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Installed latest version of forum software, had a large number of incompatibilities with older version, unfortunately needs to be a clean reboot.  I did attempt to import users from last iteration.  There seems to be a login bug where you have to click the login link and go to the login page to get in. Not sure why yet. 

Author Topic: Poetry  (Read 100 times)


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« on: July 30, 2018, 12:16:42 PM »

Share and discuss


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Re: Poetry
« Reply #1 on: July 30, 2018, 03:33:40 PM »

 the Cambridge ladies do not care, above
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of
sky lavender and cornerless, the
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy

"History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes. "


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Re: Poetry
« Reply #2 on: July 30, 2018, 04:31:32 PM »

By Herman Melville
In placid hours well-pleased we dream
Of many a brave unbodied scheme.
But form to lend, pulsed life create,
What unlike things must meet and mate:
A flame to melt--a wind to freeze;
Sad patience--joyous energies;
Humility--yet pride and scorn;
Instinct and study; love and hate;
Audacity--reverence. These must mate,
And fuse with Jacob's mystic heart,
To wrestle with the angel--Art.



Tony V.

Cornelius II

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Re: Poetry
« Reply #3 on: August 03, 2018, 09:54:25 AM »

I Am Aged

I am aged, by common definition I suppose:
steely grey hair, fringed 'round a bald pate,
running to curls in back; I wish it were snowy white.

I get along with a cane, take Tylenol regularly,
-- arthritis is a bitch -- helped along internally now
by pacemaker and four cardiac stents.

My hearing is shot, but my eyes are still perfect,
courtesy of the cataract operation of course, but
still seeing keenly, as young as ever, reality in all its wonder.

I have lived through an Age -- of benevolent Government --
from FDR onward: New Deal, Fair Deal, Great Society;
and now see its demise, in the new administration.

So my children will live with it, my grandchildren normalize it,
as times have changed forever, and I will become
a crotchety Ancient, remembering, complaining,
fulfilling my role.

Dec 21, 2017
« Last Edit: August 03, 2018, 09:56:38 AM by Cornelius II »


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Re: Poetry
« Reply #4 on: August 07, 2018, 08:13:06 PM »

The Meat in the Middle of the 8 Billion Year Thick Sandwich
with a nice glass of Malbec

“The earth” he said “is 4 billion years old”.
We sat at a table for two, with a bottle of wine,
a nice little Malbec
each with a full glass in hand.

Four billion years had passed
(all that evolution and such)
to get to that very moment.
And four billion years more,
inevitably, will follow.

We are the meat (with red wine)
In the middle
of the 8 billion year thick sandwich.

Let’s toast to that

« Last Edit: August 08, 2018, 09:40:28 PM by ffleate »