January 2010
13 posts
“A bike in the winter is not a car” →
The word for today is “scree” →
Weekly Tweets: 2010-01-10 →
Reading the news with Feedly →
I have never seen “Volcanoes” – →
A fuzzy fellow, without feet,
Yet doth exceeding run!
Of velvet, is his Countenance,
And his Complexion, dun!
Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass!
Sometime, upon a bough,
From which he doth descend in plush
Upon the Passer-by!
All this in summer.
But when winds alarm the Forest Folk,
He taketh Damask Residence –
And struts in sewing silk!
Then, finer than a Lady,
Emerges in the spring!...
‘Tis so much joy! ‘Tis so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I,
Have ventured all upon a throw!
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so –
This side the Victory!
Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!
Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
And if indeed I fail,
At least, to know the worst, is sweet!
Defeat means nothing but Defeat,
No drearier, can befall!
And if...
Wait till the Majesty of Death
Invests so mean a brow!
Almost a powdered Footman
Might dare to touch it now!
Wait till in Everlasting Robes
That Democrat is dressed,
Then prate about “Preferment” –
And “Station,” and the rest!
Around this quiet Courtier
Obsequious Angels wait!
Full royal is his Retinue!
Full purple is his state!
A Lord, might dare to lift the Hat
To such a Modest Clay...
Michael added 'Every Man Dies Alone'
→
Michael gave 5 stars to: Every Man Dies Alone (Hardcover) by Hans Fallada What makes Every Man Dies Alone more terrible than Orwell and Kafka, though, is that it isn’t wholly a work of…
Portraits are to daily faces
As an Evening West,
To a fine, pedantic sunshine –
In a satin Vest!
Peabody River, New Hampshire
Best Of the Best Of Lists 2009: Minneapolis/St. Paul http://bit.ly/7Dlv8T #
Bleak in B&W by m. t. sullivan #photo http://bit.ly/85U5UE #
Interstate 90 4 by coolgates #photo http://bit.ly/7vyxtw #
View from the Stone Arch Bridge by Bill Cady #photo http://bit.ly/6Qb2zW #
Make music… by Jeana Marie Photography #photo http://bit.ly/5o9wGM #
It’s not always supposed to be...
In Ebon Box, when years have flown
To reverently peer,
Wiping away the velvet dust
Summers have sprinkled there!
To hold a letter to the light –
Grown Tawny now, with time –
To con the faded syllables
That quickened us like Wine!
Perhaps a Flower’s shrivelled check
Among its stores to find –
Plucked far away, some morning –
By gallant — mouldering hand!
A curl, perhaps, from foreheads...