End of the Year of Poetry

So, here it is the last post of my Year of Poetry. I’m kind of amazed I made it this far. A post a day, at least I know now that I’m capable of this, though I doubt I will ever try and do it again.

 

The poem for today, as I planned a year ago, is the same poem I started with, my Ars Poetica. A poem about Poetry. Bookending a full year with the same poem front and back.  I hope everyone enjoyed the poetry and the ride.

 

Thinking about what I’ll be doing next, my personal novel writing has still not progressed very far. I spent almost all my creative energy this year on my Dungeons and Dragons campaign, refining the homebrew world of Arista, fast-forwarding the timeline I presented far earlier in this blog, and most importantly, doing quite a bit of email role-playing.

 

Me and my players did a few different sets of e-mail chains, one of them was a year of downtime where they fell through time and space and did a reality and dimension hopping adventure. Some of them were short, boring , or uneventful but one of them was a massive 350 page practical novel. I want to share all of this writing on the internet (and I did get their permission) and I have been editing out any personal information and such. I’m not sure how I’ll organize everything, or how often I’ll post things, but I do think I’ll start with the shortest and least interesting bits, to give me time to edit up the monstrous sections. I hope everyone ends up enjoying this new plan of mine, and then I’ll figure something else out when that’s all done.

 

Happy New Years everyone, and I hope this next year is a good one for you all.

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End of the Year of Poetry

The Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

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;

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,

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.

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.

 

The Road Not Taken

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house in in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
to watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening