Another Awkward Stage Of Convalescence
Chronicle (Adelaide, SA : 1895 – 1954), Thursday 29 July 1954
Underneath a tree I lie,
Watching with lack lustre eye,
All those little trivial things
Weakness after sickness brings;
Watching birds flit to and fro;
Watching how the grasses grow;
Watching how the leaves and trees
Blend in Autumn harmonies
And wise insects, taught by God,
Build their shelters in the sod.
Oh, how low the pride of men
Falls and grovels meekly, when
Convalescence comes at last
After long borne sufferings past,
E’en the arrogance of pain
That strange vanity – is vain
And he lies, a stricken thing,
Bereft of even suffering.
All is gone – the pain, the pride;
Arrogance is laid aside.
And he owes all things he’d do
To some worthier being, who,
Out of charity, shall seek
To assist the helpless weak
Out of charity to lend
Splendid strength he is to spend.
So beneath the tree I lie,
Reading with a languid eye
Views of that and views of this
In a world so long amiss,
And, by some strange alchemy,
Suddenly it seems to me
That, as Earth’s wild turmoils cease,
Comes convalescence now and peace.
Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Description: perinatal assistant or aide-mom went to the mother’s home in the weeks after giving birth to a half-day to listen, encourage, inform, answer questions, support in the the organization of daily life (food, maintenance) and offer respite.
There’s a broken light for every heart on Broadway.
There’s a broken heart for every light on Broadway.
Airy, Fairy Lilian,
Flitting, fairy Lilian,
When I ask her if she love me,
Claps her tiny hands above me,
Laughing all she can;
She ‘ll not tell me if she love me,
Cruel little Lilian.
When my passion seeks
Pleasance in love-sighs,
She, looking thro’ and thro’ me
Thoroughly to undo me,
Smiling, never speaks:
So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple,
From beneath her gathered wimple
Glancing with black-bearded eyes,
Till the lightning laughters dimple
The baby-roses in her cheeks;
Then away she flies.
Prythee weep, May Lilian!
Gaiety without eclipse
Thro’ my every heart it thrilleth
When from crimson-threaded lips
Silver-treble laughter trilleth:
Praying all I can,
If prayers will not hush thee, Airy Lilian,
Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee, Fairy Lilian.
a great person can accommodate things great and small
FOTO clarence river in grafton nsw australia
The poetry of
fear and loathing,
how long’s it been around?
Between what once were
(Henry Ward Beecher)
Things are always best seen when they are a trifle mixed-up, a trifle disordered the chilly administrative neatness of museums and filing cases, of statistics and cemeteries, is an inhuman and antinatural kind of order it is, in a word, disorder.
"The road to ruin is always kept in good repair."
Vulgar of manner, overfed,
Overdressed and underbred;
Heartless, Godless, hell’s delight,
Rude by day and lewd by night…
Crazed with avarice, lust and rum,
New York, thy name’s delirium.
Byron Rufus Newton (1906)
~ Berthold Auerbach (1812-1882) ~
Art is self expression. If you are expressing someone else’s personality, that is not art.
— Bennie Wallace
“All procrastinators put off things they have to do. Structured procrastination is the art of making this negative trait work for you. The key idea is that procrastinating does not mean doing absolutely nothing. Procrastinators seldom do absolutely nothing; they do marginally useful things, such as gardening or sharpening pencils or making a diagram of how they will reorganize their files when they get around to it. Why does the procrastinator do these things? Because they are a way of not doing something more important. If all the procrastinator had left to do was to sharpen some pencils, no force on earth could get him to do it. The procrastinator can be motivated to do difficult, timely, and important tasks, however, as long as these tasks are a way of not doing something more important.”
― John Perry, The Art of Procrastination: A Guide to Effective Dawdling, Lollygagging and Postponing
“Pippin glanced in some wonder at the face now close beside his own, for the sound of that laugh had been gay and merry. Yet in the wizard’s face he saw at first only lines of care and sorrow; though as he looked more intently he perceived that under all there was a great joy: a fountain of mirth enough to set a kingdom laughing, were it to gush forth.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.
“Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”
― Leonard Cohen
― Nikki Giovanni
“I do not trust people who don’t love themselves and yet tell me, ‘I love you.’ There is an African saying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt.”
― Maya Angelou
― Daniel Defoe, Robinson Crusoe
“No utopia can ever give satisfaction to everyone, all the time. As their material conditions improve, men raise their sights and become discontented with power and possessions that once would have seemed beyond their wildest dreams. And even when the external world has granted all it can, there still remain the searchings of the mind and the longings of the heart.”
Arthur C. Clarke, Childhood’s End