Sunday, May 20, 2007

LOVE ON A BEAUTIFUL DAY

This was one of my favorite songs from the late 60s, WHITE BIRD, by IT’s A BEAUTIFUL DAY. I remember most of the 60s, though I am told I had a few days here and there where I looked a bit like the picture above. Good times they tell me.

*

Love cannot be kept. It cannot be locked up. Love cannot be chained any more than you can chain a persons heart, or their spirit. The tighter you hold, the harder it is to hold on to, the same as if you hold on with uncaring hands,. One must hold gently with soft caring open hands.

"Love cannot live in a cage, unless the door is always open, but then it is no longer a cage."
E.J. Edwards

For love to survive, it must be able to fly, to soar. And if it is meant to be, and both hearts nourish and cherish each other, they will return together. Two hearts, two spirits, dancing in air. I think ,more now, as true Love being an "arranged accident", by fate, a higher power, the great circles that have always been. . .

From my experience, it seems the more I tried, the more superficial the love was. And we can fool ourselves with superficial love, in fact some guys, perhaps ladies too, are more than happy with that level, it makes it easier to go on to the next "love" and the next. Sometimes it is not knowing, more times it is probably a practiced ‘game’ that some play so well. And someone gets hurt.

Hurting someone is a heavy burden to carry. I have hurt as well as been hurt, as we all have.

Neither is enjoyable, but hurting someone you did not mean to hurt is a heavy thing to be responsible for.

Enough for now. With apologies to Fox Muldar, Love is out there! For each of us.

Ever the Optimist I guess, but you know what they say about optimists: It is someone who does not really understand the circumstances. Well to you who say that, please let me be blissful in my ignorance.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

MELANCHOLY

I have to agree the last posting was sad, an old ballad, and it is such a beautiful song, Mckennitt has such a power and a beauty in her voice.

I am just feeling a bit of meloncholy today. A troubling of the spirit, a trembling in the soul. An empty space that is restless. We all get them at time, and they will pass. I put Alison Krause on because (I have a crush on her) she has a unique and special voice, The beauty of this old accapella spiritual is beyond words. And I need to be reminded, every so often, to look up. . .God bless you one and all.

THE HIGHWAYMAN

Whether it be the words or Lorenna Mckennitt's voice, this song is truly haunting. Of love found, love cherised, love shared, love defeating difficulties, and finally love conquering death.

The Highwayman

By Alfred Noyes

Part One   
                              I 
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, 
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, 
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor, 
And the highwayman came riding-                 
Riding-riding- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.              
 
                    II 
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
 A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
 They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh! 
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,                 
His pistol butts a-twinkle, 
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.                
 
 
 
 
                 
 
 
  III 
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, 
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, 
but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window, 
and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
 Bess, the landlord's daughter, 
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
 
                                 
 
 IV 
And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked 
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked; 
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, 
But he loved the landlord's daughter,                 
The landlord's red-lipped daughter, 
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-  
  
                              V 
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night, 
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; 
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, 
Then look for me by moonlight,                 
Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, 
though hell should bar the way."
                                 VI 
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, 
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! 
His face burnt like a brand 
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; 
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,                 
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) 
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight,
 and galloped away to the West.  
 
 
Part Two                                 I 
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; 
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, 
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, 
A red-coat troop came marching-                 
Marching-marching- King George's men came marching, 
up to the old inn-door.
 
II 
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, 
But they gagged his daughter
 and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; 
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! 
There was death at every window;                 
And hell at one dark window;
 For Bess could see, through the casement, 
the road that he would ride.                                  
 
III 
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; 
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
 "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.                 
She heard the dead man say- Look for me by moonlight;                
 Watch for me by moonlight; 
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!   
                               
 IV 
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! 
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood
! They stretched and strained in the darkness, 
and the hours crawled by like years, 
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,                 
Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! 
The trigger at least was hers!                                 
 
 V 
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! 
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, 
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
 For the road lay bare in the moonlight;                 
Blank and bare in the moonlight; 
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
 
                        
 
VI      
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? 
The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? 
Were they deaf that they did not hear? 
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, 
The highwayman came riding,                 
Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! 
She stood up strait and still!                                 
 
 VII Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! 
Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night ! Nearer he came and nearer! 
Her face was like a light! 
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, 
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,                 
Her musket shattered the moonlight, 
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.
 
 
                                 VIII 
He turned; he spurred to the West; 
he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, 
drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, 
his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter,                 
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
 Had watched for her love in the moonlight, 
and died in the darkness there.                                 
 
 IX 
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, 
With the white road smoking behind him 
and his rapier brandished high!
 Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; 
wine-red was his velvet coat, 
When they shot him down on the highway,                 
Down like a dog on the highway, 
And he lay in his blood on the highway, 
with a bunch of lace at his throat. 

* * * * * *

X

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding- Riding-riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

XI

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Notes:

This is the original version of The Highwayman, copyrighted 1906, 1913.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

A BAD DAY. . .

Signs You're Going to Have a Bad Day

You know it's going to be a bad day when . . .

. . .Mother Nature has it in for you.


. . . your twin sister forgets your birthday.


. . . you wake up face down on the pavement.


. . . you put your bra on your pet as a joke, and it fits better.


. . . you call suicide prevention and they put you on hold.


. . . you see a "60 Minutes news team" waiting in your outer office.


. . . your birthday cake collapses from the weight of the candles.


. . . you want to put on the clothes you wore home from the party, and they aren't yours.


. . . you turn on the TV news and they're displaying emergency routes out of your city.



. . . you wake up to discover that your water bed broke and then you realize that you don't have a water bed.


. . . your horn goes off accidently and remains stuck as you follow a group of bikers on the freeway.


. . . you get a rejection notice from the HUMOR Listserver saying that you're no longer funny.


. . . your doctor tells you, "Well, I have bad news and good news..."


. . . you open the paper and find your picture under a caption that reads:
"WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE!"


. . . your ex-lover calls and tells you he/she has 6 days to live, and that you'd better get the Test.


. . . you wake up at work naked in front of your co-workers.



. . . you have a job interview in 10 minutes and you just woke up

AND THE WORST OF ALL:


. . . you need your chocoholic fix and the government just banned chocolate!

Now then, your day really wasn't all that bad was it?

Saturday, May 12, 2007

HIGH FLIGHT

HIGH FLIGHT
by John Gillespie Magee, Jr
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Mountain Flight Art Print by Ron Parker

Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
--The story behind the poem --

During the desperate days of the Battle of Britain, hundreds of Americans crossed the border into Canada to enlist with the Royal Canadian Air Force. Knowingly breaking the law, but with the tacit approval of the then still officially neutral United States Government, they volunteered to fight the Nazis.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was one such American. Born in Shanghai, China, in 1922 to an English mother and a Scotch-Irish-American father, Magee was 18 years old when he entered flight training. Within the year, he was sent to England and posted to the newly formed No 412 Fighter Squadron, RCAF, which was activated at Digby, England, on 30 June 1941. He was qualified on and flew the Supermarine Spitfire.

Flying fighter sweeps over France and air defense over England against the German Luftwaffe, he rose to the rank of Pilot Officer.

On 3 September 1941, Magee flew a high altitude (30,000 feet) test flight in a newer model of the Spitfire V. As he orbited and climbed upward, he was struck with the inspiration of a poem — "To touch the face of God."

Once back on the ground, he wrote a letter to his parents. In it he commented, "I am enclosing a verse I wrote the other day. It started at 30,000 feet, and was finished soon after I landed." On the back of the letter, he jotted down his poem, 'High Flight'.

Just three months later, on 11 December 1941 (and only three days after the US entered the war), Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr., was killed. The Spitfire V he was flying, VZ-H, collided with an Oxford Trainer from Cranwell Airfield flown by one Ernest Aubrey. The mid-air happened over the village of Roxholm which lies between RAF Cranwell and RAF Digby, in the county of Lincolnshire at about 400 feet AGL at 11:30. John was descending in the clouds. At the enquiry a farmer testified that he saw the Spitfire pilot struggle to push back the canopy. The pilot, he said, finally stood up to jump from the plane. John, however, was too close to the ground for his parachute to open. He died instantly. He was 19 years old.

Part of the official letter to his parents read, "Your son's funeral took place at Scopwick Cemetery, near Digby Aerodrome, at 2:30 P.M. on Saturday, 13th December, 1941, the service being conducted by Flight Lieutenant S. K. Belton, the Canadian padre of this Station. He was accorded full Service Honors, the coffin being carried by pilots of his own Squadron."

NOTE: The background photo, and the second one shown in the body of the blog is a painting by Keith Ferris titled HIGH FLIGHT. It commemorates the flight of Pilot Magee in VZ-H. What other poems and works of greatness did the world lose. . .

Music Courtesy of Linda, please check her blog out for humor, enlightenment, laughs, sometimes tears (good ones!!) and a high AHHHHHHHH factor. She is listed in my friends section.