I was I, My Things Were Wet

I read this poem back in high school (think it was Mrs Drake's English class) and remembered liking it. I don't think I have read it since then, but something brought it to my mind so I decided to check it out again. I find that I still really like it...amazing that all the years that have passed have not altered my taste...at least not as far as this poem is concerned. I thought I would post it here so that anyone who has never read it (or, like me, has not read it in a while) can share in my love of it...or not...that's part of the joy of poetry, it can mean different things to different people.



Terrence, This is Stupid Stuff
--A. E. Housman

Terence, this is stupid stuff!
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can’t be much amiss, ’tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache!
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head...
We poor lads, ’tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow!
Pretty friendship ’tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad!
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad!

Why, if ’tis dancing you would be,
There’s brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world’s not.
And faith, ’tis pleasant till ’tis past:
The mischief is that ’twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I’ve lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.

Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure,
I’d face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
’Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul’s stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.

There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all the springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white’s their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
--I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.

Walking the Tightrope

I grow weary of this life,
it weighs heavy on my soul

Tired of all this searching

for something to make me whole

It all just seems so pointless

with this emptiness inside

I can't escape these feelings,

there's nowhere I can hide

And yet I still remember

times my heart would sing

I wish I could go back there

for the joy it did bring

But still I trudge onward,

trying to find my way

Like a blind man on a tightrope

that the wind has set a-sway

Perhaps one day I'll make it

and see the other side

but if the worst should happen

at least I'll know I tried

It's not the destination

but the journey that provides

the lessons that we need in life

in order for us to thrive

The Prayer of St. Francis*

Lord,

make me an instrument of your health:

where there is sickness,

let me bring cure;

where there is injury,

aid;

where there is sadness,

comfort;

where there is despair,

hope;

where there is death,

acceptance and peace.

Grant that I may not:

so much seek to be justified,

as to console;

to be obeyed,

as to understand;

to be honored,

as to love...

for it is in giving ourselves

that we heal,

it is in listening

that we comfort,

and in dying

that we are born to eternal life.

*modified by Charles C. Wise

Saturday Morning

Wake up

Another day

Sun's up

Birds sing

Still tired

Wanna sleep

Stand up

Move around

Get dressed

Head out

First mile

Legs hurt

Second mile

Labored breath

Lose track

Rhythm found

Glowing now

Beauty abounds

Mind leaves

Body floats

Spirit soars

God speaks!

Keep On Truckin'

On this blog, I have shared a few stories of times when I have narrowly escaped death...or severe injury at the least. There were the times my mother saved me, first from drowning at the beach and then from the evil clutches of a grasping escalator, the time I almost drove off a very high bridge due to a...umm...steering malfunction, and the time I easily could have fallen to my death from the top of Cassell Coliseum. While these were all dangerous, deadly, harrowing experiences, I believe the story I am about to relate is the closest I have ever come to death.

Many years ago, I worked in Fairfax at USAir (that's what it was called before all this USAirways nonsense...they only changed the name because they were going to merge with British Airways and then the merger fell through...Oops! too late to change the name back). The office, which was also their data center, was located at the end of Pender Drive. You wouldn't have known this by looking at the building, as their name was nowhere to be seen. I was told this was because they were afraid that people on I-66 would shoot at the windows if they knew the building belonged to USAir...I guess people weren't happy with them back then...but I digress. The start of my journey home each evening was to go down Pender, take a left on Waples Mill Road and take it across Route 50 over to Route 29. I did this every evening, and all was well until one fateful night.

In those days, I was driving a 1977 Toyota Celica (photo on the right)...a car that was over 10 years old, not especially fast, and not exactly replete with safety features (though I did love it nonetheless). On this particular evening, I turned onto Waples Mill and then had to stop at the traffic light at the intersection with Route 50. As luck would have it, I was the first in line at the light. I didn't know it at the time, but my office mate was in the car right behind me. As always, I was anxious to get home, so I watched the light closely as I waited, to be sure I saw when it changed to green. Well...the light changed, I started to go through the intersection, and, when I had almost cleared the first lane of Route 50, something caught my eye. That "something" was a very large, very fast moving tractor trailer traveling west on 50. Apparently, the driver had decided that he really didn't want to stop, so he was just blowing right through the red light. This truck was going at least 60 miles an hour and he never even touched the brakes. He ended up crossing the intersection behind me, missing my car by about a foot. I really think that if any of the variables were changed, even slightly, he would have slammed into me, T-boning my car and killing me.

I think it was about 10 minutes later that the shaking kicked in. I had to pull over for a few minutes to collect my thoughts and gather my wits. I was okay after that, just couldn't believe what a close call it had been. Of course, the next day at work, my office mate gave me some crap about it and told everyone how it was a miracle that I was alive. I tend to agree...every day of life is a miracle and I need to make the most of it.

One thing I have wondered for all these years...what exactly went through that truck driver's mind when he realized I was crossing in front of him?