You'll get no argument from me in that, as I think you are already well aware. };^)>
There is, however, a dstressing moral dilemma in taking a definite stance on the major issues:
I have so MANY rather dear old friends who've been persuaded to go over to what-I-honestly-believe-to-be The Dark Side it's become very hard to have an honest conversatiin with them about anything more significant than Food, the Weather, the Joys and Challenges of Home Improvement, as well as Repair and Maintenance, and potential Vacation Spots.
What-I-will-forever-insist-to-be the unwelcome influence of Cultural Marxism has virtually forced us to dwell almost entirely on superficialities in order to maintain "peace" in the family, in friendships, and in our businessand professional dealings.
Now that it's become virtually TABOO to be open and honest, –– even with one's FAMILY and FRIENDS, –– life, always a challenging affair even in the best of times ––, has now become almost too great a strain to bear.
I see most of society today as suffering from a terrble sense of LONELINESS because of this.
Not to prematurely exonerate your relations and old friends, but is there anything destructive about your own behaviour that you could address?
I'm not trolling. Loneliness and social isolation is recognised as a reasonably strong predictor of early mortality (eg. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/25910392 although usual caveats apply, there is some uncertainty about causation etc.) so attend to this with the same urgency as you would any other health issue.
To dream the impossible dream To fight the unbeatable foe To bear with unbearable sorrow To run where the brave dare not go To right the unrightable wrong To love pure and chaste from afar To try when your arms are too weary To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest To follow that star No matter how hopeless No matter how far
To fight for the right Without question or pause To be willing to march into Hell For a heavenly cause
And I know if I'll only be true To this glorious quest That my heart will lie peaceful and calm When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this That one man, scorned and covered with scars Still strove with his last ounce of courage To reach the unreachable stars.
The time to wrap and hold it has arrived. It looks as though expansion’s at an end. Maintaining what we have is now contrived Earnestly our assets to defend. Taking stock we should feel gratified. Our catalogue of battles lost and won Mostly leaves us feeling satisfied. At least we did our best, and had some fun. I think ‘tis better that than Grand Achievement –– Noble efforts –– Nobel Prizes gained –– Taken in perpetual bereavement –– A life by constant criticism stained. If living just to live our time employs, Now’s the time to savor all our joys.
Has life defeated you? I rather hope Defeatist rhetoric will die aborning, Though seen by many merely as a warning, Each bitter word will serve to weave a rope
By which we’ll hang ourselves when the despair We manufacture with denunciation Of all the grievous faults that plague the nation Convinces us our world’s beyond repair.
What good could we expect to come from that? Affirmation is the only answer To the questions posed by social cancer. Get up and dance –– don’t bellow through your hat.
Although The Axe inevitably must fall, Cringing will produce no good at all.
Irrationality combined with spite Laced with paranoid self-righteous zeal Makes a combination hard to fight, Since adversaries treat with nothing real.
Projection of self-doubt with willfulness Combines to seal out decent, common sense. So, even virtue shown with skillfulness Can’t penetrate Obduracy’s defense.
Alas! The joy of honest thoughts exchanged Is lost midst warring egotists stalemated –– Entrenched by suppositions oft deranged –– Employed to see all mutually berated.
Thus trapped in darkness blindly on we fight Afraid to see our faults exposed to light.
It's easier to bitch than stitch, It's easier to whine than mine. It's easier to make noise than to exhibit poise. It's easier to say "I'm f-cked," than to construct.
To sit in the gutter counting your woes In sh-t-caked jeans with a runny nose Ranting in puddles of frozen p-ss Demonstrates only that something's amiss.
So, in the bleak winter Go shovel some snow ––
..... Cheer up the aged ...... And those who are caged
...... Some joy you might find ...... If you read to the blind
...... Don't play the whore, ...... Instead scrub the floor
Now get up and go!
In summer, each lazy laddie And each slothful lass Should get off their ass And go mow the grass.
Don't pout and make wishes Just go wash the dishes. If you need to find labor, Go help your neighbor. Demanding is easy Producing is hard Protests are sleazy Thus saith The Bard.
_________ EPILOGUE _________
There's always something you can do. Don't succumb to feeling blue. Salvation lies through helping others Not thinking you deserve your druthers. Never worry. Never fear. Just do your best to spread good cheer. Needed work is never done Effort's where we find our fun. And if you're old, and stuck at home, You can always write a poem! §;^D
I have a special love for container gardens. ____ Something about clustering pots of varying sizes to best advantage –– ____ and portability –– adds great appeal.
I also love raffishly untidy herbaceous borders. ____ Formal parterres fascinate, ________ but frankly make me nervous,
Yet long-established espaliered fruit trees ____ on ancient stone, brick or stuccoed walls ________ make a notable exception.
Courtyard gardens ____ in old European monasteries ________ and collegiate quadrangles ____________ at Oxford and Cambridge Have about them an unmistakable aura ____ of eternal renewal, and of ________ Eternity, itself.
Growing things beautifully ____ indicates –– to me –– ________ a love and a reverence ____________ for Life.
Could it be We need our fantasies And fond illusions More than we need Mundane reality?
Did ancient astronauts Visit Earth aeons ago, Plant Colonies - perform Wondrous Feats of Engineering
Still unexplained?
The eternal Mystery of The Pyramids - The Sphinx Stonehenge - Gigantic Chalk Figures, Discernible only from great heights - Easter Island - Machu Pichu?
The Origin of Man - The miracles of Music - Painting - Sculpture - Poetry and Thought.
The Star of Bethlehem - The Virgin Birth - The Magi - Betrayal, Death and Resurrection?
The FOLLOWNG is a POETIC SYNTHESIS of a WHIMSICAL 1940 FANTASY NOVEL of the SAME NAME by FRANK BAKER of the BLOOMSBURY GROUP:
__________ Miss Hargreaves __________
Mischief makers –– youthful –– on a lark –– Initiate in spirit of burlesque Something whimsical, endearing, yet grotesque, Spirited, irrational –– often dark –– Horrifying in its fascination –– Also wistful, fey and sympathetic. Ringing chords with dissonance splenetic Granting spellbound hearers consternation Railing on, imperious, yet eager –– Engorged –– suffused –– with weird vitality –– An ancient personage emerged from meager Vision, and became Reality –– Engaged her host-creators to beleaguer –– Shrank then back to cosmicality.
By the way, I have to say that Ms. Hirsi-Ali, –– now married to the brillant, highly personable Scottish scholar and commentator Niall [pronounced NEAL, NEIL or KNEEL ;-] Ferguson –– is an exceptionally beautiful woman whose good looks are exceeded only by her great intelligence and obvious sincerity.
A swelling joy makes breathless with delight The one who oversees and masterminds Altruistic projects of all kinds. Satisfying is Artistic Sight. Knowing how things ought to look’s a Gift Combined with Wisdom, practical yet kind, Overcomes the fears that blind then bind Most people to a crippling sense of Thrift. Placing Beauty as a high priority Let’s prospects for Enlightenment prevail. Eking out one’s life is doomed to fail. To reach no more than drab Inferiority Erodes capacities to fulfill dreams –– Denying what Volition’s meaning seems.
DEDICATED to QUACKPOT, OUR FAVORITE KAMPUS KOMMIE:
___ STALIN by STARLIGHT ___
The song a leftist sings Through years of endless springs –– The gurgling cesspools make at eventide –– The murmurs and the sighs That true jerkoffs hide –– A great Collective Theme! That's Stalin by Starlight. My heart and I agree The State is everything to me!
Thank you for those last two poems. They really cheered me up! I came home from playing bluegrass all evening, happy, then heard the latest Special Prostitutor news...
Our government is corrupt beyond repair, the well is permanently poisoned...
But I save my most flaming contempt for the rotten, pusillanimous pissant bastards in the GOOP. May they all go to hell in a flaming shitwagon. I thought I was through with them three years ago, but now I'm really through.
President Trump is out there every day in the arena, fighting for the people and subjected to the ongoing PREMEDITATED establishment sabotage, and not one damn GOOPer stands up for him.
If the entire capital broke off and sank into the sea, and took the ruling class down with it, our nation would be much better off.
Glad you had a good time playing bluegrass, Silver. I've been having a lot of fun, myself, as you can see.
I got accused of being a rancorous "RIghtwing Poet," whatever that may mean, and a lonely old shut-in suffering from a potentially fatal sort of depression, so rather than bothering to argue or defend myself against such idotic attacks I decided to post a broad spectrum of poetry –– much of it mine –– that I think expresses joyful, mirthful, thoughtful, quirky, empathetic, satirical, hopefully clever, and decidedly non-political views.
Because pleasant, nourishing interlocutors appear to be scarcer than hen's teeth these days I write poetry. Not a bad way to spend time –– espcially since i don;t care a fig whether anyone likes it or not. };^)>
I also play music, but physical problems limit the amount severely –– the price of getting old, I guess. I turn SEVENTY-SEVEN on WEDNESDAY!
YIKES!
As for the GOPe I couldn't agree more. I gave up on THEM a couple of years into GWB's bumbling administration. I do like several members of the Freedom Caucus, but what chance have they to prevail against the Moronic Monolith that determines party policy?
There's no doubt in my mind that with the single exception of President Trump, –– whom I admire more each day for his courage, fortitude, selflessness, strength of character and detemination to prevail against insuperable odds –– there is simply NO meaningful opposition in Washington, DC to the Defecrat-Globalist Agenda.
That's why I so vehmentky object to adverse criticism of the ONE person who has at least a CHANCE of moving us in a direction that would improve our future prospects.
Fortunately, Silver, I think "we" may be part of a MAJORITY. Mr. Trump's victory PROVED that a direct appeal to the rank and file citizenry CAN work wonders. There really IS a "we" you know.
Just stop watching the ENEMEDIA, and a truer picture of America will soon emerge. I see it whenever I have contact with the workaday world. The people who makes things work, grow things, build things, move things around, and do the heavy lifting are for the most part SPLENDID human beings.
The MASSES may be asses, but the PEOPLE are wonderful.
Got to see him at the old Jazz Workshop back in the day. He was playing with Archie Shepp.
They emptied part of the house but I stayed and was moved by the violent attacks on the keyboard. This was around the time Archie released Attica Blues and they were in an aggressive posture.
I thought you were a piano scholar. Figured you'd at least have given Unit Structures a listen.
"a rancorous "RIghtwing Poet," whatever that may mean," think of Alfred Austin, who succeeded Tennyson as poet laureate. He reminds me of you in some respects; we both love Tennyson, but I know you love a good bitch so I expect you'd enjoy him ripping into his predecessor for no good reason. Anyway, he fitted in a lot of political activism alongside his writing.
I see now I misread your earlier comment -- I thought when you wrote "suffering from a terrible sense of LONELINESS" you were describing yourself. Actually you were attributing that suffering to society at large -- I would argue that this broader accusation is rather more "idiotic" than my kindly suggestion to an individual who regularly displays symptoms of loneliness and depression.
Is life worth living? Yes, so long As Spring revives the year, And hails us with the cuckoo's song, To show that she is here; So long as May of April takes, In smiles and tears, farewell, And windflowers dapple all the brakes, And primroses the dell; While children in the woodlands yet Adorn their little laps With ladysmock and violet, And daisy-chain their caps; While over orchard daffodils Cloud-shadows float and fleet, And ousel pipes and laverock trills, And young lambs buck and bleat; So long as that which bursts the bud And swells and tunes the rill, Makes springtime in the maiden's blood, Life is worth living still.
Life not worth living! Come with me, Now that, through vanishing veil, Shimmers the dew on lawn and lea, And milk foams in the pail; Now that June's sweltering sunlight bathes With sweat the striplings lithe, As fall the long straight scented swathes Over the crescent scythe; Now that the throstle never stops His self-sufficing strain, And woodbine-trails festoon the copse, And eglantine the lane; Now rustic labour seems as sweet As leisure, and blithe herds Wend homeward with unweary feet, Carolling like the birds; Now all, except the lover's vow, And nightingale, is still; Here, in the twilight hour, allow, Life is worth living still.
When Summer, lingering half-forlorn, On Autumn loves to lean, And fields of slowly yellowing corn Are girt by woods still green; When hazel-nuts wax brown and plump, And apples rosy-red, And the owlet hoots from hollow stump, And the dormouse makes its bed; When crammed are all the granary floors, And the Hunter's moon is bright, And life again is sweet indoors, And logs again alight; Aye, even when the houseless wind Waileth through cleft and chink, And in the twilight maids grow kind, And jugs are filled and clink; When children clasp their hands and pray ``Be done Thy heavenly will!'' Who doth not lift his voice, and say, ``Life is worth living still''?
Is life worth living? Yes, so long As there is wrong to right, Wail of the weak against the strong, Or tyranny to fight; Long as there lingers gloom to chase, Or streaming tear to dry, One kindred woe, one sorrowing face That smiles as we draw nigh: Long as at tale of anguish swells The heart, and lids grow wet, And at the sound of Christmas bells We pardon and forget; So long as Faith with Freedom reigns, And loyal Hope survives, And gracious Charity remains To leaven lowly lives; While there in one untrodden tract For Intellect or Will, And men are free to think and act Life is worth living still.
Not care to live while English homes Nestle in English trees, And England's Trident-Sceptre roams Her territorial seas! Not live while English songs are sung Wherever blows the wind, And England's laws and England's tongue Enfranchise half mankind! So long as in Pacific main, Or on Atlantic strand, Our kin transmit the parent strain, And love the Mother-Land; So long as in this ocean Realm, Victoria and her Line Retain the heritage of the helm, By loyalty divine; So long as flashes English steel, And English trumpets shrill, He is dead already who doth not feel Life is worth living still.
Thank you so much, AOW, for providing us with that eloquent piece of spite-filled, dolorous, captious, cynical, envy-laden, petty-minded doggerel. The author's antipathy toward Alfred Lord Tennyson is so nakedly apparent in that piece one could cut it with a knife. It's frankly disgusting.
Seriously, I find Austin's poem innocuous, gentle, kindly, reassuring, charmingly prosaic, neatly and skillfully written, but it lacks the element of poignancy present in most poetry deemed "significant." In truth it's a bit of a fanciful Laundry List. Engaging, but almost too pleasant.
Thank you again for bringing it to our attention. I've always been a great believer in letting an artist of any kind speak for himself.
I've long favored this surprisingly trenchant opinion of Albert Schweitzer's:
"Critics are those who have failed in Music and Art."
From the link I provided to the full text of AA's "poetry of the period":
"Where are Mr. Tennyson's faults ? He has only one: the fault of not being great enough to commit any. He has what Mr. Carlyle has so happily described as " the completeness of a limited mind." He never stumbles, for he never runs. He never flags, because he never soars. He never rises into air too rarefied for him, as Shelley does air so light and fine that even wings do not there support him. He knows what he can do, and he does it. It is delicate, subtle, pathetic, sometimes even solemn; it is anything else you like ; but it is never great."
" "In Memoriam" will assuredly be handed over to the dust as soon as a generation arises which has come to its senses, or even to a tolerable notion of what it is aiming at, in religious and spiritual thought."
Parked beside a lane with lilies lined Instinct drives us to the fragrant fields Carrying buckets to our task resigned. Keeping up with Nature’s bounty yields In summer morning’s warm, earth-scented mist Nostalgic sweet refreshment from the soil. Gleefully we gather berries kissed By sunshine, plump with rain before they spoil. Edible, these gems that fill our pails Remain, once tasted, as a lifelong treat. Remembrance fond at “Realism” rails. It knows behind our stated urge to eat, Each one of us who picks collects delights Stored to ease the future’s endless nights.
Burka Baby, please be mine. Shed your tent and be my Valentine. Baby, Baby, baby, please let me in. Drop that veil, c'mon let's sin.
Oh oh oh! Burka Baby, don't you torture me. You know I want you bad, so let me see What you got behind that heavy curtain. Baby baby, through those slits you eyes are flirtin.'
If I can't have you, I'm just gonna die You know you're gettin' hot, and so am I. I can hear you hissin.‘ So, let’s start kissin.’ You just don't know what it is you're missin'
__________ KABOOM!!! __________
Burka Baby, we just hit the sky! When we hit the ground, we’re gonna die. Burka Baby, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
...More than 230 years ago, ordinary citizens across the colonies printed and distributed the passionate words of “amateur” writers to shape public opinion and galvanize the independence movement virally.
[...]
This description of pamphleteering from 1940 by Homer Calkin for The Historical Society of Pennsylvania, could be about the blogs of today, “From the sixteenth to the eighteenth century the pamphlet was the chief instrument to carry one’s ideas to the public…The pamphlet, forerunner to the newspaper, was well adapted to this use because it was small and cheap and could reach ‘a larger audience than the orator in the House of Commons.'”...
The above essay is dated 2009, which, in my memory, was not nearly as rancorous a time in online forums as today is.
Still and all, blogs and other forms of social media are a way of "getting the word out." The mainstream media surely won't do so because they are all in for "the narrative."
Ducky, IMO, she is yesterday's news because (1) so much else is going on in the Enemedia and (2) she rarely gets a mainstream forum and (3) we haven't recently had an Islamic terror attack here on our soil.
As for resolution, there isn't one if the Quran and the Haditha are followed the way they are written. You know my views on the topic of Islam: it's violent at its core.
We welcome civil dialogue at Always on Watch. Comments that include any of the following are subject to deletion: 1. Any use of profanity or abusive language 2. Off topic comments and spam 3. Use of personal invective
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.
Who is Don Lemon and how did someone so dumb get his own TV show?
ReplyDeleteContemporary progressivism--of which Lemon is an exemplar--is a dangerous mix of dogma-driven willful-ignorance and smug, condescending sanctimony.
DeleteProgressivism is narrowing our thought and speech.
You'll get no argument from me in that, as I think you are already well aware. };^)>
DeleteThere is, however, a dstressing moral dilemma in taking a definite stance on the major issues:
I have so MANY rather dear old friends who've been persuaded to go over to what-I-honestly-believe-to-be The Dark Side it's become very hard to have an honest conversatiin with them about anything more significant than Food, the Weather, the Joys and Challenges of Home Improvement, as well as Repair and Maintenance, and potential Vacation Spots.
What-I-will-forever-insist-to-be the unwelcome influence of Cultural Marxism has virtually forced us to dwell almost entirely on superficialities in order to maintain "peace" in the family, in friendships, and in our businessand professional dealings.
Now that it's become virtually TABOO to be open and honest, –– even with one's FAMILY and FRIENDS, –– life, always a challenging affair even in the best of times ––, has now become almost too great a strain to bear.
I see most of society today as suffering from a terrble sense of LONELINESS because of this.
Not to prematurely exonerate your relations and old friends, but is there anything destructive about your own behaviour that you could address?
DeleteI'm not trolling. Loneliness and social isolation is recognised as a reasonably strong predictor of early mortality (eg. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/25910392 although usual caveats apply, there is some uncertainty about causation etc.) so attend to this with the same urgency as you would any other health issue.
___ THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM ___
DeleteTo dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far
To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause
And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest
And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable stars.
~ Joe Darion - from Man of La Mancha
_________ AT TWILIGHT _________
DeleteThe time to wrap and hold it has arrived.
It looks as though expansion’s at an end.
Maintaining what we have is now contrived
Earnestly our assets to defend.
Taking stock we should feel gratified.
Our catalogue of battles lost and won
Mostly leaves us feeling satisfied.
At least we did our best, and had some fun.
I think ‘tis better that than Grand Achievement ––
Noble efforts –– Nobel Prizes gained ––
Taken in perpetual bereavement ––
A life by constant criticism stained.
If living just to live our time employs,
Now’s the time to savor all our joys.
~ FreeThinke
_________ AFFIRMATION _________
DeleteHas life defeated you? I rather hope
Defeatist rhetoric will die aborning,
Though seen by many merely as a warning,
Each bitter word will serve to weave a rope
By which we’ll hang ourselves when the despair
We manufacture with denunciation
Of all the grievous faults that plague the nation
Convinces us our world’s beyond repair.
What good could we expect to come from that?
Affirmation is the only answer
To the questions posed by social cancer.
Get up and dance –– don’t bellow through your hat.
Although The Axe inevitably must fall,
Cringing will produce no good at all.
~ FreeThinke
_____ Battling in the Darkness _____
DeleteIrrationality combined with spite
Laced with paranoid self-righteous zeal
Makes a combination hard to fight,
Since adversaries treat with nothing real.
Projection of self-doubt with willfulness
Combines to seal out decent, common sense.
So, even virtue shown with skillfulness
Can’t penetrate Obduracy’s defense.
Alas! The joy of honest thoughts exchanged
Is lost midst warring egotists stalemated ––
Entrenched by suppositions oft deranged ––
Employed to see all mutually berated.
Thus trapped in darkness blindly on we fight
Afraid to see our faults exposed to light.
~ FreeTh]nke
I taste a liquor never brewed
Delete___ from tankards scooped in pearl.
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
___ yield such an alcohol.
Inebriate of air am I ––
___ and Debauchee of Dew ––
Reeling through endless Summer days
___ from Inns of molten blue!
Not till the Landlord turns the Bee
___ out of the Foxglove's Door ––
Till Butterflies renounce their Drams ––
___ I shall but drink the more
Till Seaphs swing their snowy Hats ––
___ and Saints to Windows run ––
To see the little Tippler ––
___ leaning against the Sun!
~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
______ FINDING FUN _______
DeleteIt's easier to bitch than stitch,
It's easier to whine than mine.
It's easier to make noise than to exhibit poise.
It's easier to say "I'm f-cked," than to construct.
To sit in the gutter counting your woes
In sh-t-caked jeans with a runny nose
Ranting in puddles of frozen p-ss
Demonstrates only that something's amiss.
So, in the bleak winter
Go shovel some snow ––
..... Cheer up the aged
...... And those who are caged
...... Some joy you might find
...... If you read to the blind
...... Don't play the whore,
...... Instead scrub the floor
Now get up and go!
In summer, each lazy laddie
And each slothful lass
Should get off their ass
And go mow the grass.
Don't pout and make wishes
Just go wash the dishes.
If you need to find labor,
Go help your neighbor.
Demanding is easy
Producing is hard
Protests are sleazy
Thus saith The Bard.
_________ EPILOGUE _________
There's always something you can do.
Don't succumb to feeling blue.
Salvation lies through helping others
Not thinking you deserve your druthers.
Never worry. Never fear.
Just do your best to spread good cheer.
Needed work is never done
Effort's where we find our fun.
And if you're old, and stuck at home,
You can always write a poem! §;^D
~ FreeThinke
_________ Contained Gardens _________
DeleteI have a special love for container gardens.
____ Something about clustering pots
of varying sizes to best advantage ––
____ and portability –– adds great appeal.
I also love raffishly untidy herbaceous borders.
____ Formal parterres fascinate,
________ but frankly make me nervous,
Yet long-established espaliered fruit trees
____ on ancient stone, brick or stuccoed walls
________ make a notable exception.
Courtyard gardens
____ in old European monasteries
________ and collegiate quadrangles
____________ at Oxford and Cambridge
Have about them an unmistakable aura
____ of eternal renewal, and of
________ Eternity, itself.
Growing things beautifully
____ indicates –– to me ––
________ a love and a reverence
____________ for Life.
~ FreeThinke
___ COULD IT BE ___
DeleteCould it be
We need our fantasies
And fond illusions
More than we need
Mundane reality?
Did ancient astronauts
Visit Earth aeons ago,
Plant Colonies - perform
Wondrous Feats of Engineering
Still unexplained?
The eternal Mystery of
The Pyramids - The Sphinx
Stonehenge - Gigantic Chalk Figures,
Discernible only from great heights -
Easter Island - Machu Pichu?
The Origin of Man -
The miracles of Music -
Painting - Sculpture -
Poetry and Thought.
The Star of Bethlehem -
The Virgin Birth - The Magi -
Betrayal, Death and Resurrection?
Patterns of Migration?
Courtship Rituals?
Attachment - Dependency -
Illness - Abandonment -
Grief - Tedium -
Decline - Decay -
The eternal Search
For Acceptance - Appreciation -
Affection - Understanding -
ESCAPE!
~ FreeThinke
The FOLLOWNG is a POETIC SYNTHESIS of a WHIMSICAL 1940 FANTASY NOVEL of the SAME NAME by FRANK BAKER of the BLOOMSBURY GROUP:
Delete__________ Miss Hargreaves __________
Mischief makers –– youthful –– on a lark ––
Initiate in spirit of burlesque
Something whimsical, endearing, yet grotesque,
Spirited, irrational –– often dark ––
Horrifying in its fascination ––
Also wistful, fey and sympathetic.
Ringing chords with dissonance splenetic
Granting spellbound hearers consternation
Railing on, imperious, yet eager ––
Engorged –– suffused –– with weird vitality ––
An ancient personage emerged from meager
Vision, and became Reality ––
Engaged her host-creators to beleaguer ––
Shrank then back to cosmicality.
~ FreeThinke
By the way, I have to say that Ms. Hirsi-Ali, –– now married to the brillant, highly personable Scottish scholar and commentator Niall [pronounced NEAL, NEIL or KNEEL ;-] Ferguson –– is an exceptionally beautiful woman whose good looks are exceeded only by her great intelligence and obvious sincerity.
ReplyDeleteRightwing poetry is no match for French cinema
ReplyDeleteRight wingers all live in their personal Jacques Rivette film.
DeleteThey are exposed to a vague conspiracy and the only options are collaboration or death.
If ignorance is bliss, YOU, Herr Schmuckoquack, must be downright SLAPHAPPY.
Delete];^}>
_________ A Task Completed _________
DeleteA swelling joy makes breathless with delight
The one who oversees and masterminds
Altruistic projects of all kinds.
Satisfying is Artistic Sight.
Knowing how things ought to look’s a Gift
Combined with Wisdom, practical yet kind,
Overcomes the fears that blind then bind
Most people to a crippling sense of Thrift.
Placing Beauty as a high priority
Let’s prospects for Enlightenment prevail.
Eking out one’s life is doomed to fail.
To reach no more than drab Inferiority
Erodes capacities to fulfill dreams ––
Denying what Volition’s meaning seems.
~ FreeThinke
The brightest folk rightly perceive that Scoffers
DeleteTend to end with nothing in their Coffers.
Naysaying is punitive
Never remunerative.
A pejorative peroration filled with derogation
Induces only boredom and frustration.
Resentment breeds no contentment, ire no desire.
~ Miinerva the Magnificent
I thought you'd mellow out of respect for a great pianist's passing
DeleteEither you really DO live in a Parallel Universe, Canardo, - OR - you are DEAF, DUMB and BLIND.
DeleteI suspect BOTH.
Ths offering is more Canardo's style:
DeleteWoll, blatherskite balabash chim chim cheree!
Snoggadirm underswill gacklong tra lee.
Vi vila varmit -- plikus pigoo.
Snarkim mazoodags babblous skidoo.
Noxim de flairgrums -- pussi galore.
Tartabulations haddelius glagohr.
Werdix prepostruss misledousta froom.
Gaga magottial onderdinck's glume.
~ FweeTinke
:
DEDICATED to QUACKPOT, OUR FAVORITE KAMPUS KOMMIE:
Delete___ STALIN by STARLIGHT ___
The song a leftist sings
Through years of endless springs ––
The gurgling cesspools make at eventide ––
The murmurs and the sighs
That true jerkoffs hide ––
A great Collective Theme!
That's Stalin by Starlight.
My heart and I agree
The State is everything to me!
~ Marta Harry
FreeThinke,
DeleteThank you for those last two poems. They really cheered me up! I came home from playing bluegrass all evening, happy, then heard the latest Special Prostitutor news...
Our government is corrupt beyond repair, the well is permanently poisoned...
But I save my most flaming contempt for the rotten, pusillanimous pissant bastards in the GOOP. May they all go to hell in a flaming shitwagon. I thought I was through with them three years ago, but now I'm really through.
President Trump is out there every day in the arena, fighting for the people and subjected to the ongoing PREMEDITATED establishment sabotage, and not one damn GOOPer stands up for him.
If the entire capital broke off and sank into the sea, and took the ruling class down with it, our nation would be much better off.
Fie on them all!
Glad you had a good time playing bluegrass, Silver. I've been having a lot of fun, myself, as you can see.
DeleteI got accused of being a rancorous "RIghtwing Poet," whatever that may mean, and a lonely old shut-in suffering from a potentially fatal sort of depression, so rather than bothering to argue or defend myself against such idotic attacks I decided to post a broad spectrum of poetry –– much of it mine –– that I think expresses joyful, mirthful, thoughtful, quirky, empathetic, satirical, hopefully clever, and decidedly non-political views.
Because pleasant, nourishing interlocutors appear to be scarcer than hen's teeth these days I write poetry. Not a bad way to spend time –– espcially since i don;t care a fig whether anyone likes it or not. };^)>
I also play music, but physical problems limit the amount severely –– the price of getting old, I guess. I turn SEVENTY-SEVEN on WEDNESDAY!
YIKES!
As for the GOPe I couldn't agree more. I gave up on THEM a couple of years into GWB's bumbling administration. I do like several members of the Freedom Caucus, but what chance have they to prevail against the Moronic Monolith that determines party policy?
There's no doubt in my mind that with the single exception of President Trump, –– whom I admire more each day for his courage, fortitude, selflessness, strength of character and detemination to prevail against insuperable odds –– there is simply NO meaningful opposition in Washington, DC to the Defecrat-Globalist Agenda.
That's why I so vehmentky object to adverse criticism of the ONE person who has at least a CHANCE of moving us in a direction that would improve our future prospects.
Fortunately, Silver, I think "we" may be part of a MAJORITY. Mr. Trump's victory PROVED that a direct appeal to the rank and file citizenry CAN work wonders. There really IS a "we" you know.
Just stop watching the ENEMEDIA, and a truer picture of America will soon emerge. I see it whenever I have contact with the workaday world. The people who makes things work, grow things, build things, move things around, and do the heavy lifting are for the most part SPLENDID human beings.
The MASSES may be asses, but the PEOPLE are wonderful.
Got to see him at the old Jazz Workshop back in the day.
DeleteHe was playing with Archie Shepp.
They emptied part of the house but I stayed and was moved by the violent attacks on the keyboard. This was around the time Archie released Attica Blues and they were in an aggressive posture.
I thought you were a piano scholar. Figured you'd at least have given Unit Structures a listen.
"a rancorous "RIghtwing Poet," whatever that may mean,"
Deletethink of Alfred Austin, who succeeded Tennyson as poet laureate. He reminds me of you in some respects; we both love Tennyson, but I know you love a good bitch so I expect you'd enjoy him ripping into his predecessor for no good reason. Anyway, he fitted in a lot of political activism alongside his writing.
I see now I misread your earlier comment -- I thought when you wrote "suffering from a terrible sense of LONELINESS" you were describing yourself. Actually you were attributing that suffering to society at large -- I would argue that this broader accusation is rather more "idiotic" than my kindly suggestion to an individual who regularly displays symptoms of loneliness and depression.
Is Life Worth Living? by Alfred Austin:
DeleteIs life worth living? Yes, so long
As Spring revives the year,
And hails us with the cuckoo's song,
To show that she is here;
So long as May of April takes,
In smiles and tears, farewell,
And windflowers dapple all the brakes,
And primroses the dell;
While children in the woodlands yet
Adorn their little laps
With ladysmock and violet,
And daisy-chain their caps;
While over orchard daffodils
Cloud-shadows float and fleet,
And ousel pipes and laverock trills,
And young lambs buck and bleat;
So long as that which bursts the bud
And swells and tunes the rill,
Makes springtime in the maiden's blood,
Life is worth living still.
Life not worth living! Come with me,
Now that, through vanishing veil,
Shimmers the dew on lawn and lea,
And milk foams in the pail;
Now that June's sweltering sunlight bathes
With sweat the striplings lithe,
As fall the long straight scented swathes
Over the crescent scythe;
Now that the throstle never stops
His self-sufficing strain,
And woodbine-trails festoon the copse,
And eglantine the lane;
Now rustic labour seems as sweet
As leisure, and blithe herds
Wend homeward with unweary feet,
Carolling like the birds;
Now all, except the lover's vow,
And nightingale, is still;
Here, in the twilight hour, allow,
Life is worth living still.
When Summer, lingering half-forlorn,
On Autumn loves to lean,
And fields of slowly yellowing corn
Are girt by woods still green;
When hazel-nuts wax brown and plump,
And apples rosy-red,
And the owlet hoots from hollow stump,
And the dormouse makes its bed;
When crammed are all the granary floors,
And the Hunter's moon is bright,
And life again is sweet indoors,
And logs again alight;
Aye, even when the houseless wind
Waileth through cleft and chink,
And in the twilight maids grow kind,
And jugs are filled and clink;
When children clasp their hands and pray
``Be done Thy heavenly will!''
Who doth not lift his voice, and say,
``Life is worth living still''?
Is life worth living? Yes, so long
As there is wrong to right,
Wail of the weak against the strong,
Or tyranny to fight;
Long as there lingers gloom to chase,
Or streaming tear to dry,
One kindred woe, one sorrowing face
That smiles as we draw nigh:
Long as at tale of anguish swells
The heart, and lids grow wet,
And at the sound of Christmas bells
We pardon and forget;
So long as Faith with Freedom reigns,
And loyal Hope survives,
And gracious Charity remains
To leaven lowly lives;
While there in one untrodden tract
For Intellect or Will,
And men are free to think and act
Life is worth living still.
Not care to live while English homes
Nestle in English trees,
And England's Trident-Sceptre roams
Her territorial seas!
Not live while English songs are sung
Wherever blows the wind,
And England's laws and England's tongue
Enfranchise half mankind!
So long as in Pacific main,
Or on Atlantic strand,
Our kin transmit the parent strain,
And love the Mother-Land;
So long as in this ocean Realm,
Victoria and her Line
Retain the heritage of the helm,
By loyalty divine;
So long as flashes English steel,
And English trumpets shrill,
He is dead already who doth not feel
Life is worth living still.
Thank you so much, AOW, for providing us with that eloquent piece of spite-filled, dolorous, captious, cynical, envy-laden, petty-minded doggerel. The author's antipathy toward Alfred Lord Tennyson is so nakedly apparent in that piece one could cut it with a knife. It's frankly disgusting.
Delete[/sarcasm]
];^∂>
Seriously, I find Austin's poem innocuous, gentle, kindly, reassuring, charmingly prosaic, neatly and skillfully written, but it lacks the element of poignancy present in most poetry deemed "significant." In truth it's a bit of a fanciful Laundry List. Engaging, but almost too pleasant.
DeleteThank you again for bringing it to our attention. I've always been a great believer in letting an artist of any kind speak for himself.
I've long favored this surprisingly trenchant opinion of Albert Schweitzer's:
"Critics are those who have failed in Music and Art."
From the link I provided to the full text of AA's "poetry of the period":
Delete"Where are Mr. Tennyson's faults ? He has only one: the fault of not being great enough to commit any. He has what Mr. Carlyle has so happily described as " the completeness of a limited mind." He never stumbles, for he never
runs. He never flags, because he never soars. He never rises into air too rarefied for him, as Shelley does air so light and fine that even wings do not there support him. He knows what he can do, and he does it. It is delicate, subtle, pathetic, sometimes even solemn; it is anything else you like ; but it is never great."
" "In Memoriam" will assuredly be handed over
to the dust as soon as a generation arises which
has come to its senses, or even to a tolerable
notion of what it is aiming at, in religious and
spiritual thought."
_______ PICKING BERRIES _______
DeleteParked beside a lane with lilies lined
Instinct drives us to the fragrant fields
Carrying buckets to our task resigned.
Keeping up with Nature’s bounty yields
In summer morning’s warm, earth-scented mist
Nostalgic sweet refreshment from the soil.
Gleefully we gather berries kissed
By sunshine, plump with rain before they spoil.
Edible, these gems that fill our pails
Remain, once tasted, as a lifelong treat.
Remembrance fond at “Realism” rails.
It knows behind our stated urge to eat,
Each one of us who picks collects delights
Stored to ease the future’s endless nights.
~ FreeThinke, The Sandpiper
Sorry....., but a blind squirrel could educate don lemon on his own show.
ReplyDelete§;^D=
DeleteKid,
DeleteNo doubt!
Anyone want to bet Prez Happy Hands needs help logging on to LegalZoom?
ReplyDeleteY________A________W________N________!
DeleteLeftwing progs love the police state.
DeleteFirst the progs take back control, next we're Argentina, and finally, Venezuela.
The left destroys everything it gets its grubby dickskinners on, and this will be no different.
Too bad you're too old, Ducky, to see the consequences of your discredited ideology crash down on your dogma-stuffed head.
Aston Stickler Vanderfeller, III said
ReplyDeleteDO YOU THINK ANYONE IS EVER GOING TO ABOUT WHAT AYAAN HIRSI-ALI SAID TO DON LEMON ABOUT ISLAM?
ON DATING A MUSLIM GIRL:
DeleteTHE ELVIS HIT THAT NEVER WAS
Burka Baby, please be mine.
Shed your tent and be my Valentine.
Baby, Baby, baby, please let me in.
Drop that veil, c'mon let's sin.
Oh oh oh! Burka Baby, don't you torture me.
You know I want you bad, so let me see
What you got behind that heavy curtain.
Baby baby, through those slits you eyes are flirtin.'
If I can't have you, I'm just gonna die
You know you're gettin' hot, and so am I.
I can hear you hissin.‘ So, let’s start kissin.’
You just don't know what it is you're missin'
__________ KABOOM!!! __________
Burka Baby, we just hit the sky!
When we hit the ground, we’re gonna die.
Burka Baby,
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
}}}}}} SPLAT {{{{{{{
GOOD BYE!
~ Roary Rockoon
FT,
ReplyDeleteI agree with you that most blogs are "stitch and bitch."
But so were, in a way, the American Revolution's pamphleteers. Please see American Revolution’s Pamphleteers, Today’s Bloggers and Twitterers for Change:
...More than 230 years ago, ordinary citizens across the colonies printed and distributed the passionate words of “amateur” writers to shape public opinion and galvanize the independence movement virally.
[...]
This description of pamphleteering from 1940 by Homer Calkin for The Historical Society of Pennsylvania, could be about the blogs of today, “From the sixteenth to the eighteenth century the pamphlet was the chief instrument to carry one’s ideas to the public…The pamphlet, forerunner to the newspaper, was well adapted to this use because it was small and cheap and could reach ‘a larger audience than the orator in the House of Commons.'”...
The above essay is dated 2009, which, in my memory, was not nearly as rancorous a time in online forums as today is.
Still and all, blogs and other forms of social media are a way of "getting the word out." The mainstream media surely won't do so because they are all in for "the narrative."
Aston,
ReplyDeleteDO YOU THINK ANYONE IS EVER GOING TO ABOUT WHAT AYAAN HIRSI-ALI SAID TO DON LEMON ABOUT ISLAM?
Apparently not. I'm very tempted to close comments.
I don't understand why so many commenters interpret this blog post as an open thread. It is no.
Hirsi-Ali is yesterday's news.
DeleteShe's made her money as a right wing gadfly.
Doesn't offer much in the way of resolution.
Ducky,
DeleteIMO, she is yesterday's news because (1) so much else is going on in the Enemedia and (2) she rarely gets a mainstream forum and (3) we haven't recently had an Islamic terror attack here on our soil.
As for resolution, there isn't one if the Quran and the Haditha are followed the way they are written. You know my views on the topic of Islam: it's violent at its core.
SF,
ReplyDeleteAbout the latest Special Prostitutor news...
I just published a new blog post on that topic.
FT,
ReplyDeletethere is simply NO meaningful opposition in Washington, DC to the Defecrat-Globalist Agenda.
Yes, that's the bottom line.
We are already well along the Road to Serfdom.