HT: Liberty’s Torch: Message From A Marine Colonel
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Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.
Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.
With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress.
In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountains start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.
– – WH Auden
Sometimes it seems I had a dream, and, as a dreamer woke immersed in mineral baths closed within a cool, dark chamber fed by streams flowing in from the center of nowhere.
Hanging from the granite ceiling a kerosene lantern cast shards of light through the pale steam rising from the surface of the pools.
Ripples radiated outwards from the edges of my body and tapping faintly on the rock revealed the edges of the chamber.
Outside I could hear the wind slide across the spine of the mountains, speaking in a language that I remembered but could no longer understand.
Steam filled my nostrils and heat penetrated my bones until, after a time, I had no body, only a sense of silence and distance and calm.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
FSA/8d22000/8d224008d22491a.tif
The steel mill sky is alive.
The fire breaks white and zigzag
shot on a gun-metal gloaming.
Man is a long time coming.
Man will yet win.
Brother may yet line up with brother:
This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.
There are men who can’t be bought.
The fireborn are at home in fire.
The stars make no noise,
You can’t hinder the wind from blowing.
Time is a great teacher.
Who can live without hope?
In the darkness with a great bundle of grief
the people march.
In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people
march:
“Where to? what next?”
— Carl Sandberg
Down valley a smoke haze
Three days heat, after five days rain
Pitch glows on the fir-cones
Across rocks and meadows
Swarms of new flies.
I cannot remember things I once read
A few friends, but they are in cities.
Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup
Looking down for miles
Through high still air.
BY GARY SNYDER
Starry-eyed an’ laughing as I recall when we were caught
Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended
As we listened one last time an’ we watched with one last look
Spellbound an’ swallowed ’til the tolling ended
Tolling for the aching ones whose wounds cannot be nursed
For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones an’ worse
An’ for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
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That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
– – W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well
Builds his monument mockingly;
For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun
Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained
thoughts found
The honey of peace in old poems.
— Robinson Jeffers
Sometimes it seems I had a dream, and, as a dreamer woke immersed in mineral baths closed within a cool, dark chamber fed by streams flowing in from the center of nowhere.
Hanging from the granite ceiling a kerosene lantern cast shards of light through the pale steam rising from the surface of the pools.
Ripples radiated outwards from the edges of my body and tapping faintly on the rock revealed the edges of the chamber.
Outside I could hear the wind slide across the spine of the mountains, speaking in a language that I remembered but could no longer understand.
Steam filled my nostrils and heat penetrated my bones until, after a time, I had no body, only a sense of silence and distance and calm.
As if I had just woken from all water into dream.
— Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, 1973
Comments on this entry are closed.
That’s the way to say it. These freaks of nature should be shown the door. For one, I’m done watching pro football until this madness goes away.
Football pros: The first amendment protects you from the wrath of government, but not by any means from the wrath of the millions of veterans, veteran’s families, LEOs, Firemen, etc., who revere the flag and hold it up as a symbol of our best, brightest moments, our core values, and our individual sacrifices for America. Don’t take your bitchy grievance out near us! It wasn’t the American soldiers interred in honored cemeteries in Europe who aggrieved you, when they were giving their last full measure of devotion, being blown apart by artillery, crushed by rubble, killed in vehicular accidents, shot through the lung by high velocity rounds, burned in fires, fell from the sky, or succumbed to disease. But, it is the flag that you disrespect that did comfort them and decorates their resting places. It isn’t about your impoverished souls; it’s about our unity as a nation. Your grievance is petty compared to one 17-year-old soldier killed in Vietnam, or one 20-year-old sailor drowned in the Coral Sea.
I salute the flag at parades, and I stand for the NA even when I’m in private. It’s my flag, my flag etiquette, and my honor to be an American veteran.
Commissioner Goodell: players standing for the NA, and removing their helmets, is NFL policy. THe 1stA don’t come into it. Do your job!
Dear NFL, Those brave American soldiers did not die hoping to listen to your BS. They died in order to insure you a fair trial for your hypocritical treason. No more watching pro football for me this season and the way it’s going, – probably forever.
The NFL can play games with its own rules but that leaves them vulnerable to any player that has been fined to sue the NFL for unequal or non enforcement of the rules. That is exactly how Obama ruled. It also means we need to demand that the NFL lose its 501c3 status and get treated like a business. It also means I demand my local politicians refuse to use taxpayer money to fund anymore stadiums. In the end it is obvious that the post modern culture is disemboweling itself over its fear of losing its super special status to the public. Hollywood, flush twice. Hip hop culture, Molotov it and blame it on the Russians. Piss Christ and dung Madonna artists, choke down your material. PC universities, self fund your propaganda. PBS, fund your own specials. The Only Ones fear that taxpayer because the taxpayer hired Trump and they don’t like the oversight. Post modern is dying because it has no substance, we need to kill it and move on to a renaissance culture.
For nigh on 7 to 8 decades the NFL has had a birdnest on the ground. And now the birds are shitting in their nest. I despise those bastards.I will never pay another dollar to support those prima donnas and their owners.Ditto for the TV. What er are witnessing is self destruction of the National Felon League. Good riddance.
Wake up! Smell the shit? Un-plug the TUBE and and throw the shit out the door. Or, give it to the monkeys. The NFL is only a small part of the stink brothers.
Sigh.
“Its.”
Nailed it, into the wall, with clarity and substance, indyjonesouthere. Hollywood flushed x2 is a good start. The Only Ones fear that taxpayer because the taxpayer hired Trump and they don’t like the oversight. The oversight is grumbling, restive and irritated. There’s rock-solid proof of criminality in the previous administration. Is AG Sessions oblivious, or incompetent? I’m going with neither.
I did not vote for trump and do not like him But I stand 100% behind him on his speech about the NFL . Yes the players as us have the right to freedom of speech as our veterans gave this to them though all the wars to make our country a great one . They could protest another way without disrespecting our flag . If they don’t stand – they should not play . Simple as that . Show respect for our flag. Country veterans and help our children be thankful for the wonderful country we live in . Those who don’t do this should go live elsewhere . 🇺🇸
I used to like the Seattle Seahawks, but after last weekend, I can’t support them. They hid in the locker room during the National Anthem. It used to be harmless entertainment, but now they’ve spoiled it. Screw ’em.
The soundtrack of this letter was a distraction for me. Better than Enya would have been Mansions of the Lord. Or of the Colonel himself, reading the letter.
Those who stood for Flag and Anthem stood in gratitude to country and its defenders.
Those who, in opposition, kneeled, kneeled to self-servitude, to self-debasement, to rejection of all that makes America a magnet for freedom and fairness lovers. Blind to the progress that the nation as a whole has made, blind to their own neglect of their less physically talented brethren, they prefer to kneel, kneeling?, call it what is, groveling in self-righteousness. Pathetic.