Another favorite poem

Kubla Khan
or, A Vision in a Dream: A Fragment

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

-Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Daily Poetry Club

A few of my fellow BYU students recently created a website entitled, "The Daily Poetry Club."

It's pretty entertaining to be sure with a new topic posted daily for all to submit a relevant poem in reply... Here's the last poem I submitted in response to the "10/3/09: Freebie!" post:

Times tables and chairs and glasses
(or, The Legend of Daniel Sanford)

The memory of a math class
still persists
when time was shattered
when dreams were broken
and finally
pride was swept under
the table and chairs
(remember?)
(third grade?)
(how did we fit?)
(they were so low!)

If anything
any moment
meant anything at all
it was the timed tests
that rode the nerves
that made you squirm
in your tiny plastic seat
flexing and stressing
like a tinker toy
and for what?
for glory or fear?

No one cares now
that the sands have accumulated
and yet we always did
maybe not as much
as Daniel Sanford
that loony ninja nerd
so stressed
with his image
of unfounded genius
(because scrawniness
brings paradigm busting)

He just missed it
one problem
one little digit
no longer than your finger
barely
that was all
but something inside
exploded outward
in a mad fury
of ninja gaiden craziness
never seen off the playground

And so came the end
of a cheap pair of glasses
too thick
for a little master anyway
wrenched off his head
a two-handed job
and snapped
with a yell
and then came the teacher
and the stares
at the seppuku of Daniel Sanford

We were too young
too small to know
what had really happened
what had paused us
what he did
the broken glasses
the shame
and embarrassment
of a warrior
exposed
and brought to tears

. . .

So time passes
and our glasses
fill
or spill
or fade away
but we see
the light clearer
hindsight ever nearer
with each
and every
legendary day