Dragons philosophies would induce a belief of being alone… all the time. And that isn’t possible, if you want to survive. Although the shaper does induce some sort of illusion, I don’t think that means anything because who cares? If people are happy and the truth doesn’t harm then there is no reason to tell them.

Erp

I didn't know whether or not I was allowed to blog a personal work, it doesn't have much correlation with what we are studying. But it does focus on isolationism and has themes similar to Prufrock, kinda. I will ask you in class if it is okay. Alright now I am just rambling.

Lua

A cheesy romance .

By Svennie.

We sat in a perfectly symmetrical classroom, the desks impeccably aligned; the temperature a comforting 72 degrees, all staring at the white board which somehow always managed to stay a flawless white. Even the scent of the room had a comfortable feel to it, it was sort of a mix between vanilla and amber and every time I walked in I was overcome with a sense of serenity. Our teacher’s monotone voice echoed throughout the history classroom, doing injustice to the bloody battles that were once fought, Mrs. Whitford was the definition of a boring teacher. She was old and had greyish brown hair and she didn’t pay much mind to the kids in the back who joked and fooled around. She did her job and no more. Our classroom was on the fourth floor, overlooking the campus, making it hard to concentrate. I would start with my eyes focused on Mrs. Whitford but over time they would glaze over to the bright green grass just past the window, despite my hardest attempts to remain engaged.

“And class that is how the Kansas Nebraska act led to the emergence of the republican….”

My mind wandered to spring break, while all the other students will be partying and having a good time I will be at home getting yelled at by my father and studying. It’s always difficult visiting him, he’s constantly urging me to come yet he never seems to want me there when I do. He’s never quite been the same since he came back from his tour in the Middle East, but I never understood why. It doesn’t matter to me, we were never close and talking with him consists of him trying to get me to join the military. He doesn’t understand that I’ve never wanted that life, never have never will.

“…and on that note, class is over, have a good day students” Mrs. Whitford opened the door, smiled and let us go. I slouched my way down stairs to the college café.

“One Mango smoothie” I handed the cashier a five, waited for my change and sat down on a stool nearby. I could hear thunder rolling in from far off and smiled. I loved rain. I rested my head in my open palms; eyes fixed at the little bits of mango inside my smoothie and began to doze off.

I woke up to the cashier muttering something to me but I shut it out and listened to the rain instead. She spoke a little louder then, this time while clutching my shoulder, “Sir you are going to have to leave.” I frowned; the thought of returning to my empty dorm destroyed me. I always felt uneasy whenever my roommate Sam left early for vacation. I don’t know, there’s just something about being in there alone that gets to me.

“Could I stay for a little longer?” She looked puzzled and seriously considered letting me stay for a moment, but then shook her head slowly; a silent decline. She looked down as if not being able to meet me in the eye. “No I don’t think I can do that I am really sorry.” Then I really looked at her for the first time and I noticed how tired her eyes looked and how messy the place still was. It would be unfair of me to stay, so I gathered my things and got up, slurping down the last of my smoothie. And with a heavy sigh I zipped up my coat up, clenched my fists and trudged out of the warmth and into the storm.

I seemed to ignore the rain as it drenched my backpack and clothes. It wasn’t ever a long walk to my dorm, but the fact that Sam wasn’t going to be there saddened me. I walked right by the college cafeteria and looked up to the right to where my dorm was supposed to be, I could see through the window that the light was off and I knew that the clean dark room would be a source of loneliness. Instead of walking the two minute trip to my dorm, I decided to head into the city. I sat down on a wet bench waiting for the campus bus; I knew the bus would take at least twenty minutes to get to me so I let my mind wander on to the Bio Medical Engineering tests that were going to be needed to study for. Amidst the countless facts and thoughts circling in my head the bus arrived.  The first thing I noticed was the worn down and tired look of the bus driver, she had her eyes closed and asked me for my money, her voice was raspy and exhausted. Sorrow filled my heart and the urge to help her kicked in, instead of reaching into my pocket and handing her the three dollars for the bus ride I reached into my backpack, grabbed my wallet, and handed her a twenty. I began to search for a seat but the lady interrupted me “hey you got me a twenty dollar bill lemme get chu change for that”.