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
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
— Eliot
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
The scientists are in terror
and the European mind stops
Wyndham Lewis chose blindness
rather than have his mind stop.
Night under wind mid garofani,
the petals are almost still
Mozart, Linnaeus, Sulmona,
When one’s friends hate each other
how can there be peace in the world?
Their asperities diverted me in my green time.
A blown husk that is finished
but the light sings eternal
a pale flare over marshes
where the salt hay whispers to tide’s change
Time, space,
neither life nor death is the answer.
And of man seeking good,
doing evil.
In meiner Heimat
where the dead walked
and the living were made of cardboard.
Gerard Van der Leun
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Awwwwww. GREAT way to start my day! THANKS
We need now more than ever the lovely things. Thank you
It’s 56 degrees, sun is shining, the breeze is cool, so me and my mutt Shannon sat on the park bench in the sun for a spell, grabbing up all the vitamin D we could. Since 1984 we’ve had at least 1 mutt continuously and can’t imagine how life would be with out one. A good and constant friend. She doesn’t like it though when I hit a 12th fret B pinch harmonic. Most strange.
That’s one sweet looking ol’ dog. Has the demeanor of my 15 year old girl, Elsa.
WOOF!!!
If you dare you can get your own Kalimba right here:
https://www.amazon.com/Kalimba-builts-high-performance-protective-instruction/dp/B079JJZXJ4/ref=psdc_11972441_t2_B07MQDXKTY
And if you have whale sized ballz grab up this “plug-n-play” version, run it through a flanger into a Marshall double stack and kill the neighborhood:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07C7RYQM2/?coliid=I2DR6OERCGNW0W&colid=10N25HETGLEDX&psc=1&ref_=lv_ov_lig_dp_it
If you are still in need of some more wonderful stuff, try out the Bird Song from female folk trio “The “Wailing Jennys”. It starts out beautiful (@1:09) and builds to a climax in the third stanza when the three women sing a round (ie, like Three Blind Mice)
The third stanza is jaw dropping .. you’ll see
Criminy, forgot to link
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AgIB6XVoI8U
That was good; Callmelennie. Thanks.