"Auld Lang Syne" Dept.
(And Goodbye)

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint stoop
And surely I'll be mine
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes
And pou'd the gowans fine
But we've wander'd mony a weary foot
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl'd i' the burn
Frae mornin' sun till dine
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere
And gi'e's a hand o' thine
And we'll tak a right good willy waught
For auld lang syne. [Attr. Robert Burns]

One year ago, I prayed this prayer for my father in law Frank Barone who was in the hospital. As today would have been his wedding anniversary to my mother on law Raffaelina Barone, I repost it anew at this time and request prayers for the eternal repose of their souls...

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light [Dylan Thomas (published 1951)]

It's empty now, no friendly face
And nothing lives within
I look around and I find no trace
To tell me what has been

So far I've come to find there's no one here
No life and fear
I came for nothing, they have gone
And nobody's home

I am contemplating a name change for this site. Whether it will be as an add-on to the current name or sonething different altogether, on that I do not currently know. But something will be changing, it is only a question of when on that front, not if.

I came to learn, perhaps to teach
But I can tell somehow
The world that I was sent to reach
Has got no future now

All things change and this site even in its nearly nineteen years of existence{1} has undergone numerous changes in layout, topics covered, etc. 

The one constant is that this site has served as a kind of journal of sorts where subjects of interest to me were published here. I referred to written projects once as writing photographs and this site in its older materials does serve as a kind of writing photo album. As with picture albums, there are non flattering shots in the book along with the more favouring ones but that is life. And life has a way of going on and in directions one does not expect. I have certainly had probably more than my share of that over the years. But I look at several things differently now than when this site began. 

Across the galaxy to spread the word
And no one heard
I came for nothing, I'm alone
And nobody's home

Muhammed Ali once said "a man who looks at the world at fifty the way he did at twenty has wasted thirty years of their life." I have certainly avoided that and thank God I am not like those who have not if which there are sadly, many.{2}

A requiem was never sung, no elegy was read
No monument was carved in stone in memory of the dead
For those who made this place do not remain
They feel no pain
A stranger fate was never known

This site started as a part of a community that basically does not exist anymore. Whatever one thinks of that or wishes, it is what it is. And for that reason, one must operate in accordance with what is and not on the basis of what one wishes. 

Notes:

{1} We debuted on August 22, 2002 and were in operation until an indefinite suspension in operations on December 19, 2009. We then resumed operations on April 4 2017 to the present day.

{2} To the degree I have avoided this is due to grace and I therefore cannot claim the credit.

BREAKING: Sources Confirm Shock G Of Digital Underground Dead At 57 

"All right! Stop whatcha doin' 

'Cause I'm about to ruin 

The image and the style that ya used to 

I look funny 

But yo I'm makin' money, see 

So yo world I hope you're ready for me 

Now gather round 

I'm the new fool in town 

And my sound's laid down by the Underground 

I drink up all the Hennessey ya got on ya shelf 

So just let me introduce myself..."  

#RestInPeace "Humpty Hump"!

Sonnet XIX:

(Requiem For Summer Past)

Having another birthday today, this sonnet from Shakespeare came to mind. It is not just a requiem for summer past but for 47 summers past. Without further ado...

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,

And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;

Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,

And burn the long-liv'd phoenix, in her blood;

Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,

And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,

To the wide world and all her fading sweets;

But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:

O! carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,

Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;

Him in thy course untainted do allow

For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.

Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,

My love shall in my verse ever live young.

For my father in law Frank Barone I pray...

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
[Dylan Thomas (published 1951)]

My childhood best friend Chris DiSomma died fourteen years ago today. In honour of him, I want to post at this time lyrics to one of his (and my) favourite songs and a song played at his memorial. Without further ado, I give you Simple Man...

Mama told me when I was young
Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say.
And if you do this
It will help you some sunny day.

Take your time... don't live too fast,
Troubles will come and they will pass.
Go find a woman and you'll find love,
And don't forget son,
There is someone up above.

And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can?

Forget your lust for the rich mans gold
All that you need is in your soul,
And you can do this if you try.
All that I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.

And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can?

Boy, don't you worry... you'll find yourself.
Follow you heart and nothing else.
And you can do this if you try.
All I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.

And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can? [Ronnie Van Zant (d. 10/20/77)]

I know he can hear me and therefore I want to repeat what I have said in years past:

Chris despite everything that happened between us you will always be close to my heart my friend, always. May God rest your soul and it is my hope that we meet again in a much better place.

Robert Hunter, Grateful Dead Collaborator and Lyricist, Dead at 78

"Fare you well, my honey, fare you well my only true one.
All the birds that were singing are flown, except you alone.

Going to leave this brokedown palace,
On my hand and my knees, I will roll, roll, roll.
Make myself a bed by the waterside,
In my time, in my time, I will roll, roll roll.

In a bed, in a bed, by the waterside I will lay my head.
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul..."

#RestInPeace

A Message for "The Squad":

In light of recent controversial Twitter messages from President Trump, revisiting these lyrics seems appropriate...

I hear people talkin' bad,
About the way they have to live here in this country
Harpin' on the wars we fight
And gripin' 'bout the way things oughta be
And I don't mind 'em switchin' sides
And standin' up for things they believe in
But when they're runnin' down our country, man
They're walkin' on the fightin' side of me

They're walkin' on the fightin' side of me
Runnin' down a way of life
Our fightin' men have fought and died to keep
If you don't love it, leave it
Let this song that I'm singin' be a warnin'
When you're runnin' down our country, hoss
You're walkin' on the fightin' side of me

I read about some squirrelly guy
Who claims that he just don't believe in fightin'
And I wonder just how long
The rest of us can count on bein' free
They love our milk and honey
But they preach about some other way of livin'
But when they're runnin' down our country, man
They're walkin' on the fightin' side of me

They're walkin' on the fightin' side of me
Runnin' down the way of life
Our fightin' men have fought and died to keep
If you don't love it, leave it
Let this song that I'm singin' be a warnin'
When you're runnin' down our country, man
You're walkin' on the fightin' side of me

You're walkin' on the fightin' side of me
Runnin' down the way of life
Our fightin' men have fought and died to keep
If you don't love it, leave it
Let this song that I'm singin' be a warnin'
When you're runnin' down our country, hoss
You're walkin' on the fightin' side of me
[Merle Haggard (circa December 1969)]

"...Bus stop rat bag

Ha, ha, charade you are

You fucked up old hag

Ha, ha, charade you are

You radiate cold shafts of broken glass

You're nearly a good laugh

Almost worth a quick grin

You like the feel of steel

You're hot stuff with a hatpin

And good fun with a hand gun

You're nearly a laugh

You're nearly a laugh

But you're really a cry..."

Video: Hillary Almost Falling On Her Face Symbolizes Failed Campaign And The Nonsense She Spewed In India

Hillary-Mentum! The Delusional Still See A Chance For Clinton To Become President

"Oh, Jawbone, when did you first go wrong?
Oh, Jawbone, where is it you belong?

[Two] time loser, you'll never learn,
Lay down your tools before you burn.
Ya keep on runnin' and hidin' your face,
Spreadin' your heat all over the place..."

My child arrived just the other day

He came to the world in the usual way
But there were planes to catch and bills to pay
He learned to walk while I was away
And he was talkin' 'fore I knew it, and as he grew
He'd say "I'm gonna be like you dad
You know I'm gonna be like you"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin' home dad?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then son
You know we'll have a good time then

My son turned ten just the other day
He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let's play
Can you teach me to throw", I said "Not today
I got a lot to do", he said, "That's ok"
And he walked away but his smile never dimmed
And said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah
You know I'm gonna be like him"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin' home son?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then son
You know we'll have a good time then

Well, he came home from college just the other day
So much like a man I just had to say
"Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head and said with a smile
"What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys
See you later, can I have them please?"

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin' home son?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then son
You know we'll have a good time then

I've long since retired, my son's moved away
I called him up just the other day
I said, "I'd like to see you if you don't mind"
He said, "I'd love to, Dad, if I can find the time
You see my new job's a hassle and kids have the flu
But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad
It's been sure nice talking to you"

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me
He'd grown up just like me
My boy was just like me

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin' home son?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then son
You know we'll have a good time then.

[Harry Chapin Carpenter]

Rest in Peace Daddy!

Chelsea Clinton: America Was ‘Too Sexist’ To Elect My Mom


In brief...

The drawer's dullest knife
Desperate for relevance
Poor homely Chelsea

Sunday and Wednesday
Two milestones in my life
Different yet the same
[Written just now]

The Sunday in the above haiku refers to yesterday.

Since they had that whole White House "beer summit" thing, I will share at this time a stanza poem I wrote last November, Without further ado...

May the memory of your self always strike a chord in others
May they look upon you fondly as they would their favourite brothers
Even if those lads happen to be sons of different mothers
These things can happen sometimes.

Let your memory be one of cheerfulness, be not a bore
That your friends may in memory raise an Irish toast to days of yore
May you make it to heaven thirty minutes before
The devil knows you are dead. [Written on 11/09/08]

And for a haiku based on a variation of Albert King's Matchbox Blues -itself borrowing heavily from the work of Blind Lemon Jefferson...

sometimes I wonder
will a matchbox hold my clothes
got so far to go
[Written on 1/27/08]

First thing I remember was askin' papa, why? ,
For there were many things I didn't know.
And daddy always smiled; took me by the hand,
Sayin', someday you'll understand.

Well, I'm here to tell you now each and ev'ry mothers son
You better learn it fast; you better learn it young,
Cause, someday never comes.

Well, time and tears went by and I collected dust,
For there were many things I didn't know.
When daddy went away, he said, try to be a man,
And, someday you'll understand.

Well, I'm here to tell you now each and ev'ry mothers son
You better learn it fast; you better learn it young,
Cause, someday never comes.

And then, one day in april, I wasn't even there,
For there were many things I didn't know.
A son was born to me; mama held his hand,
Sayin' someday you'll understand.

Well, I'm here to tell you now each and ev'ry mothers son
You better learn it fast; you better learn it young,
Cause, someday never comes.

Think it was September, the year I went away,
For there were many things I didn't know.
And I still see him standing, tryin' to be a man;
I said, someday you'll understand.

Well, I'm here to tell you now each and ev'ry mothers son
You better learn it fast; you better learn it young,
Cause, someday never comes. [J C Fogerty]

And as many have presumed that this song was about war, here is John Fogerty the songwriter explaining the meaning of his song:

"Every parent tells their child "someday". "Gee daddy,can we go fishing?"... yeah, someday. My parents divorced when I was young and I ended up divorcing from my first wife... The song is basically talking about... here it happened to me when I was young and here I go doing the same damn thing. It's sad. I wanted to express what a kid feels, "Someday never comes."

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne ?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup !
And surely I’ll buy mine !
And we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

We two have run about the slopes,
and picked the daisies fine ;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun till dine† ;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand my trusty friend !
And give us a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.

For an understanding of the lyrics to this song verse by verse and the reason why we traditionally post it at the start of every year, see the thread connected to this thread for details.

May your year be blessed and prosperous!!!

I was rather cynical when this poem was written; nonetheless...

'its just the beginning of the message we send
a political season winding down to its end
I will not raise your taxes my friend
just those who make more than you

autumn's arrived coloured leaves on the trees
the Seahawks keep losing we need a reprieve
sitting with santa in pictures say "cheese"
with vertically challenged elves
[Written on 10/14/08]

Having noted a pattern I have recently set down in no small detail (and that I have every intention of following on this humble weblog), here is another of the poems written earlier this year. Unlike an eight line stanza variation posted recently, this one a haiku but like the aforementioned poem, I had to use someone else's last line as the first line of my own poem. Without further ado...

dreaming sets you free
dont tell the government lest
they tax your slumbers
[Written on 2/13/08]