Discussion Topic |
|
This thread has been locked |
Gunks Guy
Trad climber
Rhinebeck, NY
|
|
|
Oct 22, 2009 - 10:30pm PT
|
DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
 Dylan Thomas
|
|
MisterE
Trad climber
Canoga Bark! CA
|
|
|
Oct 30, 2009 - 01:36am PT
|
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe."
|
|
Patrick Oliver
Boulder climber
Fruita, Colorado
|
|
|
Oct 30, 2009 - 01:41am PT
|
This is something I could spend hours on. I have a notebook
full of poems I have copied, which are my favorites from my
list of favorite poets. But I can't do it right now, too much
pain... at some point hope to return here.
|
|
WandaFuca
Social climber
From the gettin place
|
|
Wilderness
by Carl Sandburg
THERE is a wolf in me … fangs pointed for tearing gashes … a red tongue for raw meat … and the hot lapping of
blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fox in me … a silver-gray fox … I sniff and guess … I pick things out of the wind and air … I
nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers … I circle and loop and double-cross.
There is a hog in me … a snout and a belly … a machinery for eating and grunting … a machinery for sleeping
satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.
There is a fish in me … I know I came from saltblue water-gates … I scurried with shoals of herring … I blew
waterspouts with porpoises … before land was … before the water went down … before Noah … before the
first chapter of Genesis.
There is a baboon in me … clambering-clawed … dog-faced … yawping a galoot’s hunger … hairy under
the armpits … here are the hawk-eyed hankering men … here are the blond and blue-eyed women … here they hide
curled asleep waiting … ready to snarl and kill … ready to sing and give milk … waiting—I keep the
baboon because the wilderness says so.
There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird … and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among
the Sierra crags of what I want … and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in
the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and
the mockingbird from the wilderness.
O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something
else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is
going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the
world: I came from the wilderness.
|
|
|
SuperTopo on the Web
|
Let us know!