Poem: Coding Virelai

 Ballades are my preferred poem structure, but I found this one that I made in 2018 about the difficulty of transitioning to a coding career from an editing one. It seems especially poignant now that I've been in the coding career field for a while now and just frankly... don't like it at all.

Poem: Looking Out a Window

 Merry Christmas, everyone. I've never liked free verse poetry much because I just utterly love rhymes, but this free verse poem I made in college in 2011 that I just stumbled upon evoked a very vivid picture that I distinctly remembered when I wrote it. That's poetry for sure. Man, I really need to write more. I miss it.

Poem: Heaven's Brushstrokes

Heaven's Brushstrokes

 by Austin Ballard

            What beautiful brushes have you, Lord,

            That paint across the azure skies.

            With strokes of white across your board

            Ignited pink with each sunrise.

            And after rain from tempest cries,

            Rainbow tears and golden sun

            Adorn the heavens and wet mine eyes,

            And leave the works of men outdone.

Poem: Sausages

 Here's a dumb poem I wrote when I was 13. I don't know if I was inspired by e e cummings or what, but boom. Recorded for posterity.

Sausage Links

by Austin Ballard

As I sat in my room, reading,

At dinnertime

I smelled a smell

Like sausages.

SAUSAGES!

SAUSAGES, SAUSAGES!

I went insane and ate them.

All of them

Then I woke up

And continued reading.

And smelled the smell

Of stroganoff.

Dang it.

Six-Word Memoirs

Why is it I have to wait at least five years to write about my creative works on Pretzel Lectern? It's like this blog just oozes nostalgia and has some kind of requirement for the creative works to age a little to make sure they're good enough quality. Anyhow, here are some "six-word memoirs" I wrote when I learned about them five years ago. Most of them reflect the somewhat sad state of my life back then, which is comforting now that I'm happy, prosperous, and optimistic. A salary job, Wellbutrin, and D&D have definitely helped.

Poem: Time Never Ceases

I already published this poem on this blog under a different name, but I realized I had an updated version I revised in my creative writing class that made it more... poetic, I guess. It was kind of dumb in the original version for just being about food. This one adds some emotion into it by moving up the ladder of abstraction every once in a while and eliminating clichés.

Time Never Ceases

Drinks get warm

Food gets cold

Crackers get stale

Friends get annoying

Bread gets hard

Cereal gets soggy

Soda gets flat

Clothes tighten

Fruit spoils

Vegetables wilt

Ice cream melts

Children grow up

Gravy lumps

Cheese molds

Eyesight blurs

Milk sours

Hair grays

Meat rots 

Pets die

Time never ceases.

Poem: Craving

I made this in a creative writing class my second year of college, back when I was still having withdrawals from Brazil. Not a huge fan of it because it don't rhyme none, but from what I can tell from other free-verse poetry, I think it's not half-bad the way it talks about simplicity and nostalgia vs. fanciness.

Craving

I have tasted succulent steaks,

Seasoned with pepper and sauce and cooked just a little bit pink.

Sandwiches and hamburgers,

Some so tall you have to pin them together with a toothpick.

Salads so fresh,

Every half-moon of lettuce, cucumber, and celery would crunch.

Breadsticks dripping with butter—

Literally dripping. And all rough and salty with garlic on top.

I have sampled soups and broths,

Whose robust aroma warms the kitchen for half the evening.

Restaurants have their specialties, and the melting pot of America

Also happens to be bubbling with a dozen different cultural sauces.

But oh, how I long for a simple Brazilian coxinha,

Golden and fried, made from a common chicken

Cooked in a plywood stall, by a tattered gentleman

Feeding strangers so his family can eat.

Poem: Dragon Eggs

So here's the story about this poem that I dug up this past weekend at my parents' house: In fifth grade there was a city poetry contest put on by the chamber of commerce or something... one of the chambers. Anyway, it covered all the school districts and age groups in Madison county. I decided to enter this poem, and I ended up winning an honorable mention and got to recite it in front of a lot people at a city presentation at the Rexburg Tabernacle. It's nonsensical and really kind of cheesy and pretentious in a childlike, innocent way, but I do have to admire my rhyming meter and syllabification. I've always had an amazing ear for making poetry sound perfectly organized. It goes with my editor nature, of course, but it's kind of interesting that I had that gift even twenty years ago just leaving elementary school.

I have no idea what a two-decker egg is or what an egg does when it's "crooking," but my rhymes were on point, at least—thinking about the odd topic I chose for this poem, I'd bet anything the first line just popped into my head one day and I just kept repeating it to myself till it was polished, long beyond the point of having any sense to it anymore. It's also noteworthy that the poem can be sung to a pirate song on an old Felix the Cat cartoon called "The Goose that Laid the Golden Egg." As much as I was tempted to fix the grammar and punctuation, I decided to just preserve it.

Dragon Eggs

Oh, the eggs in my wagon are those of a Dragon,

they're different. Yes, it is true.

For there's green ones and black ones and small, slightly cracked ones,

there's even some shades of bright blue.

There're eggs with spots and eggs with dots and eggs with red-and-white checkers.

Some eggs are weird-looking like ones that are crooking,

and bumpy and, strangely, two-decker!

So, if you see me pulling eggs and you see

that the eggs in the cart are real funny,

Then don't forget that the eggs that sit

in my wagon are worth lots of money.

The eggs in my wagon are those of a Dragon,

they're wonderful...

Yes, it is true.

Poem: "A Seasoned Part of the Country"

I normally hate free verse poetry, but I forgot I wrote this and how decently written it is, theme-wise and in terms of diction, metaphors, and flow.

A Seasoned Part of the Country

by Austin Ballard

It’s a fact in anyone’s book

That iced roads can swipe an unwary tire

And direct its path to a ditch

(The place every driver dreads).

I have furrowed a disgruntled brow, too,

When the thick, heavy flakes

Pile up like bricks on a wall

To blockade my shoveled driveway once more.

And yes, even when winter is over,

The trickling, drippy brown water

May seep and soak the dead grass,

Forming flat heaps that linger to the last.

All this while we stay inside,

With wet gloves, sick of hot cocoa

And weary of making snowmen,

Bored, and longing for the color green.

Such are the common laments in this town,

And they are valid.

But yet my address stays the same, and I imagine the pitiful opposite.

In other places, to the south or southeast,

—What a pity—the children know not the color white.

Just ice in iceboxes, snow on the old T.V. screen,

And water trickling out as sweat,

With nothing but sweltering more or less to look forward to.

At least I, in my chilly basement,

Can look forward to a change greater than mere temperature:

A revolving wheel of colors, smells, and pastimes;

Rather than just dripping with sweat or pool water day in and day out.

Haiku #1

This is a haiku I wrote while in Seventh Grade. I still like it a lot.

Dessert

by Austin Ballard

Whipped cream, lots piled high

over fruitéd Jell-O looms,

and is eaten soon.

The Creation of the World poem

I've been working on this for a while. With my exposure to Anglo-Saxon poetry, I decided to follow their patterns of alliteration to make my own. This is now an official canonical piece of Argaenothruzilian lore on my forum. For the original story I based this on, see this post.

Poem in Amoledhese

Hey, I promise I have some cool stuff planned to post on the blog soon. Just looking for time to put it all together now that school started up again. In the meantime, I translated a stanza of one of my poems into Amoledhese! It's a lame excuse for a post, I know, but Amoledhese hasn't been seen in awhile, so I thought I'd bring it back for a bit.

Ezh-yerr Arr Yildh Iyzh 
  
Mu bleonsh ib zhyonzhu woalc ansh e
yolo yardhenth enn ko semm.
Yo zhalosh azh arr ko semnazhec
ansh arr ko dhinzhlavzheinj kou yolo enn..
//E nopol dhiysh yildh iyzh redho gej.// E jaesh..
Ansh thapo a do’oved thlenn..

As always, go here to look up pronunciation (If you know IPA) and translation.

Poem #3: Anger Management

I'm finding several old poems I wrote in High School that really aren't that bad at all.

Anger Management

 by Austin Ballard

Your foundation is easily shaken.

Inside, bubbles will burst.

And before it is over, rivers will flow.

The slightest tremor will unleash your fury!

Violent whirlwinds of rage storm outward, and consume!

No one escapes from your belligerent flames!

Quench your inferno! But no.

A thousand hungry wolves could not stop your anger.

Your gaze could crack the boulders of time.

The torrent of red continues!

The winds of blazing insanity envelop me!

It was just a joke!

Poem #4: The Partner's Revenge

I know you're all sick of poems and want to see some prose. Well, so am I. But no worries!(as the Australians would say) I'm learning loads(as the Brits would say) about literature and what makes it good. You can expect to see at least some chapters from stuff in the near future.
A little background on this poem... it's inspired by the song by the Decemberists The Mariner's Revenge Song, and even fits with the music for the most part. If you want to sing this poem of mine to its tune, feel free to listen along here to the original to get the music down.

------

The Partner’s Revenge

Austin Ballard

Sir, would it be a crime

To take some of your time?

Just take a look behind that pane.

All calm and nonchalant

Inside that restaurant,

And here am I out in the rain.

Sir, do you think it’s fair

That he sits in his chair,

And I must suffer in the cold?

It makes no sense to me,

Under this sopping tree—

I guess our story’d best be told.

Years ago, that man you saw was a friend of mine.

But alas, our friendship never stood the test of time…

We were the best of mates,

Building bridges and city gates—

Perhaps you’ve heard our company’s creed.

Our every profit shared,

Our business unimpaired

By selfish envy, spite or greed.

Then one day my friend and I made a new advance.

The key to challenging our rivals’ business stance…

But then behind my back

That friend of mine attacked,

And claimed the credit all his own.

He grew to wealth and fame,

The firm forgot my name,

And I was left a beggar all alone.

Funny how quick a man’s renown can all disappear…

Dragged away, his laugh the last thing I could hear…

Oh look—Is this his car?

With its window ajar?

Looks like, indeed, there’s Providence!

I’ll drop a present in—

A pleasant gift for him

Something to prove the wretch he is.

The deed’s already done!

It’s time for me to run—

You’re free to tell them if you’d like.

But what’s an eyewitness

To a man who doesn’t exist?

Such a beautiful counter-strike!

Poem #3: Lost Dreams

I wrote this poem in late October for the one I love on her birthday. I share it now with her permission.

Lost Dreams

by Austin Ballard

I have chanced to awake on occasions rare

When the window’s light reflected a lost dream.

I tried to grasp it from the sunshine’s beam

But the girl of my dreams was never there.

She was not real, just a golden gleam.

Life went on at a steady pace

All of my comrades found true love.

Love singing sweetly like a turtle dove,

But I was losing in the race.

Futile seemed the search thereof.

Then I grew to love a friend

Writing from far across the sea.

Her written words were gold to me

Our correspondence had no end.

My heart was locked; she had the key.

I see that true love is a real thing

Her kiss I always long to feel.

She’s not a girl from a dream, but real

Her cheek’s warmth makes my heart sing.

I ache for together our souls to seal.

Poem #2: Ode to My Distant Homeland

I wrote this poem while far away from my hometown, Rexburg, Idaho.

Ode to My Distant Homeland

by Austin Ballard

Rexburg, how I miss you!

Your dry air and gleaming calm

Melting the lingering heaps of snow

They ever call to me below.

The springless cold of springtime

Without humming bees or flowers;

But instead dripping drops onto brown grass

It brings a drippy tear to my eye.

Your sweatless glowing summertime

And the smell of cut green lawns

Fills me with joy and passes swiftly

And I awake while the sun yawns.

Rexburg's perfect autumntime

With cool wind but glorious sunshine

Crunches leaves and welcomes new friends

And new beginnings, tho the year ends.

And comes the wintertime; Welcome guest

whose blue snowflakes cover the frost

Sometimes they stay or fade from the ground

And return on the morn without a sound.

The wind or the calm

Of the snow or the sun

Melting or freezing watery days

Always I'll yearn while I'm away.

Poem #1: Time Marches On

Time Marches On

Austin Ballard

Drinks get warm

Food gets cold

Crackers get stale

Bread gets hard

Cereal gets soggy

Soda gets flat

Fruit spoils

Vegetables wilt

Ice cream melts

Gravy lumps

Cheese molds

Milk sours

 

Meat rots

 

Time marches on.