Edwin Muir, 'The Child Dying'

Sep. 26th, 2017 03:37 am
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Posted by duathir

The Child Dying

Unfriendly friendly universe,
I pack your stars into my purse,
And bid you, bid you so farewell.
That I can leave you, quite go out,
Go out, go out beyond all doubt,
My father says, is the miracle.

You are so great, and I so small:
I am nothing, you are all:
Being nothing, I can take this way.
Oh I need neither rise nor fall,
For when I do not move at all
I shall be out of all your day.

It's said some memory will remain
In the other place, grass in the rain,
Light on the land, sun on the sea,
A flitting grace, a phantom face,
But the world is out. There is no place
Where it and its ghost can ever be.

Father, father, I dread this air
Blown from the far side of despair,
The cold cold corner. What house, what hold,
What hand is there? I look and see
Nothing-filled eternity
And the great round world grows weak and old.

Hold my hand, oh hold it fast --
I am changing! -- until at last
My hand in yours no more will change,
Though yours change on. You here, I there,
So hand in hand, twin-leafed despair --
I did not know death was so strange.

by Edwin Muir
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Posted by bleodswean

I followed the narrow cliffside trail half way up the mountain
Above the deep river-canyon. There was a little cataract crossed the path,
flinging itself
Over tree roots and rocks, shaking the jeweled fern-fronds, bright bubbling
Pure from the mountain, but a bad smell came up. Wondering at it I clam-
bered down the steep stream
Some forty feet, and found in the midst of bush-oak and laurel,
Hung like a bird's nest on the precipice brink a small hidden clearing,
Grass and a shallow pool. But all about there were bones Iying in the grass,
clean bones and stinking bones,
Antlers and bones: I understood that the place was a refuge for wounded
deer; there are so many
Hurt ones escape the hunters and limp away to lie hidden; here they have
water for the awful thirst
And peace to die in; dense green laurel and grim cliff

Make sanctuary, and a sweet wind blows upward from the deep gorge.--I
wish my bones were with theirs.
But that's a foolish thing to confess, and a little cowardly. We know that life
Is on the whole quite equally good and bad, mostly gray neutral, and can
be endured
To the dim end, no matter what magic of grass, water and precipice, and
pain of wounds,
Makes death look dear. We have been given life and have used it--not a
great gift perhaps--but in honesty
Should use it all. Mine's empty since my love died--Empty? The flame-
haired grandchild with great blue eyes
That look like hers?--What can I do for the child? I gaze at her and wonder
what sort of man
In the fall of the world . . . I am growing old, that is the trouble. My chil-
dren and little grandchildren
Will find their way, and why should I wait ten years yet, having lived sixty-
seven, ten years more or less,
Before I crawl out on a ledge of rock and die snapping, like a wolf
Who has lost his mate?--I am bound by my own thirty-year-old decision:
who drinks the wine
Should take the dregs; even in the bitter lees and sediment
New discovery may lie. The deer in that beautiful place lay down their
bones: I must wear mine.


Sep. 25th, 2017 04:44 pm
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Posted by Tom "The Kittenmaster" Cooper

Please join me in remembrance for our Star Kit for today, Cleo. She was 16 years old from California.


Miss Cleo died a few weeks ago. She was 16 and lived a long, full, loving life. She was the sweetest and most protective cat I’ve ever had. Such a sweetie pie. Very independent and yet very loving. One for the cuddles if she trusted you (and if she was tired :)). I remember when I was a kid that my brother and I would go on walks and she’d follow us to make sure we were OK and safe. Cleo was an indoor cat for a little while because we (my mom, my brother, and I) were afraid she’d get hit by a car. She managed to push out window screens in order to get out to the free world. She was a character. <3. She loved us all so much, especially my mom. She knew who took care of her. We all did, but my mom was special because she was a mama to the kitty mama of the house. Cleo always came running when she heard the sound of our car pulling up to the house. She had a little bell on her collar so we could always hear her coming. I loved and still love her.

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Posted by duathir

To a Child Dancing in the Wind

Has no one said those daring
Kind eyes should be more learned?
I have found out how despairing
The moths are when they are burned.
But I am old and you are young,
So we speak a different tongue.

Oh you will take whatever’s offered
And dream that all the world’s a friend,
Suffer as your mother suffered,
Be as broken in the end.
I could have warned you—but you are young,
And I speak a barbarous tongue.

By William Butler Yeats

Immortal Autumn ~ Archibald MacLeish

Sep. 24th, 2017 04:19 pm
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Posted by bleodswean

I speak this poem now with grave and level voice  
In praise of autumn, of the far-horn-winding fall.

I praise the flower-barren fields, the clouds, the tall  
Unanswering branches where the wind makes sullen noise.

I praise the fall: it is the human season.
No more the foreign sun does meddle at our earth,  
Enforce the green and bring the fallow land to birth,  
Nor winter yet weigh all with silence the pine bough,

But now in autumn with the black and outcast crows  
Share we the spacious world: the whispering year is gone:  
There is more room to live now: the once secret dawn  
Comes late by daylight and the dark unguarded goes.

Between the mutinous brave burning of the leaves  
And winter’s covering of our hearts with his deep snow  
We are alone: there are no evening birds: we know  
The naked moon: the tame stars circle at our eaves.

It is the human season. On this sterile air
Do words outcarry breath: the sound goes on and on.  
I hear a dead man’s cry from autumn long since gone.

I cry to you beyond upon this bitter air.
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Posted by duathir

Spring and Fall: To A Young Child

Márgarét, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Áh! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

by Gerard Manley Hopkins


Sep. 23rd, 2017 08:40 pm
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Posted by Tom "The Kittenmaster" Cooper

Please give a warm TDK Caturday welcome to today’s Star Kit, Bagpuss (Baggy). She is 3 weeks old from Pattaya, Thailand.


We run a small shelter for cats and kittens here in Pattaya, Thailand and have posted a few kittens here in the past. 2 weeks ago whilst Sandra was feeding some of the local Soi (street) dogs near our house a young Thai couple pulled up on their motorbike and asked her for help, they showed her a small brown paper bag, thinking it was food for the dogs she looked inside only to find this tiny mite staring up at her, they had found it all alone by the side of the road, she told them to quickly take it to our house.


I was in the garden when I saw the couple coming to the gate, what a surprise I got when I looked in the bag too, they thanked us for taking the little one and I rushed the crying tiny tot to the kitchen, a few minutes later she was hungrily feeding on Goat’s milk via a syringe, we guessed her to be around 10 days as she had her eyes open but only just. Since then we have been feeding her every 3 hours night and day and have now her in a nice cage where she can stretch her little legs more easily. As you can see she has lots of toys and a litter tray that she has not quite mastered yet, she is gaining a lot of weight and this morning weighed in at 189 Grams.

If you would like to follow her on her journey with us and see if she can find a loving new home when she is old enough please look at our “cats4youinpattaya” website, thank you all there at the “Daily Kitten” , Paul, Sandra and the cats !!

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Posted by duathir

Tis The Last Rose Of Summer

Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone:
No flower of her kindred,
No rose-bud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie wither'd,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?

By Thomas Moore

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 'Perfectness'

Sep. 22nd, 2017 01:29 am
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Posted by duathir


All perfect things are saddening in effect.
The autumn wood robed in its scarlet clothes,
The matchless tinting on the royal rose
Whose velvet leaf by no least flaw is flecked,
Love's supreme moment, when the soul unchecked
Soars high as heaven, and its best rapture knows—
These hold a deeper pathos than our woes,
Since they leave nothing better to expect.
Resistless change, when powerless to improve,
Can only mar. The gold will pale to gray;
Nothing remains tomorrow as to-day;
The rose will not seem quite so fair, and love
Must find its measures of delight made less.
Ah, how imperfect is all Perfectness!

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Hartley Coleridge, 'September'

Sep. 21st, 2017 05:53 am
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Posted by duathir


The dark green Summer, with its massive hues,
Fades into Autumn's tincture manifold.
A gorgeous garniture of fire and gold
The high slope of the ferny hill indues.
The mists of morn in slumbering layers diffuse
O'er glimmering rock, smooth lake, and spiked array
Of hedge-row thorns, a unity of grey.
All things appear their tangible form to lose
In ghostly vastness. But anon the gloom
Melts, as the Sun puts off his muddy veil;
And now the birds their twittering songs resume,
All Summer silent in the leafy dale.
In Spring they piped of love on every tree,
But now they sing the song of memory.

By Hartley Coleridge


Sep. 20th, 2017 10:59 pm
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Posted by Tom "The Kittenmaster" Cooper

Would everybody please gather round to welcome today’s Star Kit, Xeno. He is 9 weeks old from Oregon.


I bought him off of a woman on Craigslist who claims he is a tabby! But his alien like features may point otherwise.

John Fletcher, 'The Satyr, II'

Sep. 20th, 2017 05:22 am
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Posted by duathir

The Satyr, II

Thou divinest, fairest, brightest,
Thou most powerful maid and whitest,
Thou most virtuous and most blessed,
Eyes of stars, and golden tressed
Like Apollo! tell me, sweetest,
What new service now is meetest
For the Satyr? Shall I stray
In the middle air, and stay
The sailing rack, or nimbly take
Hold by the moon, and gently make
Suit to the pale queen of night
For a beam to give thee light?
Shall I dive into the sea
And bring thee coral, making way
Through the rising waves that fall
Like snowy fleeces? Dearest, shall
I catch thee wanton fawns, or flies
Whose woven wings the summer dyes
Of many colours? get thee fruit,
Or steal from heaven old Orpheus’ lute?
All these I ’ll venture for, and more,
To do her service all these woods adore.

By John Fletcher


Sep. 19th, 2017 10:42 pm
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Posted by Tom "The Kittenmaster" Cooper

Please put your paws together and welcome our latest Star Kit, Poppy. She is 12 weeks old from Co Meath, Ireland.


Poppy’s mum arrived at the rescue centre pregnant with Poppy (calico) and her 2 siblings and accompanied by the kittens from her last litter, a male and pregnant female. Only 2 of the 8 kittens survived and Poppy was the only one to totally escape illness (i.e. from the usual problems of living wild such as viruses and inter-breeding).


She stayed in foster with her little sister, Daisy (grey & white), who has cerebellar hypoplasia, in order to help her find her way around the everyday cat things which are difficult for her. Poppy and Daisy are now happily settled in their forever homes!


John Fletcher, 'The Satyr, I'

Sep. 19th, 2017 08:00 am
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Posted by duathir

The Satyr, I
(from The Faithful Shepherdess)

Here be grapes whose lusty blood
Is the learned poet’s good;
Sweeter yet did never crown
The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown
Than the squirrel’s teeth that crack them;
Deign, O fairest fair, to take them!
For these black-eyed Dryope
Hath oftentimes commanded me
With my clasped knee to climb:
See how well the lusty time
Hath deck’d their rising cheeks in red,
Such as on your lips is spread.
Here be berries for a queen,
Some be red, some be green;
These are of that luscious meat
The great god Pan himself doth eat:
All these, and what the woods can yield,
The hanging mountain or the field,
I freely offer, and ere long
Will bring you more, more sweet and strong;
Till when, humbly leave I take,
Lest the great Pan do awake,
That sleeping lies in a deep glade,
Under a broad beech’s shade.
I must go, I must run
Swifter than the fiery sun.

By John Fletcher (1579–1625)

Dylan Thomas, 'This Bread I Break'

Sep. 18th, 2017 03:53 am
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Posted by duathir

This Bread I Break

This bread I break was once the oat,
This wine upon a foreign tree
Plunged in its fruit;
Man in the day or wind at night
Laid the crops low, broke the grape's joy.

Once in this wine the summer blood
Knocked in the flesh that decked the vine,
Once in this bread
The oat was merry in the wind;
Man broke the sun, pulled the wind down.

This flesh you break, this blood you let
Make desolation in the vein,
Were oat and grape
Born of the sensual root and sap;
My wine you drink, my bread you snap.

By Dylan Thomas
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Posted by duathir

anyone lived in a pretty how town

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

By E.E. Cummings

Miss Wawa and Miss Ruffles

Sep. 16th, 2017 07:32 pm
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Posted by Tom "The Kittenmaster" Cooper

Please give a warm Caturday welcome to our latest Star Kits, Miss Wawa and Miss Ruffles. They are 15 weeks old from Ojai, California.

Miss Wawa and Miss Ruffles

Our friends inherited a cat and her 4 newborn kittens when they moved into their new home. They didn’t know what to do with the kittens so I told them we will take them when they are weaned. One kitten disappeared unfortunately. They wanted to keep two and let me have one. I told them I have to have two since littermates make best friends. And the lone kitten will have its mama. The kittens were petrified of people. The kittens were not used to people but Mama cat is. We had to use a cat playpen as a cage to trap the kittens by luring them with food. The Mama cat went into the playpen to eat and her two kittens followed in. The yellow jackets were really bothering the mama so she stepped out and we closed the doors of the playpen. The kittens went ballistic when they realized they were trapped. We transported the cage to our place and set the cage near us so they can be familiar with us. We kept them in the cage for two weeks. I feed them, touched them, hand feed treats, and took them out individually to cuddle them. Miss Wawa was the first one to purr when she sees me. And she loved to cuddle. Miss Ruffles took a while to warm up.

Miss Wawa and Miss Ruffles

After two weeks, we left the cage door open while I was feeding them breakfast so they can come and go as they please. Miss Wawa took off before eating and disappeared. Once Miss Ruffles realized her sister was gone, she also took off. They didn’t look back. I was heartbroken. We live in a very rural area with many wild animals and I was worried. They didn’t show up for dinner. Then, the next morning, both showed up for breakfast and each meal afterward. At each meal, I make a point to touch them and hand feed them snacks so we can bond. After a week, Miss Wawa started to be a lapcat! My dream. Miss Ruffles is getting better about being petted.

Miss Wawa and Miss Ruffles

Thylias Moss, 'Spilled Sugar'

Sep. 16th, 2017 04:37 am
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Posted by duathir

Spilled Sugar

I cannot forget the sugar on the table.
The hand that spilled it was not that of
my usual father, three layers of clothes
for a wind he felt from hallway to kitchen,
the brightest room though the lightbulbs
were greasy.

The sugar like bleached anthills of ground teeth.
It seemed to issue from open wounds in his palms.
Each day, more of Father granulated, the injury spread
like dye through cotton, staining all the wash,
condemning the house.

The gas jets on the stove shoot a blue spear
that passes my cheek like air. I stir
and the sugar dissolves, the coffee giving no evidence
that it has been sweetened and I will not taste it
to find out, my father raised to my lips, the toast burnt,
the breakfast ruined.

Neither he nor I will move from the shrine
of Mother’s photo. We begin to understand
the limits of love’s power. And as we do,
we have to redefine God; he is not love at all.
He is longing.

He is what he became those three days
that one third of himself was dead.

by Thylias Moss

Andrew Hudgins, 'Playing Dead'

Sep. 15th, 2017 08:00 am
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Posted by duathir

Playing Dead

Our father liked to play a game.
He played that he was dead.
He took his thick black glasses off
and stretched out on the bed.

He wouldn't twitch and didn't snore
or move in any way.
He didn't even seem to breathe!
We asked, Are you okay?

We tickled fingers up and down
his huge, pink, stinky feet—
He didn't move; he lay as still
as last year's parakeet.

We pushed our fingers up his nose,
and wiggled them inside—
Next, we peeled his eyelids back.
Are you okay? we cried.

I really thought he might be dead
and not just playing possum,
because his eyeballs didn't twitch
when I slid my tongue across 'em.

He's dead, we sobbed—but to be sure,
I jabbed him in the jewels.
He rose, like Jesus, from the dead,
though I don't think Jesus drools.

His right hand lashed both right and left.
His left hand clutched his scrotum.
And the words he yelled—I know damn well
I'm way too young to quote 'em.

By Andrew Hudgins


Sep. 14th, 2017 09:56 pm
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Posted by Tom "The Kittenmaster" Cooper

Please join me in putting paws in the air to welcome today’s Star Kit, Missy. She is 4 weeks old from L’isle Jourdain, France.


I heard her crying and found her under a car in a carpark, covered in oil and scared. She was scared to come to me but in managed to get hold of her and get her safe! I took her to the vets to get her checked out and to get advice on what to do.


I’ve decided to keep her and over the next 8 months we are sorting out everything required to get her passport ready for my move back to Wales in April!



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