Echo the Ventriloquist

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Simon Marsden

Fragments                                                                                                 by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Neglected record of a mind neglected,
Unto what "lets and stops" art thou subjected!
The day with all its toils and occupations,
The night with its reflections and sensations,
The future, and the present, and the past,--
All I remember, feel, and hope at last,
All shapes of joy and sorrow, as they pass,--
Find but a dusty image in this glass.

 

Twilight                                                                                                          by Sara Teasdale

Dreamily over the roofs
The cold spring rain is falling,
Out in the lonely tree
A bird is calling, calling.

Slowly over the earth
The wings of night are falling;
My heart like the bird in the tree
Is calling, calling, calling.

Remorse

by Siegfried Sassoon

Lost in the swamp and welter of the pit,

He flounders off the duck-boards; only he knows

Each flash and spouting crash,--each instant lit

When gloom reveals the streaming rain. He goes

Heavily, blindly on. And, while he blunders,

"Could anything be worse than this?"--he wonders,

Remembering how he saw those Germans run,

Screaming for mercy among the stumps of trees:

Green-faced, they dodged and darted: there was one

Livid with terror, clutching at his knees. . .

Our chaps were sticking 'em like pigs . . . "O hell!"

He thought--"there's things in war one dare not tell

Poor father sitting safe at home, who reads

Of dying heroes and their deathless deeds."

Whats New?!!

9/4/05 Sitting there was only the lonely thing. Touching there was useless. Feeling was sublime. No need to see to believe; belief was an object willing to take and go. I speak of was because there never was. I speak of there because it’s always far and never here. I look and get nothing in return. The forward time in a backwards world keeps ticking. I look, but an eye can never hurt.

R.I.P Hunter S. Thompson
 
"And that, I think, was the handle---that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn't need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting---on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark---the place where the wave finally broke and rolled back."
 

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This is a site devoted to nothing.

*Let the blood run forth
Like petals in the wind*