mood: deep in thoughts
reading: Yeats
My mood is up and down in these days - and I don't know why! Perhaps because of what happened lately, the thing with Allenby etc. - the last few weeks were packed with excitement - and my mind is still working on it.
Ginger gave me that weird advice to consult a witch! Geesh! Do you believe in magic? I don't know if should ... She told me that she has been there - and they had a seance with a witchboard (I must admit that I first didn't know what she was talking about). Ginger told me that the contacted spirit has said that she belongs to a man - a man she knows from former times and she should perhaps look around more carefully. I asked her if she already found him by now - and she just smiled.
Weird, huh?
I tried to distract myself a bit and was reading this:
reading: Yeats
My mood is up and down in these days - and I don't know why! Perhaps because of what happened lately, the thing with Allenby etc. - the last few weeks were packed with excitement - and my mind is still working on it.
Ginger gave me that weird advice to consult a witch! Geesh! Do you believe in magic? I don't know if should ... She told me that she has been there - and they had a seance with a witchboard (I must admit that I first didn't know what she was talking about). Ginger told me that the contacted spirit has said that she belongs to a man - a man she knows from former times and she should perhaps look around more carefully. I asked her if she already found him by now - and she just smiled.
Weird, huh?
I tried to distract myself a bit and was reading this:
Broken dreams
THERE is grey in your hair.
Young men no longer suddenly catch their breath
When you are passing;
But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessing
Because it was your prayer
Recovered him upon the bed of death.
For your sole sake—that all heart’s ache have known,
And given to others all heart’s ache,
From meagre girlhood’s putting on
Burdensome beauty—for your sole sake
Heaven has put away the stroke of her doom,
So great her portion in that peace you make
By merely walking in a room.
Your beauty can but leave among us
Vague memories, nothing but memories.
A young man when the old men are done talking
Will say to an old man, ‘Tell me of that lady
The poet stubborn with his passion sang us
When age might well have chilled his blood.’
Vague memories, nothing but memories,
But in the grave all, all, shall be renewed.
The certainty that I shall see that lady
Leaning or standing or walking
In the first loveliness of womanhood,
And with the fervour of my youthful eyes,
Has set me muttering like a fool.
You are more beautiful than any one,
And yet your body had a flaw:
Your small hands were not beautiful,
And I am afraid that you will run
And paddle to the wrist
In that mysterious, always brimming lake
Where those that have obeyed the holy law
Paddle and are perfect; leave unchanged
The hands that I have kissed
For old sake’s sake.
The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.
W.B. Yeats
Looking forward to this evening - some Guinness would be fine. Still no Black Sheep around ...
6 comments:
But be sure I'll jolly you along.
No need for a witch...
mhm...
I just think about stopping the writing ...
It's your choice.
But I'd really pity it, hun.
I got used to check from time to time what you're writing.
If you stop I'll have to veg out at your office all the day...
But I'm getting used to it, too!
Not decided yet ... 'course I love writing and it is fun mocking ...
Aaaah ... I think I have to sleep over it. Until then ... I plaster this blog with written poetry! HA!
Do so, hun.
I love your poems.
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