pacing

The narrative, that strolled through "Bombadil"
now gallops through "Caradhras" and the snow
like clocks themselves must serve the author's will
it's Tolkien makes them function fast, or slow.
Abruptly stopped, the Quest seems at an end
that gate's been found but will not let them pass
'til Gandalf laughs and utters one word "friend!"
the elvish mechanism stays latched fast.
a one-way flight through inky Kazad Dum
so far from sunny high-built Rivendell
a pause to venerate old Balin's tomb
then cross the bridge where Gandalf fought, and fell.
Celestials clocks serve Hobbits, Men, and Elves
but Time's a framework we construct ourselves.

Oresteia

Orestes saw his duty, and proved true;
Elektra's orphaned by her brother's hand.
Good kids stood up to do what they must do
to purge the regicide taint from the land.
the House of Atreus plays out its fate.
Thyestes' heir shirked Troy; he would not go
to prove to Trojans Agamemnon's great;
Aegysthos skulked at home to lay him low.
The code of honor's clear, but can't preclude
eradication of the family.
Athena's gonna have to end this feud
once young Orestes lays it on her knee.
Foundations just societies build on
must reach past clan to form Leviathan.

He Loved His Mother II

Jocasta bade her husband come to bed
and grant his kingly burdens eight hours' pass.
Let sextons wash and bury the plague's dead;
gravedigging's not for one of royal class.
Teiresias advised him toss aside
rash vows to nail his predecessor's bane.
And not to look too closely at his bride
but grew defensive rather than explain.
His parents tossed their child out, long ago
but Fate's decrees are not so lightly ducked.
Unknowingly, he'd laid his father low;
The queen discovers she's been doubly fucked.
He fled from Corinth to evade this thing
but Thebes was destined for its sightless king.

He loved his mother

Jocasta bade her husband come to bed
and toss aside  his burdens 'til the morn.
Let sextons wash and bury the plague's dead;
gravedigging's not for one so noble born.
Teiresias advised him toss aside
rash vows to nail his predecessor's bane.
And not to look too closely at his bride
but grew defensive rather than explain.
His parents tossed their child out, long ago
but Fate's decrees are not so lightly ducked.
Unknowingly, he'd laid his father low;
The queen discovers she's been doubly fucked.
He fled from Corinth to evade this thing
but Thebes was destined for its sightless king.

renown

The arm that Beowulf can  bear, by right
was Grendel's 'til he took the Danes for meat
corporeal reminder of the night
when Denmark learned the value of a Geat.
Between their raids along the British coast
Danes recognized (some) Britons as their kin
familial liaisons of guest, to host
were critical in lands without an inn!
Like Hrothgar, Beowulf produced no son
at last, there's only Wiglaf at his side
no dynasty inherits what he'd won
and only poets know how well he died.
The king who gets no heir's got something wrong
bards build their patrons' ancestry through song.

summarizing Proust

Proust kept a log of his  untidy mind
inviting readers in to sink, or swim
some find their thoughts are much of the same kind
some feel it's all particular to him
great literature ought to resonate
but still meets a diversity of taste
those hawthorn blossoms of his endless prate
some readers find a shapeless verbose waste
a shorter form fits my attention span
of seventy iambs in rhyming verse
within a reader's mind I dare hope can
evoke a self-consistent universe
a monument to years spent pent in bed
Marcel's rich life was mostly in his head

purpose

the lady Eowyn despaired of life
where all the Riddermark sank in decay
the prospect that she might be Wormtongue's wife
appalled her noble spirit with dismay
to fall in battle would allay death's sting
and woe to him that met her thus, berserk
with Merry, she unstrung the Morgul king
a dainty piece of woman's handiwork
a new Age dawned and her depression passed
a whole society ungripped its fear
the future that had left her so aghast
seemed brighter in the arms of Faramir
each day, our minds rebuild our worlds anew
and love can change the whole construction's hue

the SeaWolf

Jack London's SeaWolf postulates a soul
distinct from intellect or fleshly shell
that can't be pent up in a box or hole
but may deserve eternity in Hell
a revolution by the Working Class
earns two conspirators a briny grave
and Humphrey doubts he merited a pass
for sitting out the action like a knave
his wealth and privilege can't make a man
but neither can mere grudging toil suffice
it's more the joie de vivre and elan
that elevates a human above mice
a microcosm bounded by a ship
is stage enough to play out a life's trip

summarizing Proust

for Marcel Proust each period's a sin
against a novel yearning to breath free
of all constraints on what must be left in
and what just serves his own pathology

to let the reader come up for a breath
to maybe think a thought that's all his own
perturbs the author like the whiff of death
for one so terrified to be alone

no starting point, no prospect of an end
can punctuate his mighty verbal flow
an amazon of branching streams and bends
and vapid characters who come and go

abandon hope who embark on the task
to bring to light what's buried in Swann's past