Here Comes The Sun


What a change from yesterday evening to this Sunday morning’s weather. Massive thunderstorms with drenching rains turned to heavily overcast steel grey morning, damp and breezy. Yeah change is in the air.

Stumbled across the street this morning with a cup of coffee in hand and my camera phone looking for something interesting, this all started at 5am because the cat woke me up. Looking back  a few years my neighborhood was tucked into a side-street just a block from from main street…over a period of several years the city has rebuilt itself and continues to do so. Please no debating on the merits of quality of life -v- progressive live work environment. I’m firmly in the center of downtown with bus stop(s) and heavy traffic (pedestrian & motorized). The learning curve was quick and continues.

Maybe it was the Pokemon crowd out last night?  Brooke Street Park is open 7/24, well lighted at night with its fountains, streams, memorials and a rather modern library whose’s alarm system is easily tripped by the  ‘skate-boarders’ even though they are outlawed on the property. The kids last night  left something for the morning guest (me) other than booze bottles, cig butts and candy wrappers. I enjoy their ‘Artistry’ in the band-shell. Chalk tagging is colorful and cool like an Art Festival but not the other type of tagging w/paint and such. Easily defined difference between art and f-ing defacement.

 

“Here Comes The Sun”
Songwriters: Lennon/Harrison/McCarty

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it’s all right

Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it’s all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it’s all right

1 - Copy

“Summer is but fading as fall begins to wink & nod”

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Wasted Words…?


Little if anything to post or publish that is not about me.  I am  conscientious  as the next person to realize that (me) just ain’t that exciting/glamorous or “in possession of profound insight/mystical adult knowledge”.  All I know and I know well is me, my life and experiences.  Something intangible yeah something like my inner dialogue tells me that once you come to know someone its OK not to be so concerned about  minute to minute life. I mostly feel that sharing  and living  where a purposely meaningful life exist.(tried to fix previous sentence and failed).

With the ending of summer a  reflection defines the word ‘austerity’. We have lacked rain most of the high-summer days which previously in the spring of 2016 resulted in a surplus of ground water. Now, yes now the rains have returned in abundance. Bring life to the yards, the trees, shrubs, bushes and wildlife. How obviously the vigor of life returns….” when those parched shackles are removed”.

What a great place to stop when writing….I’ve said a few things, shared a bit and how about a picture of ME…haha! Hope and wish all other bloggers are doing OK with all the trolls  well at least for me so I write sparingly y’all.

 

IMG_9151

Me making an artistic statement.

 

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Dude the Cat seriously not impressed with my artistic skill but he is warming up to the creative side.☮

 

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
BY T. S. ELIOT

 

Coffee beans and lemon grass………..


Coffee beans and lemon grass……….. The Poet Laureate of Jamaica.

One man’s dilemma is another man’s enlightenment. When the colonies revolted in North America and eventually produced the United States of America the revolution is considered only a part of Europe’s’ period of ‘enlightenment’. But for the citizens of the colonies it was a time and a place of such overwhelming importance that in the country itself there is no period of ‘ enlightenment’ as well most of Europe knows the reciprocal. This I believe to be true.

And what is the point? What we see and hear and learn, the knowledge one carries for their life is the compilation and assimilation of environment. Each generation hopefully and with wishful thinking becomes immune to repeating the lessons of the previous generation. At times there is success. At times a hundred generations still fight the same fight. Does the repetition of struggling comes from lessons never shared or possibly not learned? Just may-be we feel compelled to dominate what we cannot. Dominate nature, her mountains and seas….all creatures and man himself at the sacrifice of enjoining and communing of thriving and sharing. A human trait of arrogance which cannot exist outside of a humans mind. Behold the universe and apply arrogance, only misery will replace the falsity of that human vanity.

The country of Jamaica beginning in the 1960’s and lasting into the 80’s experienced something of a social revolution which appears lost to history. From those years came Mervyn Eustace Morris the Poet Laureate of Jamaica. Exploring life and death, living and surviving, Morris pens a social consciousness of his brothers and sisters. Not always quickly understood but timeless and accurate, his writings and observations of man, mankind and life stand today. Showing the reader a hallowed ground of allusion balanced with restraint. Indeed forcing the reader to earn the reward of reading, denying his fans and friends or family an instant fix of satisfaction. Writing in sparse and rhythmic verse, he writes as a Jamaican ….

“A Chant Against Death”

say family
say friends
say wife
say love
say life
say learning
laughter
sunlight
rain
say cycle
circle
music
memory

The thing of life, a heartbeat from start to end. He writes from the consciousness of himself.

As the Poet Laureate of Jamaica, Morris produced with neither reluctance nor ambivalence, verse written in ‘International English’ of political ideology. His message being simple and unadorned. Do we too easily become what we rail (verb) upon, socially, morally and unconsciously, “once you choose a side“.

‘To An Expatriate Friend’

Colour meant nothing. Anyone
who wanted help, had humour or was kind
was brother to you; categories of skin
were foreign; you were colour-blind.

And then the revolution. Black
and loud the horns of anger blew
against the long oppressions; sufferers
cast of the precious values of the few.

New powers re-enslaved us all:
each person manacled in skin, in race.
You could not wear your paid up dues:
the keen discriminators typed your face.

The future darkening, you thought it time
to say good-bye. It may be you were right.
It hurt to see you go; but, more,
it hurt to see you slowly going white.

Coffee beans and lemon grass in the Blue Mountains of Jamaica.

Coffee beans and lemon grass in the Blue Mountains of Jamaica.

Poet Laureate Remarks at Investiture Ceremony King’s House, 21 May 2014
” As Dahlia Harris put it recently, speaking on behalf of Minister Hanna:
We hope for “poetry driven by a freedom to speak of ourselves . . . through forms,
content and language . . . more reflective of who we are as a people.” “

  • * * * * * * * *
  • “Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery.
    None but ourselves can free our minds.”
    ― Bob Marley

 Jamaica in the early 80’s gave me many gifts I have never forgotten nor taken for granted. These children are now the men of their country. I cannot speak for them but only read the wisdom they share to this day….walden

Really random stuff…..


Just posting to keep a pulse on my blog. So for now its mostly visual and sparse and really random..enjoy.

When at this computer here in order is the album of songs I listen too. If not this then I stream WKDK am…..Newberry South Carolina. Evenings mostly is random music from the 60’s thru the 80’s, time, temp and weather. Other nights its South Carolina ‘Football’…

Soul Serenade…..King Curtis

Dig a Pony…………Beatles

Across the Universe…….Beatles

Devil Got My Woman….Gregg Allman

Bell Bottom Blues…..Derick and the Dominoes

Bertha…..Grateful Dead

Savannah Mama….Blind Willie McTell

Back on My Feet Again….Randy Newman

She Caught the Katy……Wet Willie

Wah-Wah……..George Harrison

The weather in the south has been wet this summer. Its easy…East Coast moisture north to south…mid third of the country moisture wraps southward above the plains. funnel into Ga-alabama

I’m behind the new Alpharetta City Center 100%…..lol.

Alpharetta City Center

Alpharetta City Center

 One supervisor and one worker. Its the American way..

1 supervisor 1 employee

1 supervisor 1 employee

When I was a kid in the 1960’s this was the Thomson/McDuffie county Jail House.

Thomson/McDuffie County Jail House

Thomson/McDuffie County Jail House

About 10 minutes from the house. Swallow at the Hollow. 100% great Southern Bar-B-que.

Singer-song-writer showcase and Americana music…think ‘The Loft’ on satellite radio.

Swallow At The Hollow -Roswell, GA-

Swallow At The Hollow
-Roswell, GA-

Sir Richard Branson…see below.

Richard Branson -5 questions and a quote-

Richard Branson
-5 questions and a quote-

I cannot for the life of me find the ‘5 Questions’ Branson published. The questions suitable for a job applicant or the applicant to the employer… Quotes below.

‘Why a business plan is only as good as one’s first contact with a customer’.

‘What do you need to take on a giant & win? Nothing but bravery, good people & a great idea’.

‘If somebody asks why are you looking up at the sky, ask them why they aren’t looking up at the stars’.

First ‘ floor-mat’ joke of your day??

Floor Mat

Floor Mat

Dockerys restaurant closed this year and it happened sooner than later. I’m here with the lady who brought me my last meal. She had always been the best.. During the goodbyes I managed to take some pictures of the people who I shared the establishment with over the years but never held a conversation.

She and I

She and I

 

I found a great sit back with a cup of coffee on a rainy Sunday afternoon. With this piece thirty minute read is too short, great article nevertheless.  Don’t let the title fool you into believing its a ‘government/political statement from the State department. It more and provocative in the light of the reality. Families apart and separated physically and emotionally, divided by juxtaposed societies and bound by their common culture.

THE ISLAND OF STOPPED CLOCKS: INSIDE CUBA 50 YEARS AFTER THE REVOLUTION

THE ISLAND OF STOPPED CLOCKS: INSIDE CUBA 50 YEARS AFTER THE REVOLUTION
BY JACKSON BLAIR
(What you cannot see on the video is how, over the course of the next few hours, Lesley realizes she’s lost the 25 years for good. That after all this time, the history they shared is too too faint or too slight to be recovered. Entering the terminal, she felt a brief but overwhelming sense of familiarity. But after the hugs and tears subsided she felt tentative and swept up by family in name only).

Leave em’ laughing I’ve been told….Lighter side of life.

-Why does Goofy stand upright and Pluto stand on all four feet? They’re both dogs.

-Do “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” and “The Alphabet Song” have the same tune?

-On Gilligan’s Island, the professor could make a radio out of a coconut. Why couldn’t he fix the hole in the boat?

-If Wile E. Coyote has enough money to buy all that stuff from ACME, why doesn’t he just buy himself dinner?

Moby Dick
Elijah:
( Ye’ve shipped, have ye? Names down on papers? Well, what’s signed, is signed; and what’s to be, will be )

Mark Twain on the press:

“There are laws to protect the freedom of the press’s speech, but none that are worth anything to protect the people from the press.”

It seems to me that just in the ratio that our newspapers increase, our morals decay. The more newspapers the worse morals. Where we have one newspaper that does good, I think we have fifty that do harm. We ought to look upon the establishment of a newspaper of the average pattern in a virtuous village as a calamity.

Just really random stuff….

Martin Luther King 2013


 Monday, January 21, 2013

Beautiful day off from work and all because we honor Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Weather is blue skies, mild temperatures, light breeze and blazing winter sunshine…good enough.

I dug out my pickup truck from the shop behind my home and we spent the balance of the day running errands. Retrieved my suit from the cleaners where I hugged Ms. H. goodbye. After a generation or two they have sold the business and the plant up the road from here. Shes sincerely old enough and carried the business for long enough, but it was sad and happy time. Cruised the ‘mall’ for winter sales and there are plenty in the clothing departments, just nothing useful for me now or later but I did spend sometime in the parking lot where a new cinema complex is being constructed inside the existing North Point Mall structure.

The movie house across the street @N. P. Mall is way out dated for the business, in a decade and a half, the size of the existing movie-house as well as the nature of viewing and projection equipment has changed. The new movie house is about 3 stories tall to fit the IMAX format and other mulit-venue viewing areas…’I hope I got the talking points close’. Hey I like to watch the big cranes and giant/giant size truck moving the building materials and such about…OK? It’s a guy thing.

Finally nailed a coffee @Starbucks last thing and got some notes put together, especially the opening quote below. The quote was on a Macy’s paid tribute to Dr. King and is tasteful (period). I just wanted to say something a bit ‘furthur up the road’ on Dr. King and his works and well to me and for me there are or is so much unfinished.

I chatted briefly with a retired gentleman in Canada, Francis Rupert Legge just last month, we have shared parts of our lives on FB and become ‘brothers’ and yes Francis we are. In his writings and a prolific writer he is Francis with his education from United States, Cambridge England, his skills Engineer/Physicist are a ‘great resume’ its his writings that should be preserved, maybe not all his opinions (insert lol). It was the day he mention coming to Atlanta to hookup with Dr. King at the old Hartsfield or Midfield airport and ready to head to Selma, Alabama. Speechless as I was I assure any and everyone Francis or Sir Francis as I call him is as so-many in taking little or no credit for being on Dr. Kings front-line as a ‘foot-soldier’, the honesty of those who followed Dr. Kings’ calling it was not then or now a social limelight. Sir Francis is opinionated and experienced and Francis Rupert Legge walked the walk with Dr. King, he saw the writing on the wall as that period of time was happening and sacrificed his time and life at that point and made the effort to come thousands of miles to be a part of the ‘Dream’. From my chats and writings with Francis he is sincere that he was happy to be there in thought, word and deed and that’s good enough for him..read below and for me it pales to what these men ‘Accomplished’.

 

 

MLK notes…

Dr. King Memorial

Dr. King Memorial

 Faith is taking the first step, even when you don’t see the whole staircase’.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

  I’ve come to a somewhat clueless point in a road “as to where” Dr. King would have continued his philosophical debates. More pointedly as he moved from “moral & social” agendas towards economic equality in the United States of America. Surely he was as aware as anyone of the overtones of Socialism was he not? Of “class systems and caste societies “?

Just a question or two that for me in the short or long run of a life or generation I believe promotes many people away from patronizing the good Doctor and his works. But maybe, just maybe questions will propel his works “forward” to someone who will continue his work.

Dr. King was nearly not finished and his work is neither. God only knows how much he gave to the world thru his actions, writings and nonviolent protest. Can we not give back a tithe of that? Can we not refresh his work and carry forward and sincerely “not” lip-service and regurgitate him, his life his family and all their sacrifices as history fades and the old solders who were there vanish?

History is best told by those who lived it not those, no matter how eloquently speak upon it……

Amen Dr. King…..Amen

ps….if I get any of the above ‘really wrong’, either  Sir Francis or Dr. King will nail me. I think I pretty much got the above just about right…

Francis R. Legge

Francis R. Legge

 McTell

From my i-phone

November and a Post…….


“Repeat a lie regularly enough and it will soon become ranked with conventional truth…”

Francis Rupert Legge

 When the weather changes for real into Fall I’m reminded of living on the farm in the 90’s. The farmhouse and a couple of acres remained as the suburbs crept closer. In the back a acre of so of well tilled field, smokehouse/shed, two, three sided barns, one housed the grist mill. The mill was powered by rather large and rather loud tractor, sitting on cement blocks and a couple of flat tires. The belts she turned would be shifted to shell the dried corn from the cobs or turn the mill wheel. The leftover cornmeal dust on the floor always showed the tiniest mouse footprints, surprising considering the dozen feral cats living in the barns!

Around the middle of October, I’d be out digging up the rows of sweet potatoes below the terrace. Ripping out the vines by hand, rolling them into bundles tossed aside. I’d find myself excited as a kid on the way to a county fair. Digging out the tubers balances a fine line, ‘between the last rain and first frost’. Stacked they would lay in the field as I head back to the farmhouse in the evening twilight, putting away the hoes and shovel in the middle barn. Unfailingly my adopted cats would be sitting on the well-cover, together with out fail they would look at me, look at each other and at the same time hit the ground softly as one not three we’d go inside for the night. Winter, Spring, Summer an Fall this repeated itself hundreds of times and you know what? I simply never took one moment for granted. It was Heaven.

My soul was kick around a bit just last week from a vehicle accident bout a mile from where I’d lived on the farm. The road runs long and area is a refuge too deer and the coyotes, either of which I suspect as the ’cause’. Akshay, who did not survive the accident, received the Ferrari from his parents. I have lost some friends, brothers in a similar accident decades ago. The brothers are buried together behind the Augusta National golf course. It’s infrequent now that I stop in to pay my respects. Thirty years after I wonder what if it never happen and will always.

I cannot get enough of online literary magazine, The Rumpus.net with the musings of editor in chief Stephen Elliott. Whenever you find a free moment support them and check out ‘Letters in the Mail’, and ‘Letters for Kids’. The Rumpus.net has grown up quickly across the universal net of knowledge, literature, and the outlandish.

With that in mind I’ve been following Geoff Lemon from ‘down-under’ for several years. Similar to the above yet vastly different is “Going Down Swinging”.  I’ve been a follower of Geoff’s’ blog , “Heathen Scriptures” prior to the launch of GDS. Here is a link to a post from GDS that tugs me back often and I hope you also……The Blue Corner/Sometimes Poems…“Cold Was the Ground”.

Be well

I remain McTell…

 

 

Touch of Early Autumn


Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each. .
~Henry David Thoreau~

Best to publish something/anything to prevent @McTells Place from being doa or placed on διάλυσις/dialysis.  Early and lingering touch of Autumn all about. The night time temperatures nearing the 40’s with middle 80’s later afternoon…yet step into the shade and the feeling of Fall is present.  Posting a music video fitting for the seasonal weather. Written by Jackson Brown in 1967.  Recorded by the likes of Glen Campbell who did a knockout rendering with a bit of additional arranging.  Jackson gave credit years ago to a rewriting of the final lyrics according to a interview in Austin Texas that is impossible to retrieve by another artist he had know in their earlier songwriting years……...’ unlocked a power in that song that I sort of then emulated in my version’. see below

‘ll keep on moving
Things are bound to be improving these days
These days–
These days I sit on corner stones
And count the time in quarter tones to ten, my friend
Don’t confront me with my failures / I had not forgotten them
/\
“Please don’t confront me with my failures / I’m aware of them.”

Convene the Crimson Court…


Adventum “aurata Wren” signa iudicio Tx3 in Regnum RUFUS. Apparet quidem ut in curia est ad conveniri. Fiat scriptum. amen

Arrival of the “Gilded Wren” signals a verdict of Tx3 in the Kingdom of Crimson. Forthcoming indeed as the court is to be convened. Let it be written. Amen

Unfortunately, simplistic vindication seldom illuminates profound issues, hence the reliance of the weak upon myth.

Quote from “Sir Francis”

 

 

My Soul has Shifted…….


My Soul has Shifted……..

Let the truth be told, the week of Spring break this year is far and away not a break at all.  Everyone’s children are out and about, families traveling to be with families and the most beautiful weather we have seen around these parts in a year or so.  The temperatures have fallen to something close to ‘normal’, if there is such a bench mark any more.  I’ve noticed even the most seasoned forecasters, professional media prognosticators on television here in Atlanta, experts from Accu Weather in State College, PA, are shifting to the best test of forecasting, ‘open the door and look outside before making a forecast’.  Two weeks prior to this bit of cooler weather it has been near 20 degrees warmer then, ‘normal’. Is anything ‘normal’ anymore?  With that said the trees have leafed out and the Azalea’s in our part of the world have bloomed beyond expectations. Here in Georgia, when spring and Easter converge there is a simple beauty in nature to not be missed.
Checking my e-mails this evening brought forth a familiar group of faces.  Rhonda Anderson sent me a 2nd notice from Facebook…”You were sent this via FB and you haven’t watched it and it’s URGENT”. I feel no compelling need Rhonda, my Hotmail account has you in spam, besides you’ve sent me the link I count 30 times in as many days. A favorite is ‘kunlunique.com and their 4th notice to call some bank.  I wasted over a hour of my life tracking kunlunique.com and never go further than WHOIS.  Best standby in my  Hotmail ‘spam folder’ would have to be GasolineCard@sicerbebat.com, no explanation needed. And like a 2nd cousin is “Tang Sue, Executive Director and Head of Personal Banking, Hang Seng Bank Limited. Tang Sue has 22million dollars, yes and change in my name because…….the investor…..” Aziz Musa Numan and his family had been killed during the war in a bomb blast that hit his home at Mukaradeeb. I, provided a picture of Aziz’s village and still I puzzled how a man with fortune here ended up in Hong Kong.

He lived here.

Mukaradeeb, Iraq

Reading spam e-mails typically is a habit acquired by long grueling days at work, followed by the short nights. Brought onwards by daily and weekly details trying to maintain my home in the suburbs. Turn you back for just a moment on the details? Something is going to fall apart.  I’ve always wonder how you can raise a family, keep a career on track and maintain the household? My spam is becoming seriously interesting and I’m single with not a family. Most of the e-mails I communicate with on the ‘regular list’ consistently pushes to the “Ticketmaster scroll of coming attractions”.
Having spent entire adult life here I’m fairly attuned to a regular scheduled. In Atlanta a handful of events play out each year, consistently.  It snows in early January, yeah everyone get a ‘free day off’. The State legislature convenes. For some unknown reason the night before the gavel drops there is a dinner in downtown Atlanta @the Depot or what remains of Terminus. “The Wild Hogs dinner”, also know as a lobbyist trough, we know who pays for dinner. This year, the dinner was a bit more exciting than lobbyist. Vegans and Occupiers provided the entertainment with their agendas at the front gate, occupiers were treated to a rice dinner by the vegans, across the street in the occupiers camp..  A note to crashers, you would better suite your cause & agenda by waiting a day when the reps convene. BTW, the dinner is hosted by a group that even the impressive investigative arm of the Atlanta Journal could ‘not’ pin down. Although tickets my be purchased by anyone to attend, the closest the ATL journal could come to ‘who sponsor the dinner’, was two years back, and the man had resigned as the treasurer then, and offered up a tobacco lobbyist as a contact.
The next big event would be the Ringling Bros. & Barnum & Bailey Circus.  If memory servers me right, there were two Circuses, one with more animals and the other with more aerial acts each year.  Following the circus was the ‘motor-cross event’.  This always held near and dear to in-town chatter. The old Fulton County stadium became a mountain course for the motorcycles for a week, and left a razor thin margin of weeks to completely restore the ‘turf’, for a round of over 80 @home Atlanta Braves baseball games.
In my memories on this day I feel the full force of Spring and the rhythms of the seasons. My enlightenment of this morning, and the pondering of all day. Yes we are all ‘characters upon a stage’. This day begins, a player in a play, extremely satisfying and yet altogether un-nerving. Feelings as the first time I was in the swimming pool, gripping the edges, chlorine taste of water in my mouth, trying as I might to lower my head beneath the surface, forcing air bubbles from my nose to rise. Again and again I would sink a bit, the water at my chin, lower to my nose at the surface. The other children next to me? Oblivious. My legs beneath the water searching for the invisible balance,  head slightly above and below the water line. The voice inside this small child’s head,  ‘I know I can do this” My age held me from fear an emotion yet to be experienced. This child’s most inner-self and voice grappling for their communion . Soon enough edging below the water, a chorus’ is created Air from my nose escaping outward to water, resonating vibrations, synching. To me the bubbles sing, natural and primal cadence. Satisfaction and accomplishment  rising thru my head, my body, ” a conscious moment of a child?’. Feet and legs moving with purpose, little hands relaxed their grip from pools edge.  I urged my body to float freely, above or below the waters surface and chlorine disinfected waters embraced me, me the child.  A Jonathon Livingston Seagull moment?  Discovering me as me, a season of life begins?
How quickly my time passes, Fall then winter, Spring melding into Autumn. Weeks become fleeting. lasting a day.  The months flying past, now a year seems as only last month. Time in my soul is feeling like currency, the dollar or euro, a bag of gold for yesterday, “pennies for your tomorrow sir??” My clock @home does not tick. The cool watch I have to match my glasses?  It, the watch, seems to resist being set ‘on time’. i-phone? Embarrasses’ me with ‘its’ total accuracy, cannot argue with me it says, and in return I not.  But, and yeah but. What is that movement in the body of mine, what is that pull, a balance of not eyes, the balance of synching within myself.  I pondered this day and must profess, my soul has shifted.
Years and years ago Nat Geo sent to me, after a lifetime of enjoyment a special four book edition. Oh and god-bless Reg Murphy, he is still on-board there. @one time he was ‘Editor in Chief”, after leaving the Atlanta Journal, and after being kidnapped back in the day and the FBI blew the ransom exchange…..btw they did catch the guy after he spent the money.  Unbelievably he spent the ransom money on a college degree.  When the FBI did find him decades later? He was a Doctor practicing medicine in Alaska… Anyhow the 4 set volumes covered 4 basic periods in recorded time.  You know Mid-evil, and Renaissance  movement if your not familiar with them don’t worry, like Knights and druids and such. Romans and Greeks.
Within these 4 volumes the rise, maturing and decline of governments, dogma’s set forth, conquest, inventions, artistry and mathematics. Nothing lasted forever, well maybe the math and science. Just one generation and then another, each busting their balls to be the best, the brightest, the most fair and enlighten generation or ‘civilization’. In the end as we all will by the commands of life and nature melding to the next season, the next generation. I say this and write, as one whose life has afford a unique time frame of solitude. From that solitude, today I felt my soul shift. I am stunned and wary, not enlightened. It was for a moment a perfect pitch in life of all harmony, clouds with blue skies, ocean waves and foam on the sand, I was there and me knew what it was.  There is or was no fear, or wonderment, no Angles singing. The clock may never tic again, but time by natures very substance of renewal, moving  forward as a breath is exhaled and the next begins again, indeed I witnessed my  soul as a tangible substance. Yes as real as the scent of a ‘Queen Elizabeth rose”. Life will frighten me, life will beat me down, lift me up and in the end of me, life will expire.  Again my soul will shift.

A Georgia Song, A Georgia Poet


SONG OF SENLIN (from “Senlin, A Biography“)

by: Conrad Aiken (1889-1973) Poet Laureate of/from Georgia

—————————————————————————

IT is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning

When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,

I arise, I face the sunrise,

And do the things my fathers learned to do.

Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops

Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,

And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet

Stand before a glass and tie my tie.

*

Vine leaves tap my window,

Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,

The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree

Repeating three clear tones.

*

It is morning. I stand by the mirror

And tie my tie once more.

While waves far off in a pale rose twilight

Crash on a white sand shore.

I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:

How small and white my face!–

The green earth tilts through a sphere of air

And bathes in a flame of space.

There are houses hanging above the stars

And stars hung under a sea. . .

And a sun far off in a shell of silence

Dapples my walls for me. . .

*

It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning

Should I not pause in the light to remember God?

Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable,

He is immense and lonely as a cloud.

I will dedicate this moment before my mirror

To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair.

Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!

I will think of you as I descend the stair.

*

Vine leaves tap my window,

The snail-track shines on the stones,

Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree

Repeating two clear tones.

*

It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence,

Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.

The walls are about me still as in the evening,

I am the same, and the same name still I keep.

The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion,

The stars pale silently in a coral sky.

In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,

Unconcerned, I tie my tie.

*

There are horses neighing on far-off hills

Tossing their long white manes,

And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,

Their shoulders black with rains. . .

*

It is morning. I stand by the mirror

And surprise my soul once more;

The blue air rushes above my ceiling,

There are suns beneath my floor. . .

*

. . . It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness

And depart on the winds of space for I know not where,

My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,

And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.

There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,

And a god among the stars; and I will go

Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak

And humming a tune I know. . .

*

Vine-leaves tap at the window,

Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,

The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree

Repeating three clear tones.

*   *   *