"extenuate" poems
They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable--and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace-- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC
Graphite embossments littered the page.
Each groove and curve leaving imprinted scars for
the eye to wonder but is limited to the imagination.
Back and forth, inwards and out, and up and around; but in
essence leading you to where the eye first left off.
The rays of day breaking light coming from the window
besides her has left shadows against her face and neck to disperse perfectly along
through the spine and around the rib cage. Continuing on to the
inward gentle slopes of her lower back as well as her ample arching hips down to
the definition of her legs while descending to the petiteness of her toes.
Compositions flood my thoughts, transpiring one to stain the mind.
Her pastel smooth skin creating curved tones, while her figure gently leads me
around each indention that follow her distinguished yet unremarkable features.
Featureless of defects and abundant in beauty
her form keeping me attentive of the lines I begin to choose and commit.
With one curved stroke, the line implies her seductive form, then another, and another
suggesting the composition as a whole.
Beginning from my sight reverted to my mind down onto the textured paper below;
capturing the pigments so remarkably sharp.
I round brighter tones highlighted by darkened grays to extenuate
the contrasts of the room in relation to the delicacy her physique.
The charcoal and graphite I precisely placed on the picture
plane has my finger tips caressing and imitating the curvatures of her body.
The tones and shapes caught by the eye travel from her onto the crisp white blankets
entrapping her on the firm white bed she lay on. The brightened tones of the window enhance the distinctions between light and dark and heightens the intensity of my interest to
make this compositions one of my best.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 10:53 PM UTC
The place I came from,
Sprouted from the seed of loved ones.
A sapling breaking the surface of the forest floor.
Growing strong, fast, and with vibrant colors.
Weather scared, but not stunned in growth.
Happiness shines and gives strength.
Roots adjust,
making way to another of his likeness.
Their branches reach out, almost beckoning.
Foliage ruffles,
the trees extenuate their feelings, at a cost.
Though they age the don't mature.
Branches ensnaring one another,
Pushing to stay connected,
in tune.
Cracking.
Breaking.
Nothing.
Branches laying on the forest floor,
No longer consumed by each other.
Maturity develops,
And suddenly I'm not so lonely.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC