Friday, September 29, 2017

At What Price, the Ticket?

4 comments:

  1. What a pity!

    Progress ceeased to be Progress long ago, and became, instead, a headlong dash into the Maelstrom at ever incresing rates of speed.

    And now, we breathlessly await for Rocket Man to do his worst.

    There iseems to be no adequate defense against this kind of Madness.

    It can't be hidden in a Diappointment Room, or locked away in an Asylum.

    Neither is it susciptible to Sympathy, Pity, attempts at Understandng, nor Therapy of any kind no matter how amiably administered

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  2. Does the meaning of this sonnet, captured in the very last line, seem any clearer to you now?

    __________ STILLNESS __________

    No sound beyond the dropping of the leaves
    Or shushing in the treetops of the stirring
    In the air and periodic whirring
    Soft of wings and bundling of sheaves ––

    Every now and then a bird may call
    Looking for or longing for his mate;
    Escaping still the hunter’s dinner plate.
    Scythes swish steadily as grain grown tall

    Submits to delicate compelling force.
    Workers silently bent to their task
    Over whom hot sunshine spills its rays

    Reap swiftly knowing pain could come, of course.
    Later, in the afterglow they’ll bask
    Dreaming foolishly of better days.


    ~ FreeThinke

    That, as you may recall, was inspired by Brueghel's painting of peasants in a field of golden grain, cutting and bundling it into sheaves beneath a bright blue sky. They probably never realized how good they had it. Few of us ever do.

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  3. Reminds me of a tale I read as a boy, "Tom Swift and his Rocket Ship"....

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  4. ...and yes, we dream of better days and fail to appreciate the one's we're given.

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