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Zealot

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    A poem to start for April poetry month.

    in The Café

    Posted

     

    When We Two Parted

    When we two parted
       In silence and tears,
    Half broken-hearted
       To sever for years,
    Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
       Colder thy kiss;
    Truly that hour foretold 
       Sorrow to this.

    The dew of the morning 
       Sunk chill on my brow— 
    It felt like the warning
       Of what I feel now.
    Thy vows are all broken,
       And light is thy fame;
    I hear thy name spoken,
       And share in its shame.

    They name thee before me, 
       A knell to mine ear;
    A shudder comes o'er me—
       Why wert thou so dear?
    They know not I knew thee, 
       Who knew thee too well—
    Long, long shall I rue thee,
       Too deeply to tell.

    In secret we met—
       In silence I grieve,
    That thy heart could forget,
       Thy spirit deceive.
    If I should meet thee
       After long years,
    How should I greet thee?—
       With silence and tears.

     

    • Awesome 1

    I've been up

    in The Café

    Posted

    Been up since 4:00. Need to mow, clean fish tanks, change oil in car, check out truck (overheated a bit the other day). 
     

    took care of the menagerie already. Enjoying sunrise on my deck with coffee and cigar, fighting a headache I’ve had since yesterday morning… 

    the sun is quite lovely! 

    • Heart 1

    A poem to start for April poetry month.

    in The Café

    Posted

    Eclipse

     

    "As the sun and moon
    aligned in the sky,
    they illuminated each other's shine.
    And the closer to each other they moved,
    the brighter they shined,
    and the higher the fire
    inside of us grew.

    As we raced through the days
    on that fling,
    each footprint we laid
    blazed away that piece
    of the earth's entire lifetime of beauty
    in the brief second it touched our feet,
    leaving nothing but ashes beneath us.

    Until we had no ground left to stand on
    and nowhere left to flee. 
    And now that we've turned away
    from our fire
    to face the days that remained
    unburned by the flames,
    and learn to gaze at them
    through sane eyes
    one day at a time.

    We can look back at our book
    with clear sight
    and give it the ending
    that we never got the chance to write.
    And while I know it's too late
    to pick up the ripped-up pages,
    I will admit,
    I still think of our little prince.

    And sometimes I go outside
    and look up at the sky
    and think about what planet
    he might've gone back to after he died.
    Then I imagine the three of us
    living up there as a family
    in another lifetime.

    But for now, you have your own life,
    and I have mine.

    And we have to live them
    the way we would have
    if we could go back to the day
    we conceived our child
    and were able to see what
    our manic eyes were blind to at the time.

    When the sun and moon finally came
    as close as they could be
    and the fire inside us rose
    to its highest peak,
    it leaped past
    the fading ashes of our flesh
    to burn our love into eternity,
    through our baby.

    That eternal flame
    that could blaze brighter
    than our manic one ever could
    on its brightest mania days,
    but that would also sustain. "

     

    A poem to start for April poetry month.

    in The Café

    Posted

    White Fang (opening paragraph)

    - Jack London

     

    Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway. The trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of frost, and they seemed to lean towards each other, black and ominous, in the fading light. A vast silence reigned over the land. The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness. There was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter more terrible than any sadness - a laughter that was mirthless as the smile of the sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness of infallibility. It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life. It was the Wild, the savage, frozen- hearted Northland Wild.

     

    ;)

     

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    • Like 1

    Hard to support MMM fighting, steer/bronco rodeo horse riding: women

    in The Café

    Posted

    I had a serious concussion when I was a teen. I was a trick diver. I performed a reverse maneuver and landed on my head on the springboard, effectively knocking me unconscious and dropping into the water. I came to as the lifeguard was attempting to pull me out. I have a permanent disfigurement on the top of my head. 
     

    But I didn’t quit diving. I loved it.  Later in my adulthood I fought in ‘mma’ style competition. (We didn’t call it that back then) I enjoyed it. 
     

    As a cyclist, I’ve had some pretty spectacular accidents while mountain biking, busted ribs, lots of skin ripped off, etc… But wouldn’t trade it.

    Living is risky. And it’s 100% fatal.  Competition in combat sports is a rush unlike any other. But it’s not for everyone. But for those with warrior spirits, kudos! 

    • Heart 3
    • Like 1

    Mandisa

    in The Café

    Posted

    1 hour ago, MoseySusan said:

    I didn’t know of her or her music. That’s a moving song, though. With Toby Mac. I listened to DC Talk a long time ago. No word about cause of death, yet. Just reminders that she knew both darkness and joy. 

    She was an American Idol alumnus. She then went on to become a top CCM recording artist. And TobyMac was a huge friend and supporter for her. She and he collaborated on quite a few recordings. 
     

    She is one of those people that I’ve always wished I could have gotten to know. 
     

    Yes, she knew both joy and heartache. 
    Beautiful woman:

     

    A poem to start for April poetry month.

    in The Café

    Posted

     

    I Dwell in Possibility 

     

    BY EMILY DICKINSON

     

    I dwell in Possibility –

    A fairer House than Prose –

    More numerous of Windows –

    Superior – for Doors –

     

    Of Chambers as the Cedars –

    Impregnable of eye –

    And for an everlasting Roof

    The Gambrels of the Sky –

     

    Of Visitors – the fairest –

    For Occupation – This –

    The spreading wide my narrow Hands

    To gather Paradise –

     

    • Heart 1
    • Awesome 1

    A poem to start for April poetry month.

    in The Café

    Posted

     

    Sappho 1 (“Prayer to Aphrodite”)

      1  You with pattern-woven flowers, immortal Aphrodite,
      2  child of Zeus, weaver of wiles, I implore you,
      3  do not devastate with aches and sorrows,
      4 Mistress, my heart!
      5  But come here [tuide], if ever at any other time
      6  hearing my voice from afar,
      7  you heeded me, and leaving the palace of your father,
      8 golden, you came,
      9  having harnessed the chariot; and you were carried along by beautiful
      10  swift sparrows over the dark earth,
      11  swirling with their dense plumage from the sky through the
      12 midst of the aether,
      13  and straightaway they arrived. But you, O holy one,
      14  smiling with your immortal looks,
      15  kept asking what is it once again this time [dē’ute] that has happened to me and for what reason
      16 once again this time [dē’ute] do I invoke you,
      17  and what is it that I want more than anything to happen
      18  to my frenzied [mainolās] heart [thūmos]? “Whom am I once again this time [dē’ute] to persuade, 
      19  setting out to bring her to your love? Who is doing you,
      20 Sappho, wrong?
      21  For if she is fleeing now, soon she will give chase.
      22  If she is not taking gifts, soon she will be giving them.
      23  If she does not love, soon she will love
      24 even against her will.”
      25  Come to me even now, and free me from harsh
      26  anxieties, and however many things
      27  my heart [thūmos] yearns to get done, you do for me. You 
      28 become my ally in war.

     

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