fire before the silence: Poetry inspired by fall and Thoreau

Fire before the...........................Silence 

I will not go without a bang

I will not go gently into that good night

I will not lay down without a word

I will not fold my hands over my breast to wait

I will not don black or gray

I will not grow silent that they forget me before I leave

I will not die in such a way

I will do as the trees do

I will embrace the fire that is my age

I will stand tall in scarlet gold and orange

I will not feel my limbs grow cold clothed so

I will dance rather then just stand and wait

I will toss my head again and flirt and laugh  

I will not fear the feeling of my mantle drying up

I will do as the trees do

I will not more when my final fling ends

I will not pine for gold and red when brown does come

I will not hold any regrets as my garments blow away 

I will remember the glory of gold

I will not bend or stoop

I will not hide my nakedness when death comes for me

I will spread my arms to enfold the sky, knowing I lived before I died

I will stand unmoved as the cold sweeps me up

Just as the trees do

Random thoughts on one of my favorites: the rocking-horse winner

'There must be more money there must be more money' was whispered all through that house. It was never said aloud yet Paul heard it. His sisters heard it. They all heard it. And it was all because they did not have luck. Luck. What good is it I wonder? When you want it when you need it, is it ever there? How do you get and hold onto something that is not tangible something that never stays in one place for long? But luck is what gets you money according to Paul's mother, so it must be had. It must! 

Paul did not want the money, not really. He wanted his mother to stop worrying to smile and he wanted the house to stop the whispering, 'there must be more money, there must be more money.' But when more money came it did no good. Greed and discontent are insatiable masters as poor Paul learned. Poor sweet Paul, and it wasn't even his own greed that grove him. It was for his mother's beloved facade of wealth that was as fake as her smile. Appearances, appearances always appearance! We are rich we are happy. We are lucky. Hang the appearances, the poor kid is hearing things and gambling to win his mother's love! And did it work? No she wanted more and she wanted it now. And the voices only got louder.

We all have something like luck don't we? Something we are constantly straining for. Something that we can never quite get. Something that could rob us of happiness instead of give it. We must be careful where our desires take us lest we end up on our  own rocking-horse.

Romanticism poetry: Walt Whitman's O Captain my Captain

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

                         But O heart! heart! heart!

                            O the bleeding drops of red,

                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

                         Here Captain! dear father!

                            This arm beneath your head!

                               It is some dream that on the deck,

                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

                            But I with mournful tread,

                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

This is Romantic ? 

Unfortunately the term Romance has been grossly tarnished in our culture today. Such a word is now associated with sappy love songs and cheep chocolates. That is not the Romantic material I am talking about. I'm talking about the unstoppable flow of nature and the futility of fighting against it. I'm talking about ever present death and the inescapable fact that it comes to all. Yes that is the stuff of Romanticism and there are no valentines or flowers involved. So it is small wonders that few people know the meaning of Romanticism or would think of this poem as being full to the brim with it. Perhaps with writers such as Poe and Shakespeare the readers of today can see the clear link between tragedy and romance but this poem is by Walt Whitman not Edgar Allan Poe. 

'Meaningless everything is meaningless - Generations come and generation go but the earth endures forever' (Taken from Ecclesiastes chapter 1) You can just see the ship coming into the home port triumphant after a fierce battle only to find that victory was at a high cost, the life of their Captain. But then what is one life? The world kept right on spinning even as his blood stained the deck, a great man fallen. Moving right along....what are you surprised? Death is always among us. Tragedy comes even at the highest pinnacles of accomplishment. The wind still filled the sails and the tide pulled them into port, indifferent to the death of the Captain. Like Time, Nature stops and weeps for no man.  

First time and still learning

I have to confess that I have never even read a blog before, much less had one so this is going to take some getting used to. However the whole premise of this assignment is really appealing to me so I'm existed to give it a go.This is just my warm up post because I don't really have anything prepared to write about. So for now I am going to leave it at that.