At last the grace in sight

>>>>++<<<<

W a l l   G r e e n s

Trinity Street

Abbeville, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

I cross till I am weary

A Mountain -- in my mind --

More Mountains -- then a Sea --

More Seas -- And then

A Desert -- find --

And My Horizon blocks

With steady -- drifting -- Grains

Of unconjectured quantity --

As Asiatic Rains --

Nor this -- defeat my Pace --

It hinder from the West

But as an Enemy's Salute

One hurrying to Rest --

What merit had the Goal --

Except there intervene

Faint Doubt -- and far Competitor --

To jeopardize the Gain?

At last -- the Grace in sight --

I shout unto my feet --

I offer them the Whole of Heaven

The instant that we meet --

They strive -- and yet delay --

They perish -- Do we die --

Or is this Death's Experiment --

Reversed -- in Victory?

> Emily Dickinson <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Saturday

An eye for such mysteries

>>>>++<<<<

T h e   U p w a r d   L o o k

Boyce Street Alleyway

Newberry, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay,
And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings,
Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say,
"He was a man who used to notice such things"?

If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid's soundless blink,
The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight
Upon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think,
"To him this must have been a familiar sight."

If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm,
When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn,
One may say, "He strove that such innocent creatures should come to no harm,
But he could do little for them; and now he is gone."

If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at the door,
Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees,
Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more,
"He was one who had an eye for such mysteries"?

And will any say when my bell of quittance is heard in the gloom,
And a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings,
Till they rise again, as they were a new bell's boom,
"He hears it not now, but used to notice such things"?

> Thomas Hardy <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Friday

Though much is taken, much abides

>>>>++<<<<

I n   A   R o u n d a b o u t   W a y

Entryway :: Knoxville Circles Series

Knoxville, Tennessee

>>>>++<<<<

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me,
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads -- you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

> Alfred, Lord Tennyson <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Thursday

I struggle not to stray

>>>>++<<<<

S c a r s   A n d   A l l

Blanding Street

Columbia, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

> Stanley Kunitz <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Wednesday

A later era will differ

>>>>++<<<<

O n e   F o u r   E i g h t   T h r e e

Olivette

Asheville, North Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

Hidden, oh hidden
in the high fog
the house we live in,
beneath the magnetic rock,
rain-, rainbow-ridden,
where blood-black
bromelias, lichens,
owls, and the lint
of the waterfalls cling,
familiar, unbidden.

In a dim age
of water
the brook sings loud
from a rib cage
of giant fern; vapor
climbs up the thick growth
effortlessly, turns back,
holding them both,
house and rock,
in a private cloud.

At night, on the roof,
blind drops crawl
and the ordinary brown
owl gives us proof
he can count:
five times -- always five --
he stamps and takes off
after the fat frogs that,
shrilling for love,
clamber and mount.

House, open house
to the white dew
and the milk-white sunrise
kind to the eyes,
to membership
of silver fish, mouse,
bookworms,
big moths; with a wall
for the mildew’s
ignorant map;

darkened and tarnished
by the warm touch
of the warm breath,
maculate, cherished;
rejoice! For a later
era will differ.
(O difference that kills
or intimidates, much
of all our small shadowy
life!) Without water

the great rock will stare
unmagnetized, bare,
no longer wearing
rainbows or rain,
the forgiving air
and the high fog gone;
the owls will move on
and the several
waterfalls shrivel
in the steady sun.

> Elizabeth Bishop <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Tuesday

Though the angels sleep

>>>>++<<<<

W e   R e m e m b e r   a n d   a r e   G r a t e f u l

Decorating for Heroes

Columbia, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

To fallen soldiers let us sing

Where no rockets fly nor bullets wing

Our broken brothers let us bring

To the mansions of the Lord

No more weeping, no more fight

No prayers pleading through the night

Just divine embrace, eternal light

In the mansions of the Lord

Where no mothers cry and no children weep

We will stand and guard though the angels sleep

All through the ages let us keep

The mansions of the Lord

> Randall Wallace <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Monday :: Happy Memorial Day

Our altars and our fires

>>>>++<<<<

A t   A t t e n t i o n

Beaufort National Cemetery

Beaufort, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

My country, 'tis of thee

Sweet land of liberty

Of thee I sing

Land where my fathers died

Land of the pilgrims' pride

From every mountainside

Let freedom ring.

My native country, thee

Land of the noble free

Thy name I love

I love thy rocks and rills

Thy woods and templed hills

My heart with rapture thrills

Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze

And ring from all the trees

Sweet freedom's song

Let mortal tongues awake

Let all that breathe partake

Let rocks their silence break

The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God to Thee

Author of liberty

To Thee we sing

Long may our land be bright

With freedom's holy light

Protect us by Thy might

Great God our King.

Grand birthright of our sires

Our altars and our fires

Keep we still pure

Our starry flag unfurled

The hope of all the world

In peace and light impearled

God hold secure.

> Samuel F. Smith <

>>>>++<<<<

Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord;

and the people whom he hath chosen

for his own inheritance.

Psalm 33:12

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Sunday

Conclusion turned on me

>>>>++<<<<

S t r e a m   o r   D r e a m

National Cemetery

Salisbury, North Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

My Triumph lasted till the Drums

Had left the Dead alone

And then I dropped my Victory

And chastened stole along

To where the finished Faces

Conclusion turned on me

And then I hated Glory

And wished myself were They.

What is to be is best descried

When it has also been --

Could Prospect taste of Retrospect

The tyrannies of Men

Were Tenderer -- diviner

The Transitive toward.

A Bayonet's contrition

Is nothing to the Dead.

> Emily Dickinson <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Saturday

The hidden ones will come

>>>>++<<<<

I   F e e l   Y o u

Mount Olivet Cemetery

Nashville, Tennessee

>>>>++<<<<

I carry joy as a choir sings,
but quietly as the dark
carols. To keep the wind away
so the hidden ones will come
out into the street and add
themselves to this array of
stars, constellations and moon.
I notice the ones in pain
shine more than the others.
It’s so they can be found,
I think. Found and harbored.

> Linda Gregg <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Friday

For thy sake O soul

>>>>++<<<<

S m a l l   S w e e t   B o y

The Home Front :: 2017

Columbia, South Carolina

>>>>++<<<<

Lo, soul, seest thou not God's purpose from the first?
The earth to be spann'd, connected by network,
The races, neighbors, to marry and be given in marriage,
The oceans to be cross'd, the distant brought near,
The lands to be welded together.
 
A worship new I sing,
You captains, voyagers, explorers, yours,
You engineers, you architects, machinists, yours,
You, not for trade or transportation only,
But in God's name, and for thy sake O soul.

Passage indeed O soul to primal thought,
Not lands and seas alone, thy own clear freshness,
The young maturity of brood and bloom,
To realms of budding bibles.
 
O soul, repressless, I with thee and thou with me,
Thy circumnavigation of the world begin,
Of man, the voyage of his mind's return,
To reason's early paradise,
Back, back to wisdom's birth, to innocent intuitions,
Again with fair creation.
 
O we can wait no longer,
We too take ship O soul,
Joyous we too launch out on trackless seas,
Fearless for unknown shores on waves of ecstasy to sail

Passage, immediate passage! the blood burns in my veins!
Away O soul! hoist instantly the anchor!
 
Cut the hawsers -- haul out  -- shake out every sail!
Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough?
Have we not grovel'd here long enough, eating and drinking like mere brutes?
Have we not darken'd and dazed ourselves with books long enough?
 
Sail forth -- steer for the deep waters only,
Reckless O soul, exploring, I with thee, and thou with me,
For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go,
And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all.
 
O my brave soul
O farther farther sail!
O daring joy, but safe! are they not all the seas of God?
O farther, farther, farther sail!

> Walt Whitman <

>>>>++<<<<

Happy Thursday