"My youth is promising as Spring, and verdant as young weeds whose very impudence taketh them where bloom the garden's treasures. My midlife like the Summer who blazeth as a fire of blasting heat, fed by withered, crumbling weeds of my Spring.
"My sunset like the Fall who ripeneth the season's offering, and hoar-frost is my Winter night, fraught with borrowed warmth and flowers, and filled with weeds which springs e'en 'neath the frozen waste.
"Ah, is the Winter then my season's close, or will I pin a faith to hope and look again for Spring who lives eternal in my soul?"
Except for the children of Palestine. How can you dream the magical dreams of your future life when all you have known is killing and death, while living under plastic tents that give no shelter, no warmth in winter, no coolness in summer, and certailnly no protection from 2,000, 3,000 or 4,000lb bombs.
Hi, Caitlin & Tim, rather difficult to open a gap in this unknown site, but it seems i have somehow made it!. I put my mail to stay in contact from Montevideo, Uruguay. Winter is coming soon, but everything's fine in my tiny corner.. Hope my Englsh is clear..
Sinefeld is a vile genocidal Zionist pig.
You captured it. That is what I and, I think, way too many people feel.
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
—Edgar Allen Poe, Dream within a Dream
Brilliant.
Felt it
I eagerly await those opportunities when I can hear the songs above the din.
"Jerry Seinfeld says Palestine doesn’t exist"
And I say Jerry Seinfeld doesn't exist. Which one of us is right?
Great poem. I love this image:
Duct-taped gargoyles with garbage bag wings
peer down at the din of civilization
as we march over the sidewalk sleepers
All too true.
I felt this in my bones
-My Seasons-
"My youth is promising as Spring, and verdant as young weeds whose very impudence taketh them where bloom the garden's treasures. My midlife like the Summer who blazeth as a fire of blasting heat, fed by withered, crumbling weeds of my Spring.
"My sunset like the Fall who ripeneth the season's offering, and hoar-frost is my Winter night, fraught with borrowed warmth and flowers, and filled with weeds which springs e'en 'neath the frozen waste.
"Ah, is the Winter then my season's close, or will I pin a faith to hope and look again for Spring who lives eternal in my soul?"
~PW
Except for the children of Palestine. How can you dream the magical dreams of your future life when all you have known is killing and death, while living under plastic tents that give no shelter, no warmth in winter, no coolness in summer, and certailnly no protection from 2,000, 3,000 or 4,000lb bombs.
Who instructed the homeless in the image to be sent packing?
Hi, Caitlin & Tim, rather difficult to open a gap in this unknown site, but it seems i have somehow made it!. I put my mail to stay in contact from Montevideo, Uruguay. Winter is coming soon, but everything's fine in my tiny corner.. Hope my Englsh is clear..
Take care! ... Marcos & Mónica
DIRE WOLF:
Row upon row
Of drab colourless houses
Bowing low
Before high rise blocks
Varicosed housewives
With sweaty armpits
Scrimping and scrubbing
Their husbands' socks
A limp polluted flag
Flutters sadly in its death throes
While crippled trees in leg irons
Wearily haul themselves
Through another diluted acid day.
The vultures stood outside the gate
Quite unaware that fate
Is unaware to those who wait
In vain. Their pride
Betrays the means of their destruction.
Take my rings and trinkets bright
But leave my eyes which give me light
My tongue which gives me leave to speak
The rest is yours and welcome.
The wolves will suck the bones they bought
Those over which they fought
Their elders always having taught
Them envy. Their greed
Explains their total lack of conscience.
The auctioneer is seldom lost
Our paths have sometimes crossed
But he has never failed to count the cost
Of passion. Desire
Is the whole point of his existence.
Now you have given cause to bleed
You join the wolf pack as you feed
But now you find yourself in need
Of comfort. But peace of mind
Has no home for the loveless.
Very moving poem, Caitlin. TY for posting. Thought provoking.
😭
Ya, the state of things...so distracting, so heartless, rife with genocide and corruption and meaninglessness.
Rin Tin howls at the din.
The din melts Willy Wonka chocolate
‘Plato the Greek or Rin Tin Tin
Who's more famous to the billion millions?’
The Clash, from Magnificent Seven
"Clash" my police name tag lacked a period after C
Hence my name tag was C Lash