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#21 daunce lynam

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Posted 17 February 2012 - 04:25 PM


Vachel Lindsay was another early fave of mine

"And then came McKinley, Mark Hanna's McKinley
His slave, his echo, his suit of clothes.."

I had no clue then that McKinley was a Us president, and I still don't know who Mark Hanna was, but I loved the poem. There was another one about the Salvation Army...maybe they were the same one? I really should look it up.


Yep...you should, but ...

He was Ohio's Boss Tweed.

Marcus Alonzo "Mark" Hanna (September 24, 1837 – February 15, 1904) was a Republican United States Senator from Ohio and the friend and political manager of President William McKinley. Hanna had made millions as a businessman, and used his money and business skills to successfully manage McKinley's presidential campaigns in 1896 and 1900.

Hanna was born in New Lisbon (today Lisbon), Ohio, in 1837. His family moved to the growing city of Cleveland in his teenage years, where he attended high school with John D. Rockefeller. He was expelled from college, and entered the family mercantile business. He served briefly during the American Civil War and married Charlotte Rhodes; her father, Daniel Rhodes, took Hanna into his business after the war. Hanna was soon a partner in the firm, which grew to have interests in many areas, especially coal and iron. He was a wealthy man in Cleveland by his 40th birthday, and turned his attention to politics.

Despite Hanna's efforts on his behalf, Ohio Senator John Sherman failed to gain the Republican nomination for president in 1884 and 1888. With Sherman becoming too old to be considered a contender, Hanna worked to elect McKinley. In 1895, Hanna left his business career to devote himself full time to McKinley's campaign for president. Hanna paid all expenses to get McKinley the nomination the following year, although the governor was in any event the frontrunner. The Democrats nominated former Nebraska Congressman William Jennings Bryan, who ran on a bimetallism, or "Free Silver", platform. Hanna's fundraising broke records, and once initial public enthusiasm for Bryan and his program subsided, McKinley was comfortably elected.

Declining a Cabinet position, Hanna secured appointment as senator from Ohio after Sherman was made Secretary of State; he was re-elected by the Ohio Legislature in 1898 and 1904. After McKinley's assassination in 1901, Senator Hanna worked for the building of a canal in Panama, rather than elsewhere in Central America. He died in 1904, and is remembered for his role in McKinley's election, thanks to savage cartoons by such illustrators as Homer Davenport, who depicted him, inaccurately, as McKinley's political master.

http://en.wikipedia....wiki/Mark_Hanna

He was a one man PAC [Political Action Committee]

Adam


As ever, thanks Adam. The PACs are distorting (or maybe) making transparent, the mechanics of who gets elected. Each president now will be somebody's slave and echo, and once elected, they will have to buy their own clothes. Rich people are notoriously stingy on the small scale.

#22 daunce lynam

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Posted 24 February 2012 - 09:36 PM

Do I forget you?. Dear one, I have tried
just sometimes not to let you bring the tide
so low beneath the rocks I cannot climb,
the caverns of unmasterable time,
so high in flow I swim, I thrash, then drown
in what I cannot believe that so
as the tide ebbs, I swim to go
where far beyond belief or memory,
or darks of lies, or candles that are true,
there is a place where always you must be,
where so am I,that I could be with you.,




Daleks fix somewhat; Daleks are Daleks, not Alfred Lord bloody Tennyson. Do best can for now.

Sonnet form be damn


At Hopewell Rocks
Do I forget you? Surely I have tried
to stumble past the caverns I can't climb,
and wade out from the too-oncoming tide,
and live beyond what surely was my time.
But never think I would not give today
To give you just one more of yesterday ,
Or seek the slack between the ebb and flow,
Where everywhere and always we could go..

#23 Ninth Doctor

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 09:30 AM

Daleks fix somewhat; Daleks are Daleks, not Alfred Lord bloody Tennyson. Do best can for now.

Sonnet form be damn


At Hopewell Rocks
Do I forget you? Surely I have tried
to stumble past the caverns I can't climb,
and wade out from the too-oncoming tide,
and live beyond what surely was my time.
But never think I would not give today
To give you just one more of yesterday ,
Or seek the slack between the ebb and flow,
Where everywhere and always we could go..

Alright, now we have ababccdd. For the hell of it, let's just knock it into shape, strictly following Shakespeare's format (ababcdcdefefgg).

Do I forget you? Surely I have tried
to stumble past the caverns I can't climb,
and wade out from the too-oncoming tide,
and live beyond what surely was my time.

But never think I would not give today
or seek the slack between the ebb and flow,
to give you just one more of yesterday ,
where everywhere and always we could go..

Pursued by an unforgiving Dalek
when through time my guide was the Doc called Ninth,
not wailing as a newborn with colic;
Kantian Sublime in my soul did shin’th

through darks of lies, and candles that are true,
where I am, so that I could be with you.
Prandium gratis non est

#24 daunce lynam

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 03:20 PM

O tide! Neap not until thou neap'st the Doc
Upon the pate, and then the proud buttock!

#25 Peter Taylor

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 03:31 PM

Daunce wrote:
O tide! Neap not until thou neap'st the Doc
Upon the pate, and then the proud buttock!

end quote

What does that mean? Time should not stop until it shrinks your bald spot and makes your butt less noticeable? You do know that time stops for no one don’t you? And I like women with proud buttocks. Well, you got a rise out of me, Miss Saucy Pants.
Peter Taylor
Semper cogitans fidele,
Independent Objectivist,
Peter Taylor

#26 daunce lynam

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 03:55 PM

Daunce wrote:
O tide! Neap not until thou neap'st the Doc
Upon the pate, and then the proud buttock!
end quote

What does that mean? Time should not stop until it shrinks your bald spot and makes your butt less noticeable? You do know that time stops for no one don’t you? And I like women with proud buttocks. Well, you got a rise out of me, Miss Saucy Pants.
Peter Taylor


lol, it's the tide not the time, which arrives every two weeks and waits for no man.

Saucy Bloomers if you don't mind, inherited long johns in winter.

#27 Ninth Doctor

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 03:58 PM

What does that mean?

It means she didn't like the additions I made to her poem. I forced it into sonnet form by adding a few self-serving lines. Now she invokes the tides to do their worst to both my top and bottom.
Prandium gratis non est

#28 daunce lynam

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 04:53 PM


What does that mean?

It means she didn't like the additions I made to her poem. I forced it into sonnet form by adding a few self-serving lines. Now she invokes the tides to do their worst to both my top and bottom.


No, it doesn't! It means I was pretending to resent the additions and seizing the occasion you provided to improvise a suitable retort - the daleks made me do it.

#29 Ninth Doctor

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 05:04 PM

No, it doesn't! It means I was pretending to resent the additions and seizing the occasion you provided to improvise a suitable retort - the daleks made me do it.

Like I can't identify hostility when I see it!
Prandium gratis non est

#30 daunce lynam

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 05:18 PM


No, it doesn't! It means I was pretending to resent the additions and seizing the occasion you provided to improvise a suitable retort - the daleks made me do it.

Like I can't identify hostility when I see it!


Do not retreat into the Order of Induction! That way lies madness, mon amiennemi.

#31 daunce lynam

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 06:23 PM


What does that mean?

It means she didn't like the additions I made to her poem. I forced it into sonnet form by adding a few self-serving lines. Now she invokes the tides to do their worst to both my top and bottom.


Those tides at Hopewell Rocks are the highest tides in the world. Check them out. No pate is too high nor any bottom too low for them to savage! Mwahhahaha!

"Those are pearls that were his eyes"..

#32 daunce lynam

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Posted 25 February 2012 - 06:33 PM

A Neaps and Tatties feast
is nae the joy of most
but a' the guests, as man not beast,,
dine hearty o' the fare, at least,
without the fear o' bein' roast
by yon most reasonable host
.

#33 Stephen Boydstun

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Posted 08 August 2012 - 08:57 AM

I just saw this. Yes, life and death and love.

Do I forget you? Dear one, I have tried
just sometimes not to let you bring the tide
so low beneath the rocks I cannot climb,
the caverns of unmasterable time,
so high in flow I swim, I thrash, then drown
in what I cannot believe that so
as the tide ebbs, I swim to go
where far beyond belief or memory,
or darks of lies, or candles that are true,
there is a place where always you must be,
where so am I, that I could be with you.


Yes, life and death and love. The story.

Thanks, Carol, for sharing this wonderful poem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One summer during college, Jerry and I rode along with a friend from college in Oklahoma to Montreal, where our friend Jennifer was to spend a few days with her folks. Leaving Jen there, Jer and I drove her car on through New Brunswick, and I remember along our way a high overlook into the Bay of Fundy, near Saint John, if I recall correctly. I do not recall stopping at the Hopewell Rocks. Our destination was Prince Edward Island. We had little money, which was needed for gas. We slept in the station wagon and got food only at a grocery store. We walked in the water along a beautiful endless beach. My feet got burned through the water and swelled up. We made love in a concavity in the top of a sand dune, under the bright sun.

A couple decades later, together with some friends, I spread Jerry’s ashes in the lake at some boulders lining the shore of Lake Michigan. That was at sunrise, but it was overcast, and there was a light rain. I went there at sunrise on his day each summer for the next twenty years. The sun came up out of the lake every time. No rain. I always put peonies, a favorite of his, into the water to drift out. And I read some verse aloud. My friends will put my ashes there some day. The last time I was there was so painful and so magical. I had traveled by train from Virginia to Chicago. (I use sleeper trains because of bad back.) I got the peonies into my hotel room by evening, clipped them the next morning, and walked to the lake before sunrise. I was to the pink-pebbled path that leads to the embankment and the boulders. From there you don’t see them. You see only the level ground before you to a clear break, as at a cliff, with pure lake and sky beyond. There as I approached the path, there was something so beautiful and mysterious. All the ground had a thick mist hovering over it that was uniform and very close to the ground. Or so it seemed in that light before the sun. As I got close enough, I saw it was clover, a carpet of white clover. Oh the colors of the pre-dawn sky and the misty blooms, oh that it was not his, only me alone with him.

#34 daunce lynam

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Posted 08 August 2012 - 12:35 PM

Thank you for knowing, Stephen. I think of you as a neo-Metaphysical poet, and I can't really follow the cerebral serenity of your verse, but it speaks to me of beauty.

We scattered Eddie's ashes, his brother and sons and I, as per his wish, on the soccer field where most lately he had run that lifelong necessary joy. Andy complained later that I marched forward like I was strewing birdseed (those weren't his exact words but i got the idea). Probably I did not cut a very elegant figure. but I don't thinki Eddie would have minded.

We are lucky, with our not really lost ones at play in the fields of the lord., leaving us such legacies.

#35 Stephen Boydstun

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Posted 08 August 2012 - 03:22 PM

Carol,

The poem Still One is metaphysical, and I imagine that would be rare were I to resume writing poetry regularly. It had always been against my rules to write poetry about abstract things. Actually, it has long been against my rules to slip into writing a poem rather than working on my studies and philosophy writing. But on 27 July, I slipped into it. The opening line came to me, with the tone of Parmenides’ poem on truth. I was drawn into it, couldn’t resist. It was time for that one. I touched it up next couple of mornings, and though it was imperfect in rhythm, I was done with it. I still like it fine.

Some of my friends have wanted me to write more poetry. I’ll keep trying to resist for now. I want to show you a poem I wrote a long time ago; I have just now added it to the thread for my collection. It has been on the web before and has been warmly received. No metaphysics or mystery to this one. Its title is Placement. I had walked along the highway from the little country town where my mom lived and where my father and she had grown up. I walked across a pasture into a stand of trees preserved in its middle. There I wrote Placement.

Stephen

#36 daunce lynam

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Posted 24 July 2013 - 03:57 PM

Yesterday, or thirty years ago
We promised what we wanted and would keep.
Not knowing much, or caring, what would grow
But sowing seeds that spread out roots so deep
That time and seasons took them much for granted;
We hardly tended what was there, but planted
New each season, when the fancy took us.
And learned but little when the seasons shook us.

Today I love the rain and watch the sky
And plant (I'll never learn) against the season,
And never know how is it comes that I
Should still live more by rhyme than by clear reason.

What has been most,that should have been the least?
I ask the founder of my harvest feast.




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