The Short Happy-Life of Francis Macomber
This was written earlier today as part of a Creative Writing exam. Because I am lazy, and want to watch
24 more than I want to write yet another new poem, I'll use this one. It's long, anyway, so you shall not want for content.
Professor Garber provided us with a title (from a Hemingway story, it seems), and a first and last line for our work. We had to fill in the rest. I duly obtained his permission to change the structure of the two for metric purposes, and was on my way. The opening line was meant to be "For a long time I used to go to bed early," while the closing line was meant to be "it was as simple as that."
Note also the hyphen between "Happy" and "Life" in the poem's title; that is my own addition, and has Meaning. Finally, as I don't feel like getting the symbol codes for the "e" with a little accent over it to indicate stress, I will indicate that stress by preceding the "ed" with a hyphen. For example, "burned" is one syllable, while "burn-ed" is two.
The Short Happy-Life of Francis Macomber
'Twas oft, betimes, that I'd retire
Before the swell of evensong;
In slumber 'fore the gentle fire
That flared not great, but burn-ed long,
I would, though dozing, contemplate
The embers dying in the grate.
And through such faint encroaching sleep
I'd dwell upon Contentments might;
That genius of the place; so deep
A force, despite the crowding night,
That soft and sweetly sleeps my wife
Unheeding th' embers' fleeting life.
It touched me not, that Spirit sweet;
My dim mind turned to darker stuff.
The musings 'pon the coal compete
With mem'ries of that midnight bluff
O'er which I oft was wont to stare
When weary, worn-out, wracked with care.
"Why not?" my darkest devil cried,
"Simple as that, and there an end."
My judgment fought my foolish pride;
What hate assails, can grace defend?
One night, at last, I took the ledge,
And sunk into the sucking sedge.
Or else, in faith, I would have done,
Had not I heard a lady's shout!
Her hands on mine; my art undone,
She heaved, I heaved, we had me out.
And she, through wracked, reliev-ed sighs
Beheld the tears in mine own eyes.
We spoke, we laughed; in time, we wed.
We made a home on Father's land.
Her thoughts of my grim plummet fled,
We loved and feasted, hoped and planned.
But underneath my smile, a trace
Of tears still stained my wretched face.
And so I sign this testament,
And seal it with my Father's ring.
I stand and face my punishment;
God's wrath arrives on powdered wing.
The poison's justice, love and thrift:
My death shall not be sweet or swift.
This year of bliss is undeserved;
I should have perished in the brae.
Her soul is sad, for its reserved
By one who is not kind, or gay.
Now free to find her heart's desire,
As I found mine in evening fire.
The house is dark, the embers dead,
Their smoke is drifting through the air.
My torment-tortured soul is fled,
Unwearied, rested, dead to care.
The last I hear is my old friend:
"Simple as that, and there an end."