![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT2lQSmwYJvaGRIwkjB21fYrgNtI0Ez9S3WT0Pe23hd2nk_5mI5OhG9ByybsyECZ5ZkRwUcwE5RN-94cuKQMrzYeWrZuTKQhGUrlt7k3MDCBo_ylpEIHvTTR_pzrNoNa9f-ML4jQlQkdY/s400/f72ed4851544f07dc9042a41512916f2.jpg)
Although I can see him still—
The freckled man who goes
To a gray place on a hill
In gray Connemara clothes
At dawn to cast his flies—
It's long since I began
To call up to the eyes
This wise and simple man.
All day I'd looked in the face
What I had hoped it would be
To write for my own race
And the reality:
The living men that I hate,
The dead man that I loved,
The craven man in his seat,
The insolent unreproved—
And no knave brought to book
Who has won a drunken cheer—
The witty man and his joke
Aimed at the commonest ear,
The clever man who cries
The catch cries of the clown,
The beating down of the wise
And great Art beaten down.
Maybe a twelve-month since
Suddenly I began,
In scorn of this audience,
Imagining a man,
And his sun-freckled face
And gray Connemara cloth,
Climbing up to a place
Where stone is dark with froth,
And the down turn of his wrist
When the flies drop in the stream—
A man who does not exist,
A man who is but a dream;
And cried, “Before I am old
I shall have written him one
Poem maybe as cold
And passionate as the dawn.”
-William Butler Yeats, "The Fisherman"
6 comments:
_______ GUARANTEED _______
I've never met a one I didn't like
Most impossible not to adore
No two I've known are ever just like
Some content, others wanting more.
Affectionate? Aloof? It doesn't matter.
'Tis their independence makes them most appealing
Even if they only mean to flatter
And engage in shameless double dealing.
A Frenchman asked,"Do I play with my cat ––
Or is it that the creature plays with me?"
I feel most think the latter. Don't doubt that.
It's obvious to all with eyes to see.
I'll make right now an honest revelation
I never mind a cat's manipulation!.
Most are quite astonishingly agile
Few if any think that they are fragile
And yet, because they make me feel I'm needed,
This guarantees their getting what they want
No matter what they’ve done, they have succeeded.
In always getting me to bear the brunt!
~ FreeThinke
'TIS THE SIMPLE, SEEMNGLY "LITTLE" THINGS THAT MAKE LIF WORTH LIVING. IF ONE IS NOT TO SUCCUMB TO DESPAIR, ONE MUST FIND AS MANY THINGS TO LOVE AND ADMIRE AS HE POSSIBLY CAN. THAT I BELIEVE MUST BE THE ESSENTIAL PURPOSE IN LIVING. THAT AND A DP APPRECIATION OF GENUIN E MIRTH MUCH OF WHICH MAY BE FOUND IN IRONY.
When we turn away from God
Movement slows to a dull plod.
The more Man tries to make life level
The closer he gets to the Devil.
Leftists daily commit libel
Against the truths found in the Bible.
The farther we move towards the Left
The more we find ourselves bereft
Of Love and Joy and Sanity
As we are claimed by Vanity.
~ Instant Proverbs-by FT
;)
___ A Big Ol’ Papa Bear Has Left Us ____
The news was sudden –– caught us unaware.
One never knows. They say, it’s up to God.
Finality is always in the air ––
Reaching out to claim us as we plod
Earnestly –– erratic or dogmatic ––
Dogged –– fearful –– frivolous –– romantic ––
The pious –– the heroic –– the pragmatic ––
Hold on to Life, and try not to feel frantic,
Or lose heart while knowing we are stalked ––
Mercilessly –– from the day that we are born.
Papa Bear was taken while we talked.
Sadly, he won’t see another morn.
Of him now, as we contemplate his loss,
No one should speak unkindly or be cross.
~ FreeThinke (11/1/15)
In memory of Fred Thompson (1942-2015)
__ A MEMORIAL VALENTINE __
__ Dedicated to Elizabeth Rowan __
a beloved high school English teacher
_______ fondly remembered _______
I wish I had kept track of Betty.
Her thoughts were never dull or petty.
Wry, good-natured, full of fun ––
The pen more deadly than the gun ––
The world a place of struggle and flight
Where ignorant armies clash by night ––
And Thackeray with his fun house glass
Reflecting many a horse's ass ––
And then O'Neill's Long Day's Journey
Nearly put me on a gurney!
She shared with us her pregnancy
Proud for all the world to see.
That baby must be getting old
It's story to us never told.
We never learned its name or sex,
Or if it learned to love or vex.
No matter. It was Mrs. Rowan
Who shaped the way my views keep growin'.
~ FreeThinke (2/13/15)
_________________ LEGACY _________________
Our halcyon days with Horatio Wirtz
From Chaucer and Milton through Wharton and Pound
Were so fine and such fun that the memory hurts,
For our Wirtz could never be found chasing skirts;
His devotion to English –– and us –– was profound.
Our halcyon days with Horatio Wirtz
Chased ignorance out with linguistic alerts,
And the insights from authors revered and renowned
Were so fine and such fun that the memory hurts.
Today, our society sadly reverts
To primitive ways and cacophonous sound.
Our halcyon days with Horatio Wirtz
Now seem like a dream that proudly asserts
The whimsies and glories we shared that redound
Were so fine and such fun that the memory hurts.
The best we’ve produced now lies on the outskirts,
And our heroes and models with thorns have been crowned.
Our halcyon days with Horatio Wirtz
Were so fine and such fun that the memory hurts.
~ FreeThinke (7/26/08)
[WRITTEN AS A MEMORIAL TRIBUTE TO HORATIO WIRTZ, A BELOVED, MOST ENLIGHTENING ENGLISH TEACHER, ON THE OCCASION OF THE FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF FT'S CLASS'S GRADUATION FROM HIGH SCHOOL IN JUNE OF 1959]
Post a Comment