To walk among inhuman chapels
brings pain to heart and mind.
I see the flock, their eyes diverted,
from what shines from above.
There once was stone so pure and human,
once mined from the depths of the soul;
but those are gone, cold, forgotten,
empty as our reflection.
A flicker within is a monument without,
to stand against all time;
to tower high, from richest soils,
to live and never die.
Those times are gone, but still exist,
though hidden under moss;
the tree, the church, the barn and stable,
their shadows still are cast.
The masses they shall perish, and they shall
turn to dust, while some will tread upon them,
a phoenix, fire, wings of gold,
to carry on again.
Mihai Eminescu: Romania’s Morning Star
“He Doesn’t Worry Too Much If Mediocre People Get Killed in Wars and Such” Tito Perdue’s The Smut Book & Cynosura
Jalal El-Kadali’s Oyster Mountain
If White Privileges Were Real
Remembering Rudyard Kipling (December 30, 1865-January 18, 1936)
The Plymouth 400 SymposiumRobert Frost’s “Directive”: A Quintessential Yankee Poem by New England’s Quintessential Yankee Poet
Heroic Road Songs
I Knew You When Your Eyes Were Blue