I wrote this poem the other day after watching about five minutes of 'America's Got Talent'. Hope you can relate.
With curious gazes do we transfix
Our eyes to things bizarre;
O! how we know (or entertain)
Ideas that are so far
From things we maybe ought to think-
Or also entertain
But no heads turn, no gaze transfix
Upon me or my name-
I am the invisible; the sensible; the good;
The world waits in silence—
The kind of silence that one
Wouldn't be anxious for, yet is.
How so must I believe,
Believe that the nagging corners of my mind
Do wander in excitement, in glorious, splendid excitement—
For things that are to come?
The world rolls on, unimposing and unimpressed with what little one supplies it.
Eating it like one would eat an apple—
Or a bit of cheese—
Caring not for what makes up of it,
But the wholeness of the experience i
Tonight, I watched Trump’s address to Congress. Yes, you heard right: I sat my little, lithe young ass in a seat a watched the most powerful man in the world address the whole of his government. Amazing, an engaged teenager? What’s the world coming to?
Well, hopefully it is coming to a more informed populous. But that is beyond the point; it is what came after his address that I really want to...well, address.
There was an interesting article from the Atlantic that I had found when I wa
Upon my way to the hunting Grounds, Encounter I a mirror; To me I think, how so profound!— To me myself is nearer.
Confused I am, to see this face, Yet older, wise, and grey; The mirror forces, case by case, For one to see life's pay.
The pay is good, (most likely not) Beware, for danger abounds! In its clutches you shan't be caught— But wriggle free, and it astound.
The hunting ground is nearer now, And to it you shall heave— Please, I beg, to it not bow— For it shall be bereaved.
With gleaming heads of pulpy white, More tan, they say, or golden blonde; But what I see is naught but white To face the east—to drown the dawn—
I cry at you—not for you, though, The tears line up, about to jump; They seem afraid, as if death row Was nothing but heartache—a dump.
To face the east—to drown the dawn— Is something that one lingers for— To face the west—to save his pawn— Nevermind—show him to the door.
I wait forever—but a day, In order so I might find light, Of golden l
Although I don't live in a state that recognizes Patriots' Day, I decided to make it my first blog post. If you don't know what this holiday is, don't worry; it's only celebrated in Massachusetts and Maine on the anniversary of the first battles of the Revolutionary War.
Well, then, what does this have to do with religion? So, the other day a commercial came on the radio in my car that 'clarified' that either Thomas Jefferson or George Washinton (I forget which, at the moment) called for a '