Of Poets and Poor Planning

by Luke W.

George Gordon, Lord Byron wrote one of the saddest poems I have ever read. “Fare Thee Well” isn’t his greatest poem, by any stretch. But in a body of work marked by high emotion and melancholy, it remains one of the most moving, and most genuine. Kind of a monument to one (admittedly volatile and reckless) man’s sorrow. Stanza fourteen reads as follows:

“But ’tis done—all words are idle—
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will.”

As anyone who has had more than a casual conversation with me can attest, I have a similar problem with runaway thought processes. As writing often brings calm and order to the stampede, perhaps this blog can serve as a sort of online corral (to take the metaphor as far as it can reasonably go).

But my hope is that, rather than the vain, idle mutterings of an amateur poet, the occasional reader might find something in these words worthy of use, or comment, or laughter, or ire, or mere repetition.

Officially, this site will be focused on the art and craft of writing, but I’m sure there will be diversions aplenty. I have never been one to turn down an interesting idea just because it was off-topic. And as Burns wrote, no matter your intentions, even the best-laid plans gang aft agley. Or whatever.

So if you know me, or share any of my interests, stop by now and again. I’ll do what I can to make sure you have something to read.