Fred Astair fingers
Staccatoing on the keys.
Ah, writing's rhythm.
16 May 2011
16 April 2011
+ 'Casey at the Bat'
By Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that —
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat;
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped —
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!"
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that —
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat;
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped —
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!"
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.
15 April 2011
+ 'The Highwayman'
By Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
14 April 2011
+ 'Song'
By John Donne
Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.
If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.
Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.
If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.
13 April 2011
+ 'A Wounded Dear -- Leaps Highest'
By Emily Dickenson
A Wounded Deer -- leaps highest --
I've heard the Hunter tell --
'Tis but the Ecstasy of death --
And then the Brake is still!
The Smitten Rock that gushes!
The trampled Steel that springs!
A Cheek is always redder
Just where the Hectic stings!
Mirth is the Mail of Anguish
In which it Cautious Arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "you're hurt" exclaim!
A Wounded Deer -- leaps highest --
I've heard the Hunter tell --
'Tis but the Ecstasy of death --
And then the Brake is still!
The Smitten Rock that gushes!
The trampled Steel that springs!
A Cheek is always redder
Just where the Hectic stings!
Mirth is the Mail of Anguish
In which it Cautious Arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "you're hurt" exclaim!
12 April 2011
+ 'Heavenly Grass'
By Tennessee Williams
My feet took a walk in heavenly grass.
All day while the sky shone clear as glass.
My feet took a walk in heavenly grass,
All night while the lonesome stars rolled past.
Then my feet come down to walk on earth,
And my mother cried when she give me birth.
Now my feet walk far and my feet walk fast,
But they still got an itch for heavenly grass.
But they still got an itch for heavenly grass.
My feet took a walk in heavenly grass.
All day while the sky shone clear as glass.
My feet took a walk in heavenly grass,
All night while the lonesome stars rolled past.
Then my feet come down to walk on earth,
And my mother cried when she give me birth.
Now my feet walk far and my feet walk fast,
But they still got an itch for heavenly grass.
But they still got an itch for heavenly grass.
11 April 2011
+ 'Dulce Et Decorum Est'
By Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
10 April 2011
+ 'She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways'
By William Wordsworth
She among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
--Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
She among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
--Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
09 April 2011
+ 'Cradle Song'
By William Blake
Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.
Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.
08 April 2011
+ 'Gunga Din'
By Rudyard Kipling
You may talk o' gin an' beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But if it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them black-faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippy hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"
The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a twisty piece o' rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it,
Or I'll marrow you this minute,
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"
'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done,
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide,
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could 'ear the front-files shout:
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"
I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' 'e plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green;
It was crawlin' an' it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"
'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died:
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
In the place where 'e is gone—
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to pore damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!
Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!
You may talk o' gin an' beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But if it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them black-faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippy hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"
The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a twisty piece o' rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it,
Or I'll marrow you this minute,
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"
'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done,
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide,
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could 'ear the front-files shout:
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"
I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' 'e plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green;
It was crawlin' an' it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"
'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died:
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
In the place where 'e is gone—
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to pore damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!
Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!
07 April 2011
+ 'What a to do to die today'
But a harder thing still to do.
What a to do to die today
At a quarter or two to two.
A terrible difficult thing to say
But a harder thing still to do.
The dragon will come at the beat of the drum
With a rat-a-tat-tat a-tat-tat a-tat-to
At a quarter or two to two today,
At a quarter or two to two.
What a to do to die today
At a quarter or two to two.
A terrible difficult thing to say
But a harder thing still to do.
The dragon will come at the beat of the drum
With a rat-a-tat-tat a-tat-tat a-tat-to
At a quarter or two to two today,
At a quarter or two to two.
06 April 2011
Scars
You know these scars you always see on me?
I think I've never said just where they're from.
There're some that come from certain Odysseys,
And others still that seem a bit humdrum.
At times I wonder, "Should I explain?"
They do unearth peculiar ways of mine.
I think that still I must but just refrain;
It's pride, I think, that they do misalign.
It's hurt you see that still quite lingers there
From pain and agony that I would ask
No other to bear. Instead I often stare,
Remembering all the stories they unmask.
I want to share them all with you, my love,
But shy from all the hurt that be in my past.
I think I've never said just where they're from.
There're some that come from certain Odysseys,
And others still that seem a bit humdrum.
At times I wonder, "Should I explain?"
They do unearth peculiar ways of mine.
I think that still I must but just refrain;
It's pride, I think, that they do misalign.
It's hurt you see that still quite lingers there
From pain and agony that I would ask
No other to bear. Instead I often stare,
Remembering all the stories they unmask.
I want to share them all with you, my love,
But shy from all the hurt that be in my past.
05 April 2011
When We're at Odds
There's times all couples go through this
A little bit of minor tiff
That makes the bond to seem a miss,
And conversation turns too stiff.
It's these odd times that I recall
The hours we've talked through text and speech
That adds to us, our overall
Relationship and memories.
Remembering times of good and bad,
I think of that which gave me joy;
I think of that which made me sad.
Yet times like these I do recall
Ten time more of glad than sad.
I think of bottles of wine we've shared,
The meals of foreign cuisines,
The conversations we've had o'er those,
And how we live off meager means.
Then memories come of your dear smile,
The way your bangs are ne'er in place,
Your laugh that carries for a mile,
And the little wrinkles on your face.
Even in these times so rough,
I know we too'll continue through;
It's just that when I'm in a huff,
I find it hard to see us two
After this with problems none,
And I regret having strewn
A miff until it's ridiculous
That I feel I will soon swoon.
Forgive me dear for what I've said
In a moment that's seemed weird to me;
I may have voiced unfinished thoughts
Lost like Odysseus in hateful seas.
I love you dear; this you must know.
You are my heart, my everything.
I love you dear; with no 'although!'
You give me love unlike anything.
A little bit of minor tiff
That makes the bond to seem a miss,
And conversation turns too stiff.
It's these odd times that I recall
The hours we've talked through text and speech
That adds to us, our overall
Relationship and memories.
Remembering times of good and bad,
I think of that which gave me joy;
I think of that which made me sad.
Yet times like these I do recall
Ten time more of glad than sad.
I think of bottles of wine we've shared,
The meals of foreign cuisines,
The conversations we've had o'er those,
And how we live off meager means.
Then memories come of your dear smile,
The way your bangs are ne'er in place,
Your laugh that carries for a mile,
And the little wrinkles on your face.
Even in these times so rough,
I know we too'll continue through;
It's just that when I'm in a huff,
I find it hard to see us two
After this with problems none,
And I regret having strewn
A miff until it's ridiculous
That I feel I will soon swoon.
Forgive me dear for what I've said
In a moment that's seemed weird to me;
I may have voiced unfinished thoughts
Lost like Odysseus in hateful seas.
I love you dear; this you must know.
You are my heart, my everything.
I love you dear; with no 'although!'
You give me love unlike anything.
04 April 2011
+ 'Walking Around'
By Pablo Neruda
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.
The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.
It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.
I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.
I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.
That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
night.
And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.
There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
cords.
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.
The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.
It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.
I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.
I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.
That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
night.
And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.
There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
cords.
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.
03 April 2011
+ 'I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud'
By William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
02 April 2011
+ 'Where the Sidewalk Ends'
By Shel Silverstein
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
01 April 2011
+ 'September'
By Solveig Paulson Russell
September is a lady
In a russet gown;
She marches through the country;
She marches through the town;
She stops at every schoolhouse
And rings a magic bell;
She dances on each doorstep
And weaves a magic spell.
She weaves a magic spell that goes
Winging through the land
And gathers children back to school
In a joyous band.
September is a lady
In a russet gown;
She marches through the country;
She marches through the town;
She stops at every schoolhouse
And rings a magic bell;
She dances on each doorstep
And weaves a magic spell.
She weaves a magic spell that goes
Winging through the land
And gathers children back to school
In a joyous band.
31 March 2011
+ 'i carry your heart with me'
By ee cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
30 March 2011
+ 'One’s-Self I Sing'
By Walt Whitman
One’s-self I sing—a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.
Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the
Form complete is worthier far;
The Female equally with the male I sing.
Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.
One’s-self I sing—a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.
Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the
Form complete is worthier far;
The Female equally with the male I sing.
Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.
29 March 2011
+ 'For Whom The Bell Tolls'
By John Donne
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
28 March 2011
+ 'Chapter Heading'
By Ernest Hemingway
For we have thought the longer thoughts
And gone the shorter way.
And we have danced to devils' tunes,
Shivering home to pray;
To serve one master in the night,
Another in the day.
For we have thought the longer thoughts
And gone the shorter way.
And we have danced to devils' tunes,
Shivering home to pray;
To serve one master in the night,
Another in the day.
27 March 2011
+ 'Life is Fine'
By Langston Hughes
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!
26 March 2011
+ 'The Magi'
W.B. Yeats
Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
25 March 2011
+ 'Eldorado'
By Edgar Allan Poe
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old -
This knight so bold -
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow -
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be -
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied -
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old -
This knight so bold -
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow -
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be -
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied -
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
24 March 2011
+ 'Halfway down the stairs'
By AA Milne
Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair where I sit:
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top:
So this is the stair where I always stop.
Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up, and isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town:
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head:
"It isn't really anywhere! It's somewhere else instead!"
Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair where I sit:
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top:
So this is the stair where I always stop.
Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up, and isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town:
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head:
"It isn't really anywhere! It's somewhere else instead!"
23 March 2011
+ 'Phenomenal Woman'
By Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
22 March 2011
+ 'If"
By Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
20 March 2011
+ 'Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven '
By W.B. Yeats
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
19 March 2011
+ 'Ozymandias'
By Percy Shelley
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
18 March 2011
+ 'Fog'
By Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
17 March 2011
+ 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night'
By Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
16 March 2011
Conversation
Wherever you are in the world,
Whatever is happening to you,
Other people there will be
To chat and shoot the breeze with you.
15 March 2011
Her
Seeing her again
After days of stress;
Putting all things aside,
And seeing her again
As the one i most love.
There aren't any times
I don't think of her
And the kiss that she gives
That knocks me off my knees.
After days of stress;
Putting all things aside,
And seeing her again
As the one i most love.
There aren't any times
I don't think of her
And the kiss that she gives
That knocks me off my knees.
14 March 2011
Your Parents
Your parents freak me out.
I'm haven't even met them yet.
They tear me up from inside out;
Your parents freak me out.
Family is important to us
We want so much for future to hold
A life of loving with little fuss.
Family is important to us.
A relationship with both sides
That holds us to our roots
From places apart and wide.
We want relations with both sides.
I want your parents to like me--
To accept and no to turn away,
To support the thought of you and me.
I want your parents to like me.
Until that day comes to be
Afraid of your parents I'll be.
I'm haven't even met them yet.
They tear me up from inside out;
Your parents freak me out.
Family is important to us
We want so much for future to hold
A life of loving with little fuss.
Family is important to us.
A relationship with both sides
That holds us to our roots
From places apart and wide.
We want relations with both sides.
I want your parents to like me--
To accept and no to turn away,
To support the thought of you and me.
I want your parents to like me.
Until that day comes to be
Afraid of your parents I'll be.
13 March 2011
To Japan, From the World
Written with Ai
The silent plum blossoms
Ah, an infamous earthquake
Why tragedy now?
Everyone together
Faces of sorrowful tears
All of our brothers
Are you all really okay?
From here we all are
Giving support from the heart
This year too, Sakura bloom
Such a strong spirit
The heart of the Japanese
With spring this era will
Melt away into nothing
And the voice of the Locusts
The silent plum blossoms
Ah, an infamous earthquake
Why tragedy now?
Everyone together
Faces of sorrowful tears
All of our brothers
Are you all really okay?
From here we all are
Giving support from the heart
This year too, Sakura bloom
Such a strong spirit
The heart of the Japanese
With spring this era will
Melt away into nothing
And the voice of the Locusts
日本へ世界より
（亜依と書いた）
梅暦
あ大震災
惨劇や
皆一緒に
悲しい涙
兄弟
大丈夫か
心から
支えて上げて
今年も桜
強い芯
日本の心
この春と
時代終わって
蝉の声出る
::translation tomorrow::
梅暦
あ大震災
惨劇や
皆一緒に
悲しい涙
兄弟
大丈夫か
心から
支えて上げて
今年も桜
強い芯
日本の心
この春と
時代終わって
蝉の声出る
::translation tomorrow::
11 March 2011
I Realized You Loved Me
Before we started going out,
you had a bad Saturday;
To my apartment you came,
and we meant to spend the day.
I was giddy and had levity,
But a friend knocked on the door.
I was angry at that time;
Little i knew what was in store
Again a few months later you came;
unexpectedly you arrived.
We spent the day, then three months.
Now over a year together we've survived.
But there was one unsuspecting time,
I spilt Cava all over my keyboard.
Much later after that you told me
It was me you truly adored.
You loaned me your own so quick
You found you trust in me.
Unexpectedly you realized
I love you, and you me.
you had a bad Saturday;
To my apartment you came,
and we meant to spend the day.
I was giddy and had levity,
But a friend knocked on the door.
I was angry at that time;
Little i knew what was in store
Again a few months later you came;
unexpectedly you arrived.
We spent the day, then three months.
Now over a year together we've survived.
But there was one unsuspecting time,
I spilt Cava all over my keyboard.
Much later after that you told me
It was me you truly adored.
You loaned me your own so quick
You found you trust in me.
Unexpectedly you realized
I love you, and you me.
09 March 2011
Poem #252, I think.
I got tired of my home today,
Homesick for a place never gone.
I'm tired of wanting to go away.
With my usual leisure chair, I'm done.
Typical diversions are boredom.
The walls are asleep and no longer talk,
And I feel like a songbird lost his voice
And with a thousand options, I don't even walk.
Thought upon though, inward I turn
All the dreams seem dull and not so high.
If I hadn't clipped wings,
I'd stretch out and fly.
I'd fly to where she is,
The woman in my dreams
I'd be where she is again
And then again have many more dreams.
Homesick for a place never gone.
I'm tired of wanting to go away.
With my usual leisure chair, I'm done.
Typical diversions are boredom.
The walls are asleep and no longer talk,
And I feel like a songbird lost his voice
And with a thousand options, I don't even walk.
Thought upon though, inward I turn
All the dreams seem dull and not so high.
If I hadn't clipped wings,
I'd stretch out and fly.
I'd fly to where she is,
The woman in my dreams
I'd be where she is again
And then again have many more dreams.
08 March 2011
Haiku Hiatus
Breath of cold spring wind
With last of frost's cold chill, ah.
Tonight's Silence sings.
With last of frost's cold chill, ah.
Tonight's Silence sings.
07 March 2011
The Endangered Species Monetary Standard
Our dear money has currently gone awry
Firms and our finances cause the bankers to all cry
Ah, but currently there now is a way to grow
Out of this tragedy that we all call, America, our home.
In the forest of Bretton we desperately tried to peg the dollar to gold,
But in the end of the nineteenth century there was no gold to be sold.
We then found a depression we could not at all adore.
But now, to promote the environment and economic stability
I propose a new system that will give us all tranquility;
Endangered species I think would be just the thing;
The dollar to be pegged to each pound of endangered and rare,
It'd promote the animals and the ones that give them their care.
Whether in aquariums or the parks that the nation does own,
There'd be food and the salaries, money we'd put into circ.;
Government would no longer be hoarding and seem like a jerk.
You see animals require more care than gold.
And to protect them at first, they couldn't be sold.
We'd populate parks owned by the nation,
And there'd be biologists stationed at each station.
They'd look over and care for the aging and dying,
But at the same time they'd be giving money something underlying.
In the end we'd be able to turn dollar to meat.
So if there's deflation we wouldn't have a treat.
In those times we only try to to brings more pounds to bare,
And we'd breed all the rabbits that had love to share.
But in times of inflation we wouldn't go downhill,
We could grill up a whale and not worry about refills.
This way we'd all help the environment be number one
So if the bill comes, please vote yes yes yes dear son.
Firms and our finances cause the bankers to all cry
Ah, but currently there now is a way to grow
Out of this tragedy that we all call, America, our home.
In the forest of Bretton we desperately tried to peg the dollar to gold,
But in the end of the nineteenth century there was no gold to be sold.
We then found a depression we could not at all adore.
But now, to promote the environment and economic stability
I propose a new system that will give us all tranquility;
Endangered species I think would be just the thing;
The dollar to be pegged to each pound of endangered and rare,
It'd promote the animals and the ones that give them their care.
Whether in aquariums or the parks that the nation does own,
There'd be food and the salaries, money we'd put into circ.;
Government would no longer be hoarding and seem like a jerk.
You see animals require more care than gold.
And to protect them at first, they couldn't be sold.
We'd populate parks owned by the nation,
And there'd be biologists stationed at each station.
They'd look over and care for the aging and dying,
But at the same time they'd be giving money something underlying.
In the end we'd be able to turn dollar to meat.
So if there's deflation we wouldn't have a treat.
In those times we only try to to brings more pounds to bare,
And we'd breed all the rabbits that had love to share.
But in times of inflation we wouldn't go downhill,
We could grill up a whale and not worry about refills.
This way we'd all help the environment be number one
So if the bill comes, please vote yes yes yes dear son.
06 March 2011
I'll Meet You In My Dreams
In this we are, required, apart,
And day by day my chest is tight.
But in the dark with strength of heart
We meet in dreams of love at night.
Finally whole we two can be
Each the other as we wish to see.
It's you I long to tightly hold
After days of sleepless nights.
I long to greet you, my love so bold,
And hold you to my chest so tight.
Forever I long to be with you
Clinging to a love so true.
And day by day my chest is tight.
But in the dark with strength of heart
We meet in dreams of love at night.
Finally whole we two can be
Each the other as we wish to see.
It's you I long to tightly hold
After days of sleepless nights.
I long to greet you, my love so bold,
And hold you to my chest so tight.
Forever I long to be with you
Clinging to a love so true.
05 March 2011
Nighttime
A speck of darkness fell to my heart
From the place in between the stars,
In the lightless heavens where it got its start.
It clouds and covers o'er old scars.
Black chokes out the brilliant bright
Prisoning noise, too, inside silent bars.
Contrast and colors lose their fight
They fade into grey and then nothing.
Furthering and deepening depth of sight.
Slowly, perception reaches not one thing,
But comfort there is instead of fear.
It comes on silent darkness wing.
There's a unknown warmth in here,
In cool silence and dark of night.
Memories and worries that appear
Dissipate into that sad lonely night
Lack of perception brings sleep
And then another tomorrow's light.
From the place in between the stars,
In the lightless heavens where it got its start.
It clouds and covers o'er old scars.
Black chokes out the brilliant bright
Prisoning noise, too, inside silent bars.
Contrast and colors lose their fight
They fade into grey and then nothing.
Furthering and deepening depth of sight.
Slowly, perception reaches not one thing,
But comfort there is instead of fear.
It comes on silent darkness wing.
There's a unknown warmth in here,
In cool silence and dark of night.
Memories and worries that appear
Dissipate into that sad lonely night
Lack of perception brings sleep
And then another tomorrow's light.
04 March 2011
Magic
What is the fascination of magic?
It is the power to do the unthinkable.
If used incorrectly, things go tragic.
If used for wrong, it achieves the inconceivable.
So why such a fascination with fiction?
Why does the mind mind such things implore?
Why rehearse a magical diction,
When no fruition is in store?
It gives the mind a place you see
To travel across plains unexplored.
To make the unthinkable come to be
And receive something much adored.
Magic gives an extra reality,
An otherness unexplored.
It allows mind and thought to be
Thinking on the hidden and untoward.
It is the power to do the unthinkable.
If used incorrectly, things go tragic.
If used for wrong, it achieves the inconceivable.
So why such a fascination with fiction?
Why does the mind mind such things implore?
Why rehearse a magical diction,
When no fruition is in store?
It gives the mind a place you see
To travel across plains unexplored.
To make the unthinkable come to be
And receive something much adored.
Magic gives an extra reality,
An otherness unexplored.
It allows mind and thought to be
Thinking on the hidden and untoward.
03 March 2011
Early Morning To Work
I came 30 minutes early;
Today is a busy day.
On my walk I didn't hurry
As I sauntered my normal way.
Today in twilight I saw
What normally stays unseen.
I saw the wakening of the grounds
As I traversed the grass's green.
Squirrels were waking the lawn
Playing with each bladed of grass
They also roused the trees
Shaking the branches as I passed.
Birds worked on buildings
Singing to every brick
To make the walkway clean,
A dog removed a stick.
Nature plays is part;
It does its job with care
For another campus day
Electrifying the air.
Today is a busy day.
On my walk I didn't hurry
As I sauntered my normal way.
Today in twilight I saw
What normally stays unseen.
I saw the wakening of the grounds
As I traversed the grass's green.
Squirrels were waking the lawn
Playing with each bladed of grass
They also roused the trees
Shaking the branches as I passed.
Birds worked on buildings
Singing to every brick
To make the walkway clean,
A dog removed a stick.
Nature plays is part;
It does its job with care
For another campus day
Electrifying the air.
02 March 2011
+ 'I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings'
By Maya 'Madam Maya' Angelou
The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
01 March 2011
+ 'Annabel Lee'
By Edgar Allen 'Old Man' Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
28 February 2011
+ 'Mending Wall'
by Robert 'Grandpa Robert' Frost
SOMETHING there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbours? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
SOMETHING there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbours? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
27 February 2011
+ 'O Captain! My Captain!'
by Walt 'Odd Uncle Walt' Whitman
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
26 February 2011
+ 'There Is Another Sky'
by Emily 'Aunt Emily' Dickinson
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!
A new idea
Last time I did this, I kept getting behind. This time, when I find myself without enough time in the day--like this week--I will post poems that have inspired me.
25 February 2011
Levity
For each step
That beats down
Into seriousness
And listlessness,
There must be
Something to bring
Back up into gaiety.
TV can bring levity.
That beats down
Into seriousness
And listlessness,
There must be
Something to bring
Back up into gaiety.
TV can bring levity.
24 February 2011
14 Hours at Work
First one here today
At nine thirty I sit
In my red chair to play
And to work myself commit.
I wake my lamp from sleep,
Warm the computer from night
From my books I hear not a peep
Their eyes not yet seen light.
Grinding through the day
Catching up from behind
I strive to lay aside play
And concentrate my mind.
Now its eleven thirty two--
Shaky eyes and dreary hands.
There's not much more I can do
Despite works continuing demand.
Further and further see,
And more and more it burns,
That nasty law that be
The Law of Diminishing Returns.
At nine thirty I sit
In my red chair to play
And to work myself commit.
I wake my lamp from sleep,
Warm the computer from night
From my books I hear not a peep
Their eyes not yet seen light.
Grinding through the day
Catching up from behind
I strive to lay aside play
And concentrate my mind.
Now its eleven thirty two--
Shaky eyes and dreary hands.
There's not much more I can do
Despite works continuing demand.
Further and further see,
And more and more it burns,
That nasty law that be
The Law of Diminishing Returns.
23 February 2011
Imaginary Mannequin Meal
Me? Today?
Three books I read.
I went to a lunch lecture,
Listened there while I was fed.
I won't sleep tonight
I've too much to do.
I'll also think all night
Of how much I miss you.
Between you and school,
Friends and work,
Human contact,
I'm beginning to shirk.
We're apart;
We planned it so.
But the next two years
I'd gladly forgo.
And friends that're here,
They're the same as me.
A Masters Degree holder
They're striving to be.
It's not that I'm sad,
Really I'm not.
My life is in
A rather nice spot.
There's just no contact
No one with whom to talk.
In free bits of my day,
I my shadow begin to stalk.
So this evening,
Instead of dining alone.
With an imaginary mannequin I ate
To keep insanity postponed.
Three books I read.
I went to a lunch lecture,
Listened there while I was fed.
I won't sleep tonight
I've too much to do.
I'll also think all night
Of how much I miss you.
Between you and school,
Friends and work,
Human contact,
I'm beginning to shirk.
We're apart;
We planned it so.
But the next two years
I'd gladly forgo.
And friends that're here,
They're the same as me.
A Masters Degree holder
They're striving to be.
It's not that I'm sad,
Really I'm not.
My life is in
A rather nice spot.
There's just no contact
No one with whom to talk.
In free bits of my day,
I my shadow begin to stalk.
So this evening,
Instead of dining alone.
With an imaginary mannequin I ate
To keep insanity postponed.
22 February 2011
21 February 2011
Dreams
Like birds
Dreams float into my room
Into flowers
They grow and then they bloom
Far away
I skip and travel to
Forest twilight
Sunbeams sneaking through
Backlit canopy
The umbrella of light and green
From under
Veins of trees can be seen
Iridescent life
Pumping through each living thing
Melodic themes
To every life it brings
Restive dreams
Marching through woods silent still
Moving heart
Letting minds move at their will
Dreams float into my room
Into flowers
They grow and then they bloom
Far away
I skip and travel to
Forest twilight
Sunbeams sneaking through
Backlit canopy
The umbrella of light and green
From under
Veins of trees can be seen
Iridescent life
Pumping through each living thing
Melodic themes
To every life it brings
Restive dreams
Marching through woods silent still
Moving heart
Letting minds move at their will
20 February 2011
A Cool Summer Day in February
There's lots and lots of work
That's sitting, waiting on me.
Books are queued up on the table
Grumbling and waiting to be read.
Emails flagged for completion
Entertain themselves in boredom.
The keyboard and mouse at work
Fell asleep together again in peace.
I ignore their groanings and silent pleas.
Today, there's clouds you see,
And they're my favorite
That fluffy grey quilt laid over blue sky.
It is so much more gentle
To lay our thoughts upon.
The air is damp and cool and clean.
It creates reverence, a holiness
None are willing to disturb.
Footsteps fall softer.
Wheels turn slower.
Birds sing only peace and calm
As they list in the branches
With heavy eyelids
And sleepy feet.
All I want is to continue.
I want to sit still
In this oft' neglected chair
In my cold cave home.
It feels and looks so natural:
The walls are a cave,
And water drips in the back
From the faucet,
Plip
Plop
...
Plip.
And electricity has deserted;
The appliances are stone dead.
In their sleep they are eternal
Maybe having slept there
For one thousand years plus one.
The cold floor kissing bare feet.
Skin to skin they cuddle
On this cool summer day
In February
As I sit.
That's sitting, waiting on me.
Books are queued up on the table
Grumbling and waiting to be read.
Emails flagged for completion
Entertain themselves in boredom.
The keyboard and mouse at work
Fell asleep together again in peace.
I ignore their groanings and silent pleas.
Today, there's clouds you see,
And they're my favorite
That fluffy grey quilt laid over blue sky.
It is so much more gentle
To lay our thoughts upon.
The air is damp and cool and clean.
It creates reverence, a holiness
None are willing to disturb.
Footsteps fall softer.
Wheels turn slower.
Birds sing only peace and calm
As they list in the branches
With heavy eyelids
And sleepy feet.
All I want is to continue.
I want to sit still
In this oft' neglected chair
In my cold cave home.
It feels and looks so natural:
The walls are a cave,
And water drips in the back
From the faucet,
Plip
Plop
...
Plip.
And electricity has deserted;
The appliances are stone dead.
In their sleep they are eternal
Maybe having slept there
For one thousand years plus one.
The cold floor kissing bare feet.
Skin to skin they cuddle
On this cool summer day
In February
As I sit.
19 February 2011
Lazy Saturday
High sun and warm breeze
Forsaking homework
Working on rest
Cleaning up self
Not concentrating
Enjoying the weather
Trying to relax
Finding solace
In seas of stress
Forsaking homework
Working on rest
Cleaning up self
Not concentrating
Enjoying the weather
Trying to relax
Finding solace
In seas of stress
18 February 2011
Language
Learning to speak a language,
It's like watching the fog lift.
You can't understand the whole,
But little by little
One begins to perceive
Portions of periphery.
Bit grows into parts,
Parts into most,
And most into whole,
But the process,
The process is beauty.
It's like watching the fog lift.
You can't understand the whole,
But little by little
One begins to perceive
Portions of periphery.
Bit grows into parts,
Parts into most,
And most into whole,
But the process,
The process is beauty.
17 February 2011
The Sound That's In My Ear
A signal strong and proud I hear.
From far away it transmits sincere,
That sound that's in my ear.
And though it rings so loud and clear
No one else can hear the sonorous sound
That's singing in my ear.
Bit by bit the waves to me endear;
The emotions, thoughts, and Love I hear.
There's longing also in my ear.
A signal that's free of knee-bending fear.
No jaded side of Love is there here
In the voice whispering to my ear.
From opposing sides of the blue sphere,
I speak to her, and she to me here.
Sending from my heart into her ear.
Only with strength that won't disappear
Can voices carry steadily year to year
From heart to ear and heart to ear.
It's through this that we persevere;
It's through this that will persevere--
Heart to heart and ear to ear.
From far away it transmits sincere,
That sound that's in my ear.
And though it rings so loud and clear
No one else can hear the sonorous sound
That's singing in my ear.
Bit by bit the waves to me endear;
The emotions, thoughts, and Love I hear.
There's longing also in my ear.
A signal that's free of knee-bending fear.
No jaded side of Love is there here
In the voice whispering to my ear.
From opposing sides of the blue sphere,
I speak to her, and she to me here.
Sending from my heart into her ear.
Only with strength that won't disappear
Can voices carry steadily year to year
From heart to ear and heart to ear.
It's through this that we persevere;
It's through this that will persevere--
Heart to heart and ear to ear.
16 February 2011
You
You're half a world a way,
And every single day
My thoughts begin to stray.
Concentration does not stay.
I often think of you
Until sky's no longer blue.
Mind wandering ensues;
Your face emblazoned true.
My days are dreary yellow;
I'm no longer mellow.
My heart plays sad cellos;
I can't connect with fellows.
In sun I see but fog.
Each day will but bog
As sun slowly jogs
Just as a tired dog.
Will it ever come true,
And suddenly eschew
A day no longer blue
That brings a sigh, a "Phew!"?
Will future present shove
Afar and away all of
The pains I'm sick of
And so impatient of?
It is but only you
That will bring fruition to
Happiness yet undue;
And dreams will be made true.
And every single day
My thoughts begin to stray.
Concentration does not stay.
I often think of you
Until sky's no longer blue.
Mind wandering ensues;
Your face emblazoned true.
My days are dreary yellow;
I'm no longer mellow.
My heart plays sad cellos;
I can't connect with fellows.
In sun I see but fog.
Each day will but bog
As sun slowly jogs
Just as a tired dog.
Will it ever come true,
And suddenly eschew
A day no longer blue
That brings a sigh, a "Phew!"?
Will future present shove
Afar and away all of
The pains I'm sick of
And so impatient of?
It is but only you
That will bring fruition to
Happiness yet undue;
And dreams will be made true.
Here we go again...
It was about this time last year that I started and didn't finish but a little. I'm going to start again.?
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