April 28, 2004
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The beauty of this poem, which might be Frost's best known, is the deliberate lack of resolution in the final line. Just like with life.
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April 21, 2004
Peace on Earth
The archer is wake!
The Swan is flying!
Gold against blue
An Arrow is lying.
There is hunting in heaven—
Sleep safe till tomorrow.
The Bears are abroad!
The Eagle is screaming!
Gold against blue
Their eyes are gleaming!
Sleep!
Sleep safe till tomorrow.
The Sisters lie
With their arms intertwining;
Gold against blue
Their hair is shining!
The Serpent writhes!
Orion is listening!
Gold against blue
His sword is glistening!
Sleep!
There is hunting in heaven—
Sleep safe till tomorrow.
Take what you want from that poem; that's what poetry is all about. To me it's a wish that you and i will continue to sleep safe while the battle between good and evil goes on around us, whether we're aware of it or not.
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April 13, 2004
Behold! For a Giant yet walks the earth.
With shoulders of rock, striding forth he wields
Thirty-two ounce, thirty-four inches girth
Maple Excalibur, from which he deals
Four hundred foot jacks, right side of the plate
Six-sixty-one homers, five hundred base steals;
Never swings early, nor ever swings late,
Inside the box hit, outside the box wait.
He cares not for me, and cares not for you
Cares not a whit for the bat when heÂ’s through,
And straightening up, and seeing the view
Watches the ball fly until itÂ’s a dot,
And then, only then, begins he his trot
Don’t say to him “bring it” – it will be brought!
More: The very prolific Scorebard says it in haiku.
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April 09, 2004
Click here to read Sunday Morning from the blog Watermark.
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April 07, 2004
DaffodilsPretty, isn't it?
I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
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