Thursday, August 31, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/31/17

Open To Interpretation
How Long?
"How long will this take?"
Asked Petra.
Said Nemo.
Nemo hung his head down, and looked glum,
As did Ishmael and Dana
Who had already been told,
As well as the crews.
They all knew, 
An impasse could come to pass.
Petra tapped her foot, said,
"How long awhile?"
"The Pentagons will have their say
In five at bats.".
Explained Nemo.
"The Hexagons have six,
So their home advantage,
Unless there is in the judges' eyes
A tie."
"And what then?" asked Petra.
"Then, it could go on forever."
Said Nemo.
"And who is to judge?"
Asked Petra.
"You are."
Said Nemo, looking at the sky.
"And with all our counsel to help you!"
Ishmael and Dana were quick to add.
"Aye, all of us!" said the crews.
"Hmmph," said Petra,
"Truer than true I am,
And my own judgement dread."
"Not to be dismayed..."
Said Nemo,
"We've brought William along
With his dancing harpoon,
His players as well to carry his tunes."
Nemo gathered himself,
And came to the matter:
"It's a poetry contest on a poets' world,
As tedious as some,
More extensive than most. 
Our five sided wights are sure to win,
Send the Hexagons into snowy fury."
"Best you all do,
Or we're a snowball forever."
Said Petra.
The Black Dragons listened,
And we're eager to be on,
Such their fascination for humankind's warblings."


Notes:...I reached a point where I can give the sonnets a pause, I think...there's over fifty now, and I can make the chap book of them at Creative Space...and pick up again with the Black Deck Tales...those too I need to get into chap books...I think I have four now on the road to twelve, or twenty four!...the sonnets are one of the BDT books...hard to describe what I'm about!...hopefully, as things progress things will be self evident...anyway...the furnace fan came on again...just the fan...pop had the neighbor do something to make it come on in hot weather...and I cant figure out how to shut it off...air circulating is stuffy...bit of a mystery why it came on just's been hot since first of July...and I just disconnected the wiring like I did last summer...thought to look up new furnaces...eight thousand to install combo in California...I dunno...looks as simple to me as a water heater...been there done those a's hot...



Wednesday, August 30, 2017

OTI:three poems and notes:8/30/17

Open To Interpretation


You do not propose to unreel backwards,
Help me find where was my moment remiss.
There's no hesitation in your forwards
Or my descent into your dark abyss.

I was there and I was here, here and there,
Scrambling to find a log or a stone
To stop you from rolling to unaware.
Did you note you smashed my foot,
crushing bone?

That's where I lost my place, couldn't keep up.
What juggernaut notes any wounded voice,
Or even conceptualize breakup?
It wasn't I wasn't here, there--a choice.

It is that you are my
My limping pursuit so improbable.
Weather Channel

The thing about our dream fatalities,
And Hollywood's eternal dark slaughter,
We bounce right back to these realities;
Wild flowers from whence was once terror.

It isn't by gravesides we stand all day;
There are wakes to intake, food, cold sodas,
Storied reliving with memories' play,
Songs sung around to D.C. al codas.

Monday we return to our workaday.
Redwoods in forests endure forever.
Heavenly light shafts dapple the pathway
Meandering fallen giants' slumber.

You see this crap? You've got that 'bout right.
Day or night I won't leave your restless site.
8th Floor

Forget?  A show of hands who remembered.
Seeing no hands.  I suppose you're infirm.
Deaf?  A show of hands who has ears membered.
Seeing no hands.  "Like babes" you all affirm.

What balanced judgment can be even made
By orangoutangs happily a tilt
Running about in the deep forest's shade,
Swinging into tree tops to their song's lilt?

My books underarm, I leave through the door,
Sad to see the morning end over town,
The coastal overcast today no more.
View taken--to the elevator down.

Oh, some reasoned sense is my incursion
To somehow stem your wild excursion.


Notes:...(update: changed 'pace' to 'place') ...brb with notes...things momentarily to do...bk...last night I rolled over to The Gypsy Den...poetry slam contest night...sat at the bar and listened...snacked on half a turkey sandwich and tomato basil soup, and my one beer...twenty five dollars with tip...tonight, rolled over to The Ugly Mug...featured readers were a duet...and listened to the preliminary open readers, but didn't stay for the afterwards of the featured readers ones...too sleepy...three dollar entry and one orange crush soda...I can't recommend poetry readings...they're dull...participants persuade themselves's a bit like being in church and hearing uncensored witness confessionals...really uncensored...Kermit the Frog, Linus and Charlie Brown, some poor fellows seventy two year old genitals at the hands of his wife, etc. all took a hit...I don't know when confessional poetry got its start...brb...


Confessional poetry or "Confessionalism" is a style of poetry that emerged in the United States during the 1950s. It has been described as poetry "of the personal", focusing on extreme moments of individual experience, the psyche, and personal trauma, including previously and occasionally still taboo matters such as mental illness, sexuality, and suicide, often set in relation to broader social themes.[1] It is sometimes also classified as Postmodernism.


...and I don't know when it will button it up and end...hopefully soon...



Monday, August 28, 2017

OTI:one poem:8/28/17

 Open To Interpretation

A hound on the warm night wooden portal,
Too old now to run with my joyous pack
Across the field to the orchard apple
That mama bear is determined to snack.

It isn't is it that my each request
Sent you into preferential refrain
To consider reconsider your quest?
My brows try to lift my eye bags--lids fain.

Eyes eye, ears ear, old dog's nose nose, so, so,
I was one of many beneath your tree
That wouldn't for a moment leave off, go
Away back to their nibbling a flea.

Oh, you gnawed on my ears it's certain too,
And I was just stubborn unmoved as you.




Sunday, August 27, 2017

OTI:three poems:8/27/17

Open To Interpretation

You think I'm only an obligation,
Someone who comes by for their appointment,
And you give me distracted attention,
Maintaining professional deportment.

"What the fuck, this sucks!" I tell you straight out.
"One thing led to two things and here we are,
Time for no time you take to hear my shout."
"Pain," you say, "won't soothe with a small coin jar."

You successfully passed their resumes,
Coached them in scripted proper behaviors,
Uniformed them for any come-what-mays,
Sent them out confident to be saviors.

What the hell, I walk out and meet the dark,
But I'll be back, such our one on one arc.
Major Coachman

Oh, my four-in-hand coach left in the house,
The prancing black ponies shy from my toon,
Skittish each of again being a mouse
Towing a pumpkin beneath an orange moon.

'Boat on dry land, fish out of water',
I mutter profanities, they gallop away;
Magic can take and magic can falter;
'I'm wheels that don't roll, seats that don't sway.'

The clock didn't strike me, what could be done?
Why for the ponies Time didn't reach far?
Always I am the unfortunate one
While they dance beneath a lucky star.

Did her dainty foot step up onto me?
'Bareback she saddles, prancing they winnie.'

Pillows are soft while I rest in my berth.
Sometimes I see them face up to the sun,
Or face down to the cement sheeted earth,
Or curled up crippled disabled to run.

The ocean rocks and sways my sweet dreams.
There inside the road roar, oblivious
Passerby's eyes forward in the bus seams,
Paused when one climbs aboard delirious.

My eyes open to where familiar I am.
There among strangers a stranger dozes,
Missing the stops of their transiting tram,
And booted back to their bed of roses.

I can walk ashore and can feel sea.
They feel sea and littered to the shore.



Saturday, August 26, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/26/17

Open To Interpretation

I'm a dog by your door, some say your slave
Sold away, your indifference entombed.
Where last your scent, before your architrave,
I there in hope wait you will be exhumed.

I inside sense your skeletal remains.
When the pale Moon clothes them in memories
My wailing howls across town entrains
Wildlings to barking their sympathies.

Poe knows the words that can un-enchant me.
Dumb beast that I am I have only one,
To bewail at the stars, 'Destiny'.
This silent town sleeps on disturbed by none.

Above and below this shadowed city
Only the dead take note of loyalty.
Notes: over time now the sonnets are getting technically easier to manage...sometime a complete line just pops I've acquired a sense of an iambic pentameter line...and there getting harder to stay's easy enough to grab conceits from everywhere and some news reporter's assignments...I have enough of my own annoyances to report for awhile...'Destiny' began with 'like a dog on your grave', a Homeric simile refraining awhile...that's where most of these come from, refrains I've had for years!...I was just going to add this one to the other two posted tonight, thought being to do them in groups of threes...just doing one has been taking all day, but now I can do three, and wonder if I can do more per day...would like to have enough to make a Russian novel chap book!...and I find being hackneyed in an archaic form is fine!

OTI:two poems:8/26/17

Open To Interpretation

What's Next?

Tell me, Destiny, what's next?  A minute...
Oh, I can guess...whatever was behind.
Foolish to think, my blue sky intuit,
That to now you could permanently bind.

What's to be said after auguries read?
Nothing's doom so certain nothing's to do?
Whatever fortune I gathered instead
I'd gladly trade away to be with you.

It's not much, I know, another promise
Unpredictable I foretell each day.
What do I see? My aim will surely miss.
Cupid, my glancing eyes need  your 'still, stay'.

Beneath her Sycamore Tree I'll remain
Until your time to time comes 'round again.

Time was verses were a fellow's parrot.
'Do you like poems?' he'd flirting
'I have here one of eternal merit
With rhyme and meter for your heart's transpose.'

The room would be filled with such popinjays
Making a raucous ruckus, your ear near,
Shoulder perched chattering bantering lays
Undeterred by your stubborn persevere.

'Have you seen colorful beaked rogues nibble
The branches of the undersea corals
Swaying to the currents surging fiddle
Of their extended parasol florals?'

'Oh, you've heard my flowery verse before?
Arrrrg, it's a pirate's parrot's life for sure.'




Friday, August 25, 2017

OTI:three poems:8/25/17

Open To Interpretation

LA Town

Oh, come ride my thigh, happy Santa's elf;
Flee awhile his toy shop assemblies,
Your workday everyday pinned down self
In California like miseries:

Banished seasons with one long winter pall:
A buzzing light tube's ballast never off
Shinning cool white flickering over all;
Caught the riotous colors turned to scoff:

There's no snow in LA Town any day
To freeze and rounded mold the card freeways,
Keep everyone home on a holiday
And away from his cement marching grays.

Oh, he no doubt has a list, and requests.
Yours, I hear.  Xmas gifts are for Augusts.

Oh, am I a synonym's synonym,
Or another meaning all together?
Many senses you've slain as one to them,
Now you're a deadly investigator.

Don't weigh a wit more, not a single quip,
And crush my stance by some laden insight;
Fate me a Matador torn by a rip,
Doomed for night and day from noon to midnight.

Needless to say you enchant my amour,
But pointless my own foolish flattering
You heard endless from those witless before--
See? You listen, fond of my love fawning.

Have you a thought I too a detective?
Entertained like you I so selective?

Oh this day to day isn't soon away
Unless my poor state earthquake crack in half,
The ocean drown these imposition's lay,
Dissolved at last to make the fishes' gaffe.

Stubborn I am as my state's hazy air
Taxed on demand resistant collection
That can make you sigh, 'This all so unfair!'
And make you seek masked inebriation.

What else did you think to come up against
When your toes joined the sand crab's swirled foam,
Your torso bewildered by waves unfenced
Rolling always restless though the sea's loam?

My lines are as stable as a stampede
Wave jumping airborne dolphins smiling read.


Thursday, August 24, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/23/17

Open To Interpretation

Noted my absence from your many lands
As was I a shadow of a shadow:
Gathered wind vane terns rest on the shore sands;
Flown away over a rolling wave's row.

Did I set down the poisoned jeweled cup,
Or without music to gather my steps
Reasonably refrain from climbing up
Their Jacob's Ladder to this heaven's debts?

Beyond that fence were Babylon's forked tongues
And my kin and I knew but only one
And over top back down those fearful rungs
Reached an interrogated finished run.

Chained, new clothed, shy, demur foreign sisters,
Hand in hand, questioned, translate my old fears.


Notes: rolled over to the Ugly Mug for the Wednesday Open Mic 8pm...banner out front says just that...bit early, and browsed the restaurants, all doing good business...old Town Orange much different than Old Town Garden Grove...well, it's bigger for one thing...another is nearby Chapman College and upscale neighborhoods...found a Mexican food place much like the one near the echoplex...forget what boulevard nearby...sunset?...and finally satisfied my chile relano thing...and enough to take home for tomorrow...the venue is just messed up from the seating, along with the low ceiling in an old one room are comfortable seats, even a couch, and the regulars glom on to them...every bar has regulars!...and newbs get to sit in the folding chairs in a connecting room...whole thing like a fat L...upside down...and reversed...the stage at the L's elbow...featured read was a sort of duet doing sardonic horoscopes...sort of like: Ares: doomed to listen to sardonic horoscopes...reminded me of my log line post...anyway, the gathered were appreciative and smiled and laughed...and I was wasn't that I wasn't amused, it was I wasn't that amused...the fellow has a blog where he does's the performance announcement....let me see if I can find the blog...brb...well, for a venue that wants to market...banner, 3 dollar admission, hat passed for featured performer doesn't have a web marketable page!...last time, the featured performer, a guitarist/singer, passed out business cards...the two performers likely have things on the searches turned up nil...hmmph...a project to sort out how poetry venues manage themselves...they need to defend themselves, as some readers are so over the top with profanities, that the venue providers turn the readings off...bad for business...they can also be co-opted by trolls, just like sites on the fact, readings were a precursor of what is now called 'social media', and had all the self same dilemmas...along with going tone deaf to the point I cant fathom live Shakespeare,  my sense of humor seems to be on a different plain!...I'll have to look about for local comedy clubs...I left after the featured readers...too sleepy to stay for the open mic readings...



Monday, August 21, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/21/17

Open To Interpretation
Dark Corridors

Oh, descend with me these dark corridors
With our popcorns and sodas prepared to see
While we are nestled down behind closed doors
Like sloping stones of some pyramid tree.

Assembled complete we're all in one place
For a magic lantern discovery!
Our minds' illuminations trace in space
What has only been imaginary.

Oh, these pyramid trees around the world
Would be the envy of a Pharaoh Queen.
No such wonder for her then unfurled
From painted stone tombs' walls candle lit sheen.

This a commoner's grave we finely all fit
On rows of tree branches where we all sit.


Notes:...change: 'sheen' to 'screen'...both okay, but can only use one!....and back to 'sheen'...ral......when I go to youtube, I'm regaled with a menu of clips that their algorithm has determined I might like from my past visits...facebook does this too...and it's annoying, as more often than not, I was just looking something up...but they place in front of me things that now and then I do clic on, and so I just encourage the algorithm, and before you know it, all I see is ancient mystery pyramid stuff in my youtube casual browse...and now if I encourage someone to look at a site I found interesting, before you know it, their algorithm begins dovetailing with the one pestering me...and they'll be looking at endless cat clips...along with everyone!...anyway, today there was up a clip about an unfinished pyramid south of the ones at Giza, that is more than just a mystery, it's covered up with trash from the military base that surrounds it...watching this tale, I thought, wait!, I just saw a clip about just such an unfinished pyramid...indeed I had!...the one used now for trash is south of the Pyramids of  Giza, link, and the other one, too in a military zone, is north, would like to see them both examined with the same attention as the Great Pyramid...someday maybe...all that's pretty much left of them is two deep trenches that went down to what is thought to be the burial chambers deep under the pyramids...this in contrast to the Great Pyramid where the chambers are in the the bottom of the southern one's trench, now covered up, and only shown in one very early photograph, is what is said to be an oval sort of sarcophagus bored into a massive granite flooring stone, with its oval lid resting beside it...and on the lid are those knobs like one sees on the Inca monolithic stone walls...the photo just looks very different from most Egyptian things...a curio!...anyway, those deep trenches set off 'dark corridors' and down I went!...Update: have a look at this youtube clip! has more of those knobs...some from India...heck, I lost link...sometime a copy/past doesn't clear when I make a new one...and I just make a repeat link...I'm looking for it...check was really good clip by an engineer...two actually...ral...updateupdate...I can't find the one I first the thumbnail was like a plowed field, which was actually I think a quarry...anyway, I found another!...knobs galore!!!...and that was the search: knobs ancient stones...


Sunday, August 20, 2017

OTI:one poem:8/20/17

Open To Interpretation
Follow Your Rhymes
Sometimes sense on the run chasing us all
Chatting furry tailed fat grey squirrels
Rollicking around around before Fall
Sends us underground from Winter's snow whirls.

It should come as no surprise that we are
What we are perched atop our bones and skulls.
Fishermen pull strange fish from the sea tar,
All the same to the pier posts' waiting gulls.

What to do to distinguish me from them
But to bring you flowers with their sweet scents
I gathered from meadows the pikas hem
And bring down swift hawks to their burrowed tents.

I'll not make fun in the roil with you,
Or doubt the sense of is and isn't true.

Saturday, August 19, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/19/17

Open To Interpretation


I have a harem of lovely cashiers,
Possibly as many as too many,
And when our vast fast food heaven time nears,
Shyly as first loves we get all smiley

Exchanging over counters our delights
With ritual responsibility.
Done, we move on with our goodbyes' last sights--
To each our now owned possibility.

But wait!  Through the hot dog stand driving through
I overhear your name while turned away
And along with that wide smile from you
I now return to someone known each day.

Oh, in these random hell or heaven queues,
In some lines I find providential ewes.


Notes:...update: changed 'ewes' to 'clues'...and thought of "Oh, I, in these random hell heaven queues, In some lines find providential ewes' clues."...and providential had been preferential...and, updateupdate, changed clues back to ewes....hmmph...sometimes 'sense' is on the run!...MidnightMovies...rolled over to see..brb...movieLoganLucky2017 with British actor Daniel Craig a bit out of movie...I just saw Daniel in...brb...tvseriesArchangel2005 on amazon or amazon's hbo...he can carry a movie, kind of like a point guard can carry a basketball he was out of place in Logan...Archangel is a cautionary tale fit for today's news...and oddly I just saw a story that statues of Stalin are going up in Russia, and some Russian patriots are threatening the European nations now free of soviet rule to not take down statues commemorating Russian wonders what dwells under the guise of patriotism world wide...the scenes of Russia in Archangel are very cool...brb...and it was filmed in Russia......'Harem'...sometimes I just go where the rhymes take me!....oh, after seeing Logan Lucky, thought to go to old town GG for Mexican food dinner...should have, but diverted to the outdoor theater thereabout for SOC's production of Shakespeare's Henry IV Part 1...brb...yes, that was it...I left at intermission...bit cold, and I, being a bit deaf I guess, couldn't follow...I want to say Shakespeare writes poetry and the actors had no idea how to deliver poetry...but what do I know...but it was a semi pro performance...and with a lot of high school kids in supporting, a good thing...and they have no budget for stage or costumes...I'll study out Henry IV, which I tried to do in school, and that a long while back!...and go see it all the way through...



Friday, August 18, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/18/17

Open To Interpretation

Bucket Of Coins

So, which way tonight from here to far there
With orange five gallon buckets full of coins
For snacks, and the White Truck's gasoline share?
You'll be lucky to gird that old truck's loins.

Maya, my pet, you'll sleep easy in back,
Us rumbling to morning at the North Coast;
We'll stretch our legs bounding over sea wrack.
Hmmph, in tow returning; that engine toast.

And with luck our chariot will make it
Just in time to see the Moon's overcome
The Sun's, or at least clouded day night lit.
To the eyes, newscasts' drab less bothersome.

Go! Back and forth between eighteen wheelers!
Or stay. Panning for coins is for seers.

Notes:...last night I had to un-stack the storage boxes in the garage to get to the five gallon buckets of coins...two....that I had saved from the Valley...from tips and loose change...I'd empty my pockets and toss the coins in the buckets and they just sort of accumulated over almost ten years!...and they've been an annoyance to haul around...too heavy to hardly I've just left them out of the way...and it was too daunting a thing to separate them, roll them, take them to a bank...or take them to the supermarket and use the coin machine...they charge like over ten percent! they've been sitting, and casting about where to get gas money for a trip to see the eclipse and maps says it is a fourteen hour drive one way to Salem, Oregon...I thought to just put the buckets in the back of the pick up truck, along with Maya my dog, and be on our way!...but thinking it through, the price of gas being what it is, it would be awkward to count out forty or fifty dollars in loose coins at each gas station stop...then again, I thought, and 'panned' out one hundred and twenty dollars last night from a portion of one bucket tossed into the wheelbarrow...wearing my headlamp, it was an odd pursuit on the front porch step after dark...left off...just left the buckets out front...not likely anyone would bother them...and today this afternoon, when the front of the house becomes shady, I rolled the wheelbarrow back in place, pulled up a folding chair, and began panning just struck me that I was like panning for gold...and it was a contemplation of Lincoln, Roosevelt, Jefferson, and Washington, with the news story worry beads my thoughts's a perspective we don't have, to touch each penny, each nickel, each dime, each quarter...and my roommates took an interest, one offered coin wraps, and the other just sat right down and helped no no, I said...I didn't want them taking time away from their own time...but H. insisted, and she tells me the story that her husband had a newspaper rack job in Vietnam for awhile, and she counted and separated coins with him all the time...go figure!...her help had it all done in no time...coins separated into paper bags...and waiting to be wrapped......the last line of 'Buckets' could be 'looking for stars is for astronomers'...likely too elliptical a reach to suggest stars and planets and moons are like coins, but what the heck, I'll just make the link here!...anyway, I'll set aside the windfall coin treasure, and in the Fall roll up to the North Coast in leisurely fashion!...I've had this little one day a week job for fifty dollars for the last nine months, and it will end end of August...and after Labor Day the crowds will be good time for a rollabout......oh, I'm sorta inventing my own Sonnet form fooling around as I have been...same as Shakespeare's, three quatrains, with envoy, abab, cdcd, efef, gg...iambic pentameter, sorta...the wrinkle I've added, is the first three lines of each quatrain are one view of a back and forth, then the fourth line of each, is response...and the envoy is 'forth'...and 'back'...'Buckets' and last post's 'Lesson' show this real distinctive as the 'forths' are in italics!, back back back, and forth, three times...then forth and back...ral!...



Wednesday, August 16, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/16/17

Open To Interpretation


It's true enough, I patronize, you say,
And frankly tell me my bookish lectures
Before you seated make you want away.
What else would you expect from your fixtures?

I'm 'dull and boring' I'm left with holding,
Looking out over a long empty room,
Not accepting, this so undeserving.
You're a dolt with a tilt, a pan with broom.

You reach for me like some wounded lost thing
That you startled back into its burrow
Awaiting doom from your swift sharp sting.
Yes, you made concern her forehead furrow.

Fug head, you lost and haven't seen her since.
Not so, I see her again with each wince.


Notes:I...I dunno about that one...almost like a post up note on the refrigerator not to forget milk...and one shouldn't forget Alfred Lord Tennyson...I did...and confused him with Lord Byron, which I've always skipped over...and looking up Alfred I expected to see Byron, and no, Alfred wrote the Charge of the Light Brigade, which I memorized in grammar school, and where I likely acquired my knack for onomatopoeia, alliteration, and assonance, and all, along with Edgar Allen Poe!...some poets leave their 'voice' in your head...have thought to make a horror story about that!...the Poetry Foundation's take has a really glowing biography, and after going through it, wondering why Tennyson isn't mentioned much, re- read the Light Brigade, and some of the shorter poems, like Break Break Break, and one that looks to be needed to read by someone with a lisp...maybe that was deliberate!, and concluded Tennyson is forgotten because he's forgettable, like all the contest poets that write poems on some theme the contest directors propose...Tennyson did that when in college, and won, which kind of set him on his way...and it was a long and circuitous way...but he figuratively kept winning contests, and became very successful...he earned his I delved a bit deeper, and read some of the Idylls of the King, and came to the thought that Tennyson shouldn't be forgotten!...I know my Black Deck Tales need some kind of ornamentation, and the Idylls is a marvel of ornamentation!...I find myself reading it, and thinking, 'oh, there's this and that I have, but not that and this, oh, I'll borrow!'...brb...


Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood
Had made mock-knight of Arthur's Table Round,
At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods,
Danced like a wither'd leaf before the hall.
And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand,
And from the crown thereof a carcanet
Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize
Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday,
Came Tristram, saying, "Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?"


there's much to read in Tennyson...a report when I come up for air!




Tuesday, August 15, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/15/17

Open To Interpretation
Oh, to be as an antique sonneteer,
I mean distant far away Time behind
When men chased with stone tipped arrows and spear,
And only composed courting songs in their mind.

Not to discount the marvel of etching,
To send along in words not to forget
That read far away upon receiving
All Cupid's sweet missives without regret.

But to be close enough for a whisper
And from those unknown mysterious dells
Mnemosyne on Pegasus transfer
Our most delirious magical spells...

Now we transcribe to a distant mirror
Forgetful once fearless we made love near.


Notes: hmmph...I was just going over some medical commentary on hearing...nowadays one can crowd source any condition on the web...the 'mirror'...clearly we are all in better condition then when we were cave dwellers...or any rate, the thought came that that is how we now get our primary medical advise, by reading/hearing it off the web...we're a far cry from the days I saw the last of...the home visit by a doctor with his big traveling bag...intimacy of any sort has become a nose in a book, or lcd screen...I've thought maybe I'm going a bit tone deaf to notes in conversation...I find myself saying 'huh?' a lot, 'can you repeat that?'...I still pass hearing tests with flying's more like when someone is talking it is just too fast, like when learning a foreign language...and this I think because everyday folk don't pace and articulate their speaking like movie/media stars...this is really notable at poetry readings...I comprehend like maybe twenty percent of what I'm hearing...which isn't poems are fashioned in a way that make for multiple readings/hearings to comprehend...all through the rock and roll era I was more taken by the tunes than the lyrics...I couldn't make heads or tales of many of the lyrics...still the case, but now with the youtube songs with lyrics clips, I can understand, even rap!...well, off to OCPC reading to muse on this...a report when I return!, check back...update: rolled over to the Gypsy Den and read out Sonneteer and White Elephant...nibbled on some kind of stir fried vegies, and sipped one corona beer...and understood maybe ten percent of the words of the other readers!...but everyone was a tune, and those I hear 100 percent!



Monday, August 14, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/14/17

Open To Interpretation
White Elephant

What will be...Will you be a Hindu next?
What was...Or were you a Hindu before?
What is...Maybe you have nothing for text.
What can be...I am nothing wanting more.

I must find something in common for us!
No one says it is likely we can be.
I'll try being outspoken garrulous,
"Do you want to be a Hindu with me?"

"We can reincarnate right now and here;
I can be your flying white elephant,
You fast asleep on this dream boat bier--"
So would have my evangelical cant.

Is it too much to ask of tomorrow
To offer only what I can borrow?

DolphinWords dog's name, Maya, came up in conversation...Maya is named after one of the dogs in movieEightBelowZero2006...and too, for Maya, the dream notion from some eastern religion...have never been sure...notion is 'life is but a dream', 'we are the stuff dreams are made upon', 'am I dreaming I'm seeing a butterfly, or is the butterfly dreaming of seeing me'...I think I have that wrong...brb...


Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.


about, so, I searched 'Maya dream' and re-acquainted myself with Maya, the Hindu goddess...brb...


Who is depicted here? This relief scene from around 100 to 300 CE depicts the dream of Maya, the mother of the historical Buddha. Queen Maya is asleep in her palace under a full moon. An attendant stands guard outside. In her dream, a white elephant enters her side. This is a miraculous conception that results in the birth of the future Buddha.


hmmph...just caught myself...I conflated Buddhism with Hinduism with regard to Maya and the White Elephant...which is actually kind of cool!...anyway, I was curious if the term 'white elephant' came from this iconography...and it may have...a 'white elephant' is a gift given to someone in spite...the spite being that the gift's upkeep is beyond the resources of the recipient...and they're stuck with the expense...the term has drifted to mean any kind of bric a brac hanging around the house gathering dust...hence, white elephant sales where folk exchange their white elephants!...don't know but I have a house gathering dust, with the upkeep driving me to distraction! India, someone would literally give someone a white elephant, held sacred, and so requiring the devotion and up keep sacred things require...with Maya my dog, I may be off to see the eclipse...her rough house play with me is still problematic, but of late I've been giving her baths, and while once I have her all soaped up she's okay, when I first try to wet her down with the garden house hooked to the kitchen faucet, and so warm water, she goes nuts, and tries desperately to get away...I have her cornered in a little pen I've made next to the back porch between the porch, the house wall, and fence...these three side I can enclose with a little gate Hi helped me took me awhile to think of making this little pen...simple enough now that I see it, but I was really stuck how to give Maya baths, being how she's so strong, and rambunctious, and smart...she catches on right away, and if she doesn't want to do something, like getting in the jeep, she wont...and I'm after a few baths now, she's wise to what I'm about, and on seeing the garden hose in place, water flowing, she gives distance, and stubbornly wont come anywhere near the pen--she holds up inside the porch!...try as I might, baloney and hot dogs wont even lure her out...though after a long while, she caves to this...but noting her avoidance of the hose, a wonder came...and I bought a couple of those little water spray bottles for indoor now, when she begins to roughhouse, I have the spray bottle handy...and hardly a squirt is necessary, as after a few she's caught on, and coupled with saying 'No' maybe it will imprint, and she'll leave off all that fuss...I've heard of using like a commercial pepper spray for this trick, but the water works fine...just the thought of being squirted looks to be becoming a deterrent when I point the, so...maybe I can manage a long trip with just Maya and me!...and another idea came...I thought up to leave her at a boarding kennel...looked about for these, and most of them offer training too...I've been reluctant to hire a trainer, because of the expense, and I've never understood how paying a trainer to come to my house, or work one on one with Maya at like PetsMart, would accomplish anything I couldn't do is very labor/time intensive, and most I could see a trainer doing in an hour or so now and then would be demonstrating...anyway, thought is to board Maya for a few days in the Fall, and go to Tuolumme for a backpack excursion...I miss much!




Sunday, August 13, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/13/17

Open To Interpretation

Spaced Stationed

They'll shrink your precious little gonads,
And your invaluable ovaries,
Those star sent radiation nomads
That blast away your dearest progenies.

Lost, your bones' calcium disposition;
They'll be much softer and it much harder
To want taking the upright position
Once down, heroic, just to fall over.

One would think the stars are just over there,
And they are when your skin feels the sun's heat,
Your eyes avoid the sun's baleful stare,
Or at night, telescoped, find starry seat.

It's one more hurdle that makes love curdle,
How the      to      up there shelled like a turtle.


Notes: ...I've been meaning to see movieChildrenOfMen2006...and about to post up Spaced Stationed, thought to watch it, as I recalled its theme of infertility...and too thought to see again movieTheHandmaidsTale1990, which I recalled was themed that way...there aren't very many movies with this theme...brb...looked, and maybe this is the only one so specifically about such...such being the tale of a baby being born after eighteen years of no babies being born world wide...and in another dystopian future world, though presently there are pockets just as dystopian!...really a good flic, and it did get some academy nominations...another time for the Handmaid's Tale, which looks to be more of a movieDivergent tale...both these tales are categorized as science fiction tales, which the Handmaid's Tale author vehemently's not about 'alien squids' she insists...and points out everything she wrote was pegged to actual historical cultures, past and present...Robert Heinlein had a category, wiki's take notes, 'speculative fiction'...but neither tale is all noted, one can look about and see pockets of the plots really occurring, what about the problem of infertility in space? far the studies are hit and miss, but it does seem to be the case that radiation beyond the protecting magnetic belts around earth will make men and women infertile...along with zero, science fiction will likely patch this with artificial gravity and artificial radiation shields, along with all the other patches, like faster than light travel...but these are real deal barriers just when our imaginations have peopled the cosmos traveling about in space ships and such...hindsight would seem to suggest the first thing to discover in exploring the stars is how to have kids beyond earth...they're starting to get around to that!...meanwhile, an ominous rumor that sperm counts in males are declining around the to Washington Post article, end of July recent, and much the same in all the major media, and all filled with advertisement and difficult to get at...overpopulation has for years been a bugaboo...not for Nature, Nature over populates every which way, having learned the hazards of marginal existences the hard way...which is one of the curios! can Nature, thought to be mindless, out think us with our minds?'s like Nature has handed us the baton, and said, 'Here, if you're so smart, see how far you get with it!'...the end scenes in Children of Men are really touching, as they overlay the travails of Joseph, Mary, and baby Jesus, along with the millions of tales in war torn pockets...



Saturday, August 12, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/12/17

Open To Interpretation
Straight Up
So, un-invited, I should not imbibe?
Tell me, Destiny, your black deck intact,
Should I offer your name, the doormen bribe?
I have few sails left to display such tact.

Woebegone I look, my book under arm,
In this crowded room that your looks command.
My appearance you think my show's worst harm;
My pages of rhyme in lowly demand.

At my table in this book fair's fable,
I continue head down on some new bit,
While the commotions' motion wobble
Carries them past without a rhyme to fit.

Okay, I'll look straight up, my book in view,
For those herding by to see me with you.

Notes:...reading about Charles Tennyson--Turner, I felt some a poet he was overshadowed by his more famous brother, Alfred Tennyson, and Charles brought some of that on himself by writing sonnets almost exclusively!...and then just up and quitting for a stretch of years...brb...


Charles (Tennyson) Turner was the sonnettomaniac's sonnettomaniac, his huge output of sonnets—342 of them in the posthumous Collected Sonnets Old and New brought out by his nephew Hallam Tennyson (1880), all now gathered by F. B. and M. Pinion in The Collected Sonnets of Charles (Tennyson) Turner1


...that site is called Project Muse, and one must join by subscription...would like to read Charles' whole story...thinking on it made me imagine what it was like at gatherings with his brother...and that the seed for Straight Up, but after drafts it came out much different!...wish I could find his sonnets...look again...brb...oh, this site, link, opens to pdf on the computer...problematic on my iphone...probably need an app for phones...I don't understand has all his poems with extensive intro...I posted his sonnet about meteors two posts back...there were three Tennyson brother poets...brb...Frederick Tennyson...hmmph...most of these old time poets were in circles, and that's how garnering editors' attentions came about...likely it is still so...the intro to Charles' poems has a bit on how booksellers could make or break a book, and author, by simply having it on the shelves or not, displayed prominently or not...likely that is still so!...oh...MidnightMovies...watched another 'atomic blondish' series called Hunted...I think Laura Croft Tomb Raider brought these all on!...and rolled over to Regal this evening and saw movieTheDarkTower2017...this has to be from a comic book, though it has Stephan King's 'brand''s another dystopian Zombie Apocalypse tale, and King rolled out eight novels in this tale's series probably as fast as Gunslinger reloads his antique colt 45s...Matthew McConaughey as villain talks his victims down, a word or gesture  at a time...kinda like his car commercials! lounge chair neighbor was snoring, shoes off...content with having found a cool air conditioned place to nap, I suspect!...




Friday, August 11, 2017

OTI:one poem:8/11/17

Open To Interpretation


Here then a fortunate geography,
The sprawling shore line of my tiny Town
Fetches up against both Mountains and Sea--
Oh, Town's not tiny, I'm being a clown.

It can be said Town's a wondrous feat,
More than all the air and water and stone--
Oh here, follow my feckless fawn's conceit:
Town's much bigger than that other Dog's bone.

Here or there, one round Moon or distant Star,
Molten afire, cold as forgotten,
Are the same as nothing to my Town's Car
With us riding between Sea and Mountain.

Here we are beneath the tall pine tree's sway
Watching the wind blown sail boats on the bay.




Thursday, August 10, 2017

OTI:two poems and notes:8/10/17

Open To Interpretation

But if I were a fish, oh wait, I am,
That aside, where else would I go swimming
With you even though you are all for slam
ing into the sea an Osprey diving?

Now they know how Bears wander collar tracked
Waking up from their snowy winter sleep
Looking all over, as I might, love lacked,
Bedeviled by the Ravens laughing deep.

Where else, really, can we ever chance meet?
When I swim, you would fly, if I fly, then,
Likewise, so our ever opposite feat;
Our elements with no shared solution.

Oh, flying fish leap and come aboard when
A hungry Dolphin the bow wave within.

Black Screens
The Giants' airplanes criss crossed the blue sky,
The Giants' ships littered paths on the sea,
And while the Millennium passed by
Birds ground fell, fish surface floated, care free.

And on the continents from oxygen
Filled caves inhabitants visited the
Surface suit protected from their Toxin
To gardens of cactus pested by 'huh?'.

Who in the world did everyone follow,
Mindless of Nature's befores and afters?
Well, they seized their day, diseased tomorrow,
And looked back, alack, from among the stars.

And the painful thing, the good recorded,
The virtual for the black screens' gathered.


Notes: oh, my eyes weary, tomorrow I'll recount the syllables...spelling in Spanish is easier as each letter is articulated when spoken...English is a guess, spelling for the photographic memoried!...anyway, I found a web site that had a forum just for could post up, and there was encouragement to share comments, so long as they weren't 'ad hominem'...brb...'against rather than for' I guess...the site is inside a site that provides the forum format...before I'd found a similar site for clubs, namely author want a club, you want a forum?...use this easy template...or so it goes...but the advertising just kills such...and the posts at the sonnet forum were far between...wondering where just to find other 'sonneteers' the seed for Aboard...and at that site was a sonnet by Shelly, a fine rant, and that was the seed for Black Screens...I wont link the site...the adds made my iphone go nuts...but try it with the second thought, don't, it's a mess...brb...

"Missing the Meteors"
A hint of rain--a touch of lazy doubt--
Sent me to bedward on that prime of nights,
When the air met and burst the aerolites,
Making the men stare and the children shout:
Why did no beam from all that rout and rush
Of darting meteors, pierce my drowsed head?
Strike on the portals of my sleep? and flush
My spirit through mine eyelids, in the stead
Of that poor vapid dream? My soul was pained,
My very soul, to have slept while others woke,
While little children their delight outspoke,
And in their eyes' small chambers entertained
Far notions of the Kosmos! I mistook
The purpose of that night--it had not rained.

--Charles Tennyson-Turner
from Basic Sonnet Forms from from writers exchange board
author explains the volta, the turn from one idea to another contrasting one...apparently this is a rigid rule like rhyming and meter...then again...that meteor poem was in the mix for Black Screens...and Shelly's...brb...


England in 1819
By Percy Bysshe Shelley 
An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying King;
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn,—mud from a muddy spring;
Rulers who neither see nor feel nor know,
But leechlike to their fainting country cling
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow.
A people starved and stabbed in th' untilled field;
An army, whom liberticide and prey
Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield;
Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay;
Religion Christless, Godless—a book sealed;
A senate, Time’s worst statute, unrepealed—
Are graves from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.
a fine rant!...

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/8/17

Open To Interpretation
Oh pity the angel assigned to me
Taken away from cloud splashed blue heaven
To flutter about this strip mall laundry
Looking for somehow someone to leaven.

The clothes drying, so some things must be done,
After waiting some I leave still with you
Wondering what's next for our earthly fun.
Surely I gave you pause to continue.

Oh, Youth knows only Beauty's friendship,
Knights in battle dress have swords and shields,
And I have constantly my Town's kinship;
Do angels prefer Elysian fields?

How many sparrows have you sadly found,
Fallen, helpless to leave this leaden ground?


Note: as it happens recently, four...a little personal memorial to my failed cat wounded sparrows' rescues...and the while I've been meaning to study out the 'fall of a sparrow' Bible tale for reference, and find it a reference to reference a dialog piece by Shakespeare's Hamlet...first Hamlet...this spoken just before the last scene...brb...


If your mind dislike any thing, obey it: I will
forestall their repair hither, and say you are not
Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special
providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now,
'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be
now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the
readiness is all: since no man has aught of what he
leaves, what is't to leave betimes?


There must be a name for Hamlet's, and Shakespeare's circuitous thinking...brb...well, Hamlet with Horatio is like Jesus with his disciples...he speaks in do passages in the Bible...the fall of a sparrow is from Matthew 10:29...brb...


Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.


The sense of that is God cares for everyone, and Hamlet takes that and plays with it...myself, I am unschooled in Elizabethan obtuseness...but apparently the contemporary audience could follow right along...and it may well be I shy away from church as I can't follow that either!...and here I am attempting my own obtuse sonnets...hmmph...oh...what this is came out of:...Spenser linked his sonnet sequence to the Book of Common Prayer, and I was searching to see what Shakespeare knew of Spenser, and found a blogger that thinks Shakespeare is linking his sonnets to the Book of Psalms...there are like 150 Psalms, and Shakespeare has 154 sonnets in his sequence...that  link is probably a reach, but looking about, a lot of scholars have found things from Psalms picked up in the Sonnets...a curio...another curio is the Psalms themselves...reading wiki's take, I was impressed how they resemble a Book of Common Prayer that has come apart over a long time and tumultuous I looked at, Psalm 90, has about it the same progression in thinking as a Petrarchan's often times noted sonnets and Psalms are related...and the Psalms were set to music, some of the notation still extant, but no one is sure what notes are represented...that's been lost...a suspicion is the Psalms are like the Vedas...


The Rig Veda resembles a hymnal more than a Bible. If pressed to compare the Rig Veda to Christian scripture, it would most closely parallel the Psalms,


There's a bunch of sites that come to that, as too I came to sites comparing Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 with Spenser's Sonnet 75, as I did in yesterday's post...somewhere I imagine a Psalm that resembles those too...brb...


 the correspondences run through Sonnet 75, which falls on April 7, the Sunday after Easter.


and that would be April 7, 1594...brb...oh, I got diverted by a fellow named Southwell, who came to one of those hanged drawn and quartered ends seen in the movies about Queen Elizabeth...he was a Catholic Jesuit, something not to be at the time in England...and he wrote up some things that are said to have influenced Shakespeare...couldn't find much on that...but looking at Hamlet's bit, I can kind of hear Southwell's lament!...he really went through hell...



Monday, August 7, 2017

OTI:one poem and notes:8/7/17

Open To Interpretation
Sometimes I have this migratory thing:
From overhead the Geese's procession,
Honking as the silent sun is setting,
Their ritual bids; now out of fashion.

What I would learn on their long slow winged flight,
To leave the ordered earth towns far below,
Pilgrimage to beyond horizons' sight;
Just pick up and leave off the whole damn show.

Oh, Dolphins could be our destination,
To nest by the seashore and watch their leaps
Beneath the sun that's forsworn Night's mission,
And learn something of Dolphins' ocean deeps.

When they have taught the Dolphins our lingo,
Will that be our staid rituals' bingo?

Notes:  so, so, I'm try to make that sonnet fit some new study...and having got that far with it, rolled over to have spaghetti and salad and soda...on the way, the sports talk show hosts are going on about a little league, girls!, team, that took a team selfie after a victory, challenging the next team with one finger raised...problem is it was the middle fingers, so, so, administration removed them from the world series tournament...and the talks show hosts go on and on, determining this a lesson Social Media Generation 2.0 needs to learn...they are the second generation to grow up with the  new thing, the first can be forgiven such indiscretions...well, well, I thought, and found a table in the back at the pizza front were three elderly ladies and an older gentleman...and I have big ears...eaves dropping in restaurants, on public transportation, here!, kind of a hobby!...and their talk, their patter, reminded me of something...and I realized, oh crap, they're all college professors/administrators...I have been away from that for a long time!...and they were going on about lessons for kids transiting from high school to college...Europe's options, our options....the evenness of their perfectly grammatically sentences, and calm quiet voices intoning patronizing counsels...well, the sports talk hosts were at least funny...but it's the same...the same everywhere...and I thought, 'bingo', 'Ritual' is spot on...leave it be...and there's in study was some of Spenser's sonnets, he did like eighty of them in a series...there addressed to his girl, and while most sonnet sequences...(they're all addressed to someone someone is in love with!)...end in failure, misery, and such, Spenser's ends with a successful courtship and marriage...go figure!...and while smiling at this, I took note at wiki's take, that Spenser's sonnets are linked to The Book Of Common Prayer...I had never heard of such, though, without knowing, sitting in church I experienced it...the book gives counsel on how to go about each day, providing for each day a lesson, a parable, a psalm, something...and Spenser stemmed off from each day in the Book by writing a sonnet about each day, themed to the Book's lesson each day...a fine conceit, I thought...and I took note of the Book, as Spenser lived in the period of the reign of Queen Elizabeth that I have been watching in Midnight Movies...movieseriesQueenElizabethI and movieQueenElizabeth...after Queen Mary dies, she was catholic, Queen Elizabeth, her sister, protestant, takes the throne, and re instates the Book Of Common Prayer as the new 'clip art book' of the new Church Of England...for this the Pope seeks to assassinate Elizabeth, and the King of Spain mounts the Spanish important are the differences between the ritual of the Catholics and upstart Protestants...all the religions have 'Books of Common Prayer''s where all the rituals come from, for birth, marriage, death, and all...what to say, what to wear, how to behave...they're the 'clip art books' I've been going on about...the Book of Common Prayer is in wide use, hardly changed, to this day...a curio is that Shakespeare borrowed from it...what didn't he!?...and back then it was the 'elephant in the room'...its every detail was fought over, to the death if need be...I left the pizza place thinking 'at least I'm not bound up with those college rituals anymore'...I wasn't very good at them...but I must pause and consider, that hereabout in the blog I am about just such...the sonnet form is highly ritualistic, and lent itself to the ritualistic thinking...obsessions!...of the nobility in the renaissance...rituals are still ever present...sports, politics, school!...most are so ingrained we hardly notice them...handshakes, standing for the national anthem...slight one and you'll get noticed...ask Trump, ask Pasternack!...watched Game of Thrones last night, and read a Washington Post review this went through the show like my old literature professors...pointing out themes and character developments...there's a scene where the fire breathing dragon is laying waste to a supply train of wagons, horses, soldiers, and the dragon is just beyond everyone's scope...only in legends had such been dreamed of...but there it was making useless swords and spears, armor and arrows...and a comment to the review author points out that warfare in the tale, like in our history, had been fought on its own terms for thousands of years, and was ritualistic...brb...


This is an episode about recognizing that someone or something is far more lethal than you think, and trying to adjust your worldview accordingly.

... ... ...

from comments:

The show is based primarily on medieval tactics, and it could be that fighting in the manner you described would not be the most "honorable" or "glorious" way to win a battle, and that was a thing back then. They had different standards when it came to battle, and the whole idea of two sides lining up and facing off head-to-head only recently came to an end in the 20th century. For ten thousand years, that's how battles were fought. It seems foolish now, but back then, valor, glory and honor were important to the warrior class, though many certainly lacked those qualities in other areas of their lives.  

--Shane D. Pringle


They used to sing back and forth at one another...anyway, I'm seeing a ritual now in every bush...the Book of Common Prayer at wiki's take is referred to as a 'script'...don't know but Hollywood's scriptwriters, and wannabes, are about the self same thing Elizabeth's were, making yet another Book...


As novelist P. D. James observed, "We can recognize the Prayer Book’s cadences in the works of Isaac Walton and John Bunyan, in the majestic phrases of John Milton, Sir Thomas Browne and Edward Gibbon. We can see its echo in the works of such very different writers as Daniel Defoe, Thackeray, the Brontës, Coleridge, T. S. Eliot and even Dorothy L. Sayers." (James 2011, p. 48) James herself used phrases from the Book of Common Prayer and made them into bestselling titles – Devices and Desires and The Children of Men – while Alfonso Cuarón's 2006 film Children of Men placed the phrase onto cinema marquees worldwide.


According to Cuarón, the title of P. D. James' book (The Children of Men) is a Catholic allegory derived from a passage of scripture in the Bible.[28] (Psalm 90 (89):3 of the KJV: "Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men.")



Amoretti LXXV: One Day I Wrote her Name
By Edmund Spenser 
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away:
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.
"Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain assay,
A mortal thing so to immortalize;
For I myself shall like to this decay,
And eke my name be wiped out likewise."
"Not so," (quod I) "let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:
My verse your vertues rare shall eternize,
And in the heavens write your glorious name:
Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,
Our love shall live, and later life renew."

and Shakespeare's cover...


Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
By William Shakespeare 
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
   So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.