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The Quiet Man |
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. | |||
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Now and Zen |
God and the soldier All men adore In time of trouble, And no more; For when the war is over And all things righted, God is neglected and the old soldier slighted. ___________________________________________________________________________ "....imitate the action of the Tiger." | |||
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Happiness is Vectored Thrust |
True. But I have a similar poem for those who prefer flying closer to the ground (certainly more apt for us Harrier drivers as this poem was modified for) Low Flight - with apologies to John Gillespie Magee, Jr. Oh! I’ve slipped through the swirling clouds of dust, a few feet from the dirt. I’ve flown the Harrier low enough to make my bottom hurt. I’ve TFO’ed the deserts, hills, valleys and mountains, too. Frolicked in the trees where only flying squirrels flew; chased a frightened cow along, disturbed the ram and ewe, and done a hundred other things that you’d not care to do. I’ve smacked the tiny sparrow, bluebird, robin, all the rest, I’ve ingested baby eaglets, simply sucked them from their nests! I’ve streaked through total darkness, all alone, no one but me, and spent the flight in terror of things I could not see. I’ve turned my eyes to heaven as I sweated through the flight, put out my Nomex’ed hand and touched the Master Caution light. Icarus flew too close to the sun, but at least he flew. | |||
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Fortified with Sleestak |
Lays of Ancient Rome By Thomas Babington Mcaulay Excerpt from Horatius Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate: "To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his Gods." I have the heart of a lion.......and a lifetime ban from the Toronto Zoo.- Unknown | |||
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sick puppy |
This Is Just To Say (By william carlos williams) I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold ____________________________ While you may be able to get away with bottom shelf whiskey, stay the hell away from bottom shelf tequila. - FishOn | |||
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Member |
I like this one by Yeats. “Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.” | |||
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Get Off My Lawn |
The Past By Ralph Waldo Emerson The debt is paid, The verdict said, The Furies laid, The plague is stayed. All fortunes made; Turn the key and bolt the door, Sweet is death forevermore. Nor haughty hope, nor swart chagrin, Nor murdering hate, can enter in. All is now secure and fast; Not the gods can shake the Past; Flies-to the adamantine door Bolted down forevermore. None can re-enter there,— No thief so politic, No Satan with a royal trick Steal in by window, chink, or hole, To bind or unbind, add what lacked, Insert a leaf, or forge a name, New-face or finish what is packed, Alter or mend eternal Fact. "I’m not going to read Time Magazine, I’m not going to read Newsweek, I’m not going to read any of these magazines; I mean, because they have too much to lose by printing the truth"- Bob Dylan, 1965 | |||
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Info Guru |
I follow Denny Emerson's page Tamarack Hill Farm on Facebook. Just tremendous amounts of wisdom dished out almost daily. Kind of reminds me of our own JAllen. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denny_Emerson https://www.facebook.com/Tamar...l-Farm-109161715946/ He posted this poem by Frost that I had not read before and really like: The Runaway - Once when the snow of the year was beginning to fall, We stopped by a mountain pasture to say 'Whose colt?' A little Morgan had one forefoot on the wall, The other curled at his breast. He dipped his head And snorted at us. And then he had to bolt. We heard the miniature thunder where he fled, And we saw him, or thought we saw him, dim and grey, Like a shadow against the curtain of falling flakes. 'I think the little fellow's afraid of the snow. He isn't winter-broken. It isn't play With the little fellow at all. He's running away. I doubt if even his mother could tell him, 'Sakes, It's only weather'. He'd think she didn't know ! Where is his mother? He can't be out alone.' And now he comes again with a clatter of stone And mounts the wall again with whited eyes And all his tail that isn't hair up straight. He shudders his coat as if to throw off flies. 'Whoever it is that leaves him out so late, When other creatures have gone to stall and bin, Ought to be told to come and take him in. “Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence.” - John Adams | |||
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Age Quod Agis |
Bama, that is lovely. "I vowed to myself to fight against evil more completely and more wholeheartedly than I ever did before. . . . That’s the only way to pay back part of that vast debt, to live up to and try to fulfill that tremendous obligation." Alfred Hornik, Sunday, December 2, 1945 to his family, on his continuing duty to others for surviving WW II. | |||
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Free men do not ask permission to bear arms |
Who of has not had The road not taken By ROBERT FROST Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. A gun in the hand is worth more than ten policemen on the phone. The American Revolution was carried out by a group of gun toting religious zealots. | |||
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Free men do not ask permission to bear arms |
Or as a youth ignored advice from an elder. When I Was One-and-Twenty BY A. E. HOUSMAN When I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say, “Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies But keep your fancy free.” But I was one-and-twenty, No use to talk to me. When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again, “The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain; ’Tis paid with sighs a plenty And sold for endless rue.” And I am two-and-twenty, And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true. A gun in the hand is worth more than ten policemen on the phone. The American Revolution was carried out by a group of gun toting religious zealots. | |||
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Free men do not ask permission to bear arms |
Are we all not true Patriots? SIR WALTER SCOTT Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d, As home his footsteps he hath turn’d, From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung. A gun in the hand is worth more than ten policemen on the phone. The American Revolution was carried out by a group of gun toting religious zealots. | |||
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Legalize the Constitution |
I had never read The Runaway before. Wonderful _______________________________________________________ despite them | |||
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goodheart |
I'm a Yeats fan also like OP. How can I, that girl standing there My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here's a traveled man who knows What he talks about And there's a politician That has read and thought. And maybe what they say is true Of wars and war's alarms But, O that I were young again And held her in my arms! _________________________ “Remember, remember the fifth of November!" | |||
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chickenshit |
Autumn by Ranier Rilke The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up, as if orchards were dying high in space. Each leaf falls as if it were motioning "no." And tonight the heavy earth is falling away from all other stars in the loneliness. We're all falling. This hand here is falling. And look at the other one. It's in them all. And yet there is Someone, whose hands infinitely calm, holding up all this falling. ____________________________ Yes, Para does appreciate humor. | |||
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Member |
One that's a little more whimsical: The Song of the Jellicles … T. S. Eliot - 1888-1965 Jellicle Cats come out to-night Jellicle Cats come one come all: The Jellicle Moon is shining bright— Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball. Jellicle Cats are black and white, Jellicle Cats are rather small; Jellicle Cats are merry and bright, And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul. Jellicle Cats have cheerful faces, Jellicle Cats have bright black eyes; They like to practise their airs and graces And wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise. Jellicle Cats develop slowly, Jellicle Cats are not too big; Jellicle Cats are roly-poly, They know how to dance a gavotte and a jig. Until the Jellicle Moon appears They make their toilette and take their repose: Jellicle Cats wash behind their ears, Jellicle dry between their toes. Jellicle Cats are white and black, Jellicle Cats are of moderate size; Jellicle Cats jump like a jumping-jack, Jellicle Cats have moonlit eyes. They're quiet enough in the morning hours, They're quiet enough in the afternoon, Reserving their terpsichorean powers To dance by the light of the Jellicle Moon. Jellicle Cats are black and white, Jellicle Cats (as I said) are small; If it happens to be a stormy night They will practise a caper or two in the hall. If it happens the sun is shining bright You would say they had nothing to do at all: They are resting and saving themselves to be right For the Jellicle Moon and the Jellicle Ball. ... stirred anti-clockwise. | |||
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Get my pies outta the oven! |
Another favorite of mine:
(Latin phrase is from the Roman poet Horace: “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.”) | |||
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Legalize the Constitution |
I looked up this poet on wiki. Incredible story. Lt. Owen was killed one week before the Armistice. _______________________________________________________ despite them | |||
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Member |
The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart's core. | |||
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