02-27-2014, 06:44 AM
The very first rhyme I composed was at age 4, I of course could not write it down. It made no sense, but it could be sung. Very short
"Twinkle, twinkle maple toes,
round and round the tootsie roll goes"
The following is I believe the oldest poem which I actually wrote down. I had been composing rhymes and such since I was four, but never put them on paper. At the time I had been reading a lot of the romantic poets, especially Coleridge, and Blake, particularly his "Songs of Innocence and Experience". I think you will notice the influence of both.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Untitled
I feel it in the air today
a stillness and a calm,
creatures all awake to play
as the day wears on.
The seeds that scattered in the fall
carried on the wind,
are bursting through straight and tall,
a sign that spring begins.
And then I fall under nature’s spell,
I become a new born child,
I stop and stare and play awhile.
They’ll look and ask, “Is he well?”
Oh yes I’m well, much better than
all of you who sterile stare,
and cannot see the beauty there.
Better child than blinded man.
Look up there don’t you see
that robin on the limb,
and blossoms there beside of him,
and in the blossoms bumble bees.
And over there those colored flames,
are flowers distant: so alluring
their beauty overwhelms passed all enduring,
fire’s fancy in the most dull brain.
Dale B. Tisdale 1970
"Twinkle, twinkle maple toes,
round and round the tootsie roll goes"
The following is I believe the oldest poem which I actually wrote down. I had been composing rhymes and such since I was four, but never put them on paper. At the time I had been reading a lot of the romantic poets, especially Coleridge, and Blake, particularly his "Songs of Innocence and Experience". I think you will notice the influence of both.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Untitled
I feel it in the air today
a stillness and a calm,
creatures all awake to play
as the day wears on.
The seeds that scattered in the fall
carried on the wind,
are bursting through straight and tall,
a sign that spring begins.
And then I fall under nature’s spell,
I become a new born child,
I stop and stare and play awhile.
They’ll look and ask, “Is he well?”
Oh yes I’m well, much better than
all of you who sterile stare,
and cannot see the beauty there.
Better child than blinded man.
Look up there don’t you see
that robin on the limb,
and blossoms there beside of him,
and in the blossoms bumble bees.
And over there those colored flames,
are flowers distant: so alluring
their beauty overwhelms passed all enduring,
fire’s fancy in the most dull brain.
Dale B. Tisdale 1970
How long after picking up the brush, the first masterpiece?
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.
The goal is not to obfuscate that which is clear, but make clear that which isn't.