Language warning. Strong language warning.
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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.
by Shel Silverstein
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
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Well, that was interesting.
I have an old girlfriend who lives in Lubbock. She’s a nurse that works as a patient care coordinator. They have a connected organization in McAllen, along the border with Mexico. She’s told me that yeah, the hospitals down there *are* overrun. Ambulances circle the block, waiting for a bed to open up. There ain’t no care at all on the south side, so people come north to cough on you.
She’s told me that there are some significant differences in the workforce in McAllen versus Lubbock. Quality of work and ethics are quite a bit lesser on the border. She and I have a shorthand phrase when talking about such subjects: McAllen culture.
Not a bad riff for this day and age. I got me thinking that’
There are the times to try men’s soles not little naughty Nike girly walks.
Give me liberty and give me Def Leppard with a healthy helping of both Dylons.
Fire at Will, and Phil as well as the house atop the hill where they write that Marxist swill.
Oh say, can you see, nothing but graffiti?
This land is their land, unless we take a stand.
The herd is rot around the world.
Gory gory hell’s for you,
All for one and
One for the money.
Two for the bow
Three to hold
Fire ‘till you hear
The fright of their cries.
And.
Always.
Today.
Speak softly
but carry.
That was awesome!!
Fire ‘till you hear
The fright of their cries.
most excellent!
Lost me at “Listen Bitchez”…part of our cultural decay has been the assimilation of hip-hop banter into everyday speech. Patrick Henry’s original version is just fine, thank you.
I, too, had to search for the original version. It’s a shame that we were only taught the last line in school, when there’s so much more to it. Well worth a read.