I Shall Stand Against Them
I shall stand against them, whether I be like
the willow, or the ancient oak, trembling
or impersonally strong, I shall stand against them.
The sun may shine upon my corpse, and cause
the rot to quicken, but in my memory they
sing, and I shall stand again.
The swarm is all about me, about my head, about my soul,
about my home and nation;
all is torn asunder by their grimy little hands,
stained with dirt of bitterness, they go in to the heap,
a trembling tower of crumbling corpses,
and to collapse,
the wind it blows, and howls about
their hollow skulls.
Her image is cast,
marble with her tears for him.
Downcast eyes divine.
Skin like pearl and silk,
feather drops in to the blood.
Her eyes now open.
The night passes by,
rain falling on her, smoking,
people fading dark.
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