B. Royce

Or one may dance in a more varied way: Heavenly Earth The glitt'ring hall is filling up with dancers spinning bright, And one especially's cutting in who's very cool and light. Steppin', movin', groovin' through, as smooth as butter sweet, She's the one can melt my soul until I'm only heat. Step down, move in, bump once and stay, Oh now, oh now, the other way. Earthy dancin', earth of mine, Soul is free and body fine. Talkin' happy, stalkin' light, Life is good and I'm all right! Steppin', movin', groovin' in, As far as we can go, We freeze and melt and freeze again, Oh no, oh yes, oh no! The gleaming old hall is a-filling all up with the dancers of feathery light, And one is especially coming on in who is doing it, brewing it right. And steppin' and movin' and groovin' on through to the rhythm of higher and low She still is the one who can butter me better whenever and ever we go! Step down, move in, bump once and git, Oh now, oh now, we're doin' it; Come back, reverse, swing all about And up again and bump it out. Step down, move in, bump once and stay, Oh now, oh now, the other way! Earthy dancin', earth of mine, Soul is free and body fine; Soul body free, soul body fine, Soul body fine fine fine fine! Steppin', movin', groovin' in, As far as we can go, We freeze and melt and freeze again, Oh no, oh yes, oh no! A flash-----a hall-----that's all! Brian Faulkner

AMERICONORMAN, excellent! Don't be afraid of punctuation, it will aid in giving your passionate feeling more point, and thus strengthen, not weaken the expression and effect. Punctuation represents a mind that is still in control, no matter how strong the feelings. The modernist idea that no punctuation enables the reader to pause where he wants (based upon his feelings) is wrong. It would be like a painter painting objects on a canvas with no particular spatial relations, leaving it up to the viewer to make his own. Remember, it's not the viewer's work of art, it's yours. The idea of comparing your loved one to the beauties of past times and at the same time symbolizing the very idea of beauty is very well done. It is a pleasure to read.

Yes, the Gilbert piece IS a challenge. Fun, too, especially since I remembered the tune. Lehrer's "Elements" is like never being able to see the forest, there are just so many dem trees. For a poem that sounds like what it means, here's one I discovered not too long ago: Smith's Song.....by George Sigerson (1835-1925) Ding dong didero, ...Blow big bellows, Ding dong didero, ...Black coal yellows, Ding dong didero, ...Blue steel mellows, Ding dong didero, ...Strike!---good fellows. Up with the hammers, ...Down with the sledges, Hark to the clamours, ...Pound now the edges, Work it and watch it, ...Round, flat, or square O, Spade, hook, or hatchet---- ...Sword for a hero. Ding dong didero, ...Ding dong didero, Spade for a labourer, ...Sword for a hero; Hammer it, stout smith, ...Rightly, lightly, Hammer it, hammer it, ...Hammer at it brightly. --------------------------------- Here are some glad-speaking verses of mine, from the end of my narrative poem "Make Way!" He finished; came to us; then challenged us to clasp Ourselves to mastery in this life on earth we have: "This paper's bright; it weighs the light of what I am, shall be; And as I stand a sky-line man, tall men, stand you with me". Yes, then, as now----all set and geared to go; For when his plan was rolled out the earth began to glow. Then we---the Builders---bore on down, .................we blasted, pounded, tore; We flung old boulders far away .................and sunk the massive floor. Then upward drove the loved command .................of Will and Skill and Aim; While thunder spoke through hamm'ring hands .................the sky-arm went! ... and came! We struck wide flights together with .................deep shouting chords of "Done!" In glinting, dusty weather, yes! .................we cheered a graying sun! We challenged rain with man-time, ah, .................our passion catching hold! Storm? We bristle lightnings----hah! .................they brush the air with gold! We rise with clean-swung purpose and .................we climb through wind and cloud; We scan, we thunder higher, and .................we lift "I can" so proud. So proud of high endeavor, yea, .................so proud to think and plan; So proud to pass the sun with "Hey! .................Here's the light of Man!" Now lift these walls and clasp those girders; swing this granite, turn that glass; Check the bolts and rivets holding all this rising man-made mass. Come press this hard, thought-shapen matter; see this mind-created might, This ringing singing body, this lifting soul made right! This, it soars; we know it; we'll be in flight all day. The course is straight, he set it; the order's firm, "Make Way!" Brian Faulkner

Thanks, deedlebee, for posting Mr. Marvell's smoothly calm and sincere poem. Assuming his persuassion was successful, he might have called this poem to mind: Pack, Clouds, Away, And Welcome Day by Thomas Heywood (1605) Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day! With night we banish sorrow. Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft, To give my love good-morrow! Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow. Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing, To give my love good-morrow! To give my love good-morrow Notes from them all I'll borrow. Wake from thy rest, robin-redbreast; Sing, birds, in every furrow! And from each bill let music shrill Give my fair love good-morrow! Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow, You pretty elves, amongst yourselves Sing my fair love good-morrow! To give my love good-morrow, Sing, birds, in every furrow!

I chose not to write this poem, but it came out on its own: Determination I have not chosen to say That I have no choice what I say; And I have not chosen to post it Or pick up my glass and toast it. I'm a robot in all that I do, A robot in all that I am, Determined to sit with my brew Remembering choice is a sham. "The bar is closing at one." Wait! Can't you see I'm not done? My God! How can you so dare!? You're not, evidently, fair! "I have not chosen to meet The seat of your pants with the street, But it comes with a bit of a smile, oh; A choiceless, choicy style, oh?" Brian Faulkner

Life is a process of self-sustaining action. And it must be right action. Always choosing the right action is not guaranteed. The motive for searching for and making the right choice is maintaining and furthering life. If a person knew he was never going to die he would not have a motive to act, and he would have no standard for choosing any values. In what sense would he be alive? What do you mean by immortal? Can you prove that it is a valid concept? What do you mean by life?

The Trendy Cynic, you say that you are "hoping someone in here can help you..." Since you are convinced that you are totally determined you cannot be genuinely hopeful---of anything.

No one would get any enjoyment out of life, because you would no longer be a form of life. Asking yourself to imagine such a state is asking the metaphysically impossible, like trying to imagine a ball that's all red and all green at the same time.

Here is a poem which I wrote back in the early 80's. It's subtitle might be "Eden, Revisited". Stand Straighter Stand stranger, O Love, stand stranger, Stand straighter, and lift up thine eyes. The wings of the sun sweep about us---- We, the gift of the earth to the skies. We have done what the god has forbidden---- We have leapt to the boughs of our tree. Yea, now the danger of height be unhidden We laugh with how easy we see. Fear was God's name, and of olden We bent for halt steps of his feet. Now the dareways of life wave open And faints in our ears his half beat. He has crawled under dust at our leaping, Lies blind in the dust, and is dead. Brave Sight takes his place and, out-leafing, Glances true My-space ahead. Brave Sight, that is stronger than Heaven, And purer than peace in a grave, And though Joy's not yet wholly unladen, We are free, and we are not slave. Step up, make it real---your desire; No low-quitting effort should hide. Reach lips in the name of our fire Not curses of Hell can divide. We have life, O Love, we are mortal, And our blossoms of right are in hand; Mid haloing rings of embracement Our time-taking souls command. Come, let's foot off this little dim shadow, There's a full glad world to view---- Smooth ways or stony to march in or seek in, Strong ways and first ways and true. Yes, this is the grace of OUR giving---- That in choosing we use what we are, And the courage of thought undeceiving Outleaps any error by far. Up now, the mountains await us; They list for the beat of our feet. "We are coming, Beyond, we are coming; Thine existence shall soon be complete. "We are coming, far birds, we are coming; Wing out thy songs upon air! Forest and River, we thy meaning deliver; For the plans of REAL makers prepare! "O Earth, O Rich Matter, Sound Being, On Thee we do set out to win, Wit Inquisitive Eyes now all seeing And Masterly Thought without sin." Stand stranger, O Love, stand straighter, Show proudly the lust of thine eyes; The praise of the sun pours upon us---- We, the gift of the earth to the skies! Brian Faulkner

It's raining too hard to take an enjoyable walk, so I'll post Bells (after Poe) The lightly touching tinkling bells, Shimm'ring, babbling, laughing in the breeze, The ever-merry tapping bells, Who now has these? Low, slow, iron bells; Deep, still, lead bells; Bells, bells, bells. Bells. Bells. Bells. All gladly-sounding glowing golden-bells, Lilting, lighter, brighter yellow-bells, Mightier-yellow-even-whiter-bells! Ivory-keyed I concerto-bells! Striding proudly in the breeze I have these! The bells of thoughts serenely dear, Planning, looking, finding-----here! The hand that reaches for the loved bell's face, Then touches, almost, the perfect place. Low, slow, iron bells; Deep, still, lead bells; Bells, bells, bells. Bells. Bells. Bells. All terrible-sad mad rebellious bells. Brazed, swinging-fast Goliath bells! Stronger, harder-hearted mountain-bells. Caught! Smelted! Recast! Now joyous-sounding royal loyal-bells, Silver-lovely radiant treasure-bells, Sure-as-morning's darling pleasure-bells, Sledging! steady! ready! wedding bells! Bells! All happy in the breeze, We have these! High, soft, snapdragon bells; Kissed, whisp'ring, thoughtful body-bells, "Bells, bells, bells". Brian Faulkner

Further, having the love of one's life means being able to fully experience the joy and pleasure of one's mind and character as an objective value. That is not dependency, any more than is a work of art one loves, which is an objectification of one's values, a dependency.

However, once having found the love of one's life, and experiencing him or her as the highest reward for the achievement of one's character, one might no longer wish to go on living when that person dies.

After watching the news tonight about religionist's attempts to intimidate teachers of evolution I wrote this: The Creationist's Creed There is no god found anywhere, Or on the land or in the air, Or back of stars or under sea; But when imagination flies (Inside my head---God's Paradise) Then all the world is made by me. For I am God, it's plain to see, And what I wish, it must be true. That's why Creation must be taught---- I wish, and what I wish is "ought"; And schools are made for wishes' brew---- From wish in me to wish in you. Brian Faulkner

Love may be vocally and physically expressed, or separate and soundless, as here: Only Look Soft-gray clouds lessening over hard-gray sea, Partly pulled apart into pink and orange, Slowly separating into peach and gold, Lovelier than a May dawn's heart can be, Above, and on the sea. Oh, And the swell of the sea, And the free-way-sailing open cries Of the white-winged hailers of the waking skies, Soaring around in felt-tipped height, Around, dip, around, up, and far out wide around, Till over the downs and down to the beach. Not there, but here, is the feast I reach, Back from the shore, through the grass and the flowers, On a white table on a white-railed porch---- The shell that you found this last half hour, Raised, smelled, looked at so curiously, As if Pure Secret were therein bound. And no, you did not listen, as others do, But stood just still, a real picture of pausing sound. Then smiling, you walked proudly away with your own thought. I ask it not, only look at the shell And smile, glad that it lay so well. Brian Faulkner

When I went to high school in the early 60's my English class studied poetry for six weeks. Luckily we had some Poe (The Raven and Annabel Lee), because all the rest was unmusical negative modern stuff. We were expected to regard with awe Joyce Kilmer's insipid, self-abnegating "Trees". Some years later, with tree-loving environmentalists all over the news, while looking out a window into a side yard I noticed two trees leaning toward each other. Happy to have a chance to keep in step with the times, I wrote The Love-Trees I lean to the tree that is leaning to me; We touch, and our branches twine. Our budding-song grows stunning and strong; Her flowers of love are mine. Her "hands" so fair in my winding "hair" Fill them with life and Spring. The breeze in our branches dallies and dances; The words of the birdies sing. We sway together in Maytime weather; We lighten the sky with flame. In time with flowers we rhyme for hours, Our rhythm of life the same. We burst on the hills above the old chills; We beckon with spangled arms. To passion of men we fling out again The pride of our peerless charms. To lovers that grasp, oh! how we clasp! Urging half kisses near. To lips that decide, to triumph new-tried, We puff out a pom-pom cheer! The dance of the world in their whole arms curled, The light, the height, and the way, Swings hard to the earth to sweep the heart's worth And moans with the music of May. They live, they are one, they are free in the sun; We_ stretch out our leaves and sigh. The flowering stream of the whole world's dream Sways in the brow-bowed sky! Brian Faulkner

A few years ago I wrote the following poem for an acquaintanceof mine who was bravely working her way through some difficult psychological problems. Resolution I am resigned, resolved, I say, To lead my mind and never stray; To think more clear, unswerving steer, And make my dreams less far away. I'll reason straight and ope the gate That shows a road unbent by fate. Integrity in me will bind The mountain view I'm set to find. It may be hard, it may be long, But I choose life and I am strong. To lead my mind and never stray, I am resigned, resolved, I say. Brian Faulkner

In Swinburne's verse play, "Erechtheus", the legendary 1st king of Athens answers a messenger from Eumolpus, who is out at sea with his ships preparing to attack Athens. The message was a threat to destroy Athens unless Erechtheus and the Athenians surrender. The Athenians are heavily out-numbered. Erechtheus responds. "To fight then be it; for if to die or live, No man but only a god knows this much yet Seeing us fare forth, who bear but in our hands The weapons not the fortunes of our fight; For these now rest as lots that yet undrawn Lie in the lap of the unknown hour; but this I know, not thou, whose hollow mouth of storm Is but a war-like wind, a sharp salt breath That bites and wounds not; death nor life of mine Shall give to death or lordship of strange kings The soul of this live city, nor their heel Bruise her dear brow discrowned, nor snaffle or goad Wound her free mouth or stain her sanguine side Yet masterless of man; so bid thy lord Learn ere he weep to learn it, and too late Gnash teeth that could not fasten on her flesh, And foam his life out in dark froth of blood Vain as a wind's waif of the loud-mouthed sea Torn from the wave's edge whitening. Tell him this; Though thrice his might were mustered for our scathe And thicker set with fence of thorn-edged spears Than sands are whirled about the wintering beach When storms have swoln the rivers, and their blasts Have breached the broad sea-banks with stress of sea, That waves of inland and the main make war As men that mix and grapple; though his ranks Were more to number than all wildwood leaves The wind waves on the hills of all the world, Yet should the heart not faint, the head not fall, The breath not fail of Athens. Say, the gods From lips that have no more on earth to say Have told thee this the last good news or ill That I shall speak in sight of earth and sun Or he shall hear and see them: for the next That ear of his from tongue of mine may take Must be the first word spoken underground From dead to dead in darkness. Hence; make haste, Lest war's fleet foot be swifter than thy tongue And I that part not to return again On him that comes not to depart away Be fallen before thee; for the time is full, And with such mortal hope as knows not fear I go this high last way to the end of all.

Yes, you're right about the date. The other movie was The Sea Hawk. The characters which were the same were his crew. The battle scenes were practically identical, if my memory serves me right.

Yes, Keating did love Roark to some degree (which Toohey certainly did not), which provided a basis for a potentally selfish choice on his part. That selfish choice should have been to fulfill his deepest love (at that point, since he had already discarded painting), which was for Catherine. In reading the story I had hoped that Keating would marry Catherine that last time,and so rise up and be a man. When he didn't, he was finished. Roark didn't know of Keating's choice regarding Catherine. If he had, he would not have made the deal. I think one is more repelled by Keating than Toohey precisely because Keating is not as evil. Total evil, like Toohey, is beneath any feeling at all. He is totally selfless, and thus, totally impotent.

As for me, I'm not new, but thanks for clearing me. Actually, I wasn't telling Amber what she should think. I was responding to the fact that her "excuse" of having so little time didn't mesh with her longer response to David's correction than a shorter response of "Okay" or no response at all. So, I concluded that she held little value for this site. Well, we will see.

Have you seen "Captain Blood"? It has a beautiful music score which is perfectly integrated with the action, shadows are used with great dramatic effect, and it has one the most beautiful death scene. Also, there are two brief shots of a man's eyes midst the noise and smoke of battle which are unforgettable. Basil Rathbone plays an excellent scurvy pirate and Errol Flynn is at his heroic best. The movie was made in 1926. A couple years later a movie was made with nearly the same cast, and with some of the exact same scenes which mocked the positive values of Captain Blood. I forget its title, but it got the rave reviews and the awards.

Now for lightheartedness. Regarding typos, I often forget to capitolize "i" when used by itself. Relating this to philosophical meaning one could express the difference between egoism and selflessness thus: Capital I was hungry and went to the store for bread; small i just sat on the floor and ended up dead.

If an "internet discussion post" is so beneath you why go to any at all?

Also, in "Poems of Today" I found "Hils", by Arthur Guiterman, born 1871, in Vienna, educated in New York. He wrote mostly humorous verse. I have made two changes. In the last stanza "twilight-time replaces "vesper-time" and "Life" replaces "God". Hills by Arthur Guiterman I never loved your plains!--- Your gentle valleys, Your drowsy country lanes And pleach-ed alleys. I want my hills!---the trail That scorns the hollow. Up, up the rugged shale Where few will follow. Up, over wooded crest And mossy boulder, With strong thigh, heaving chest, And swinging shoulder, So let me hold my sway, By nothing halted, Until, at close of day, I stand, exalted, High on my hills of dream---- Dear hills that know me! And then, how fair will seem The lands below me! How pure, at twilight-time, The far bells chiming! Life, give me hills to climb, And strength for climbing! ___________________________ How simply, in content and structure, he expresses high self-esteem.

In reading this thread I recalled a writer who may interest you. His name is George Lansing Raymond. He wrote several books on aesthetics, one titled, I think, "Music as a Representative Art (late 1800's). I have his "Poetry as a Representative Art" Here are two excerpts which may stir your interest, for, although concerned with speech, one can see a connection with music. In discussing duration he says, "in the degree in which utterances are instinctive (spontaneous ejaculations) they find expression in short duration, or----what is the same thing----in fast time. But when one becomes conscious of surrounding influences to which he must conform his phraseology, these put him into a reflective mood, and under the sway of his impressions, he stops to think of what he has to say, and so uses slow time; or, to look at the subject from a different point of view, a speaker, when not desirous of conveying to others the impression that what he is saying demands their serious attention, may talk rapidly. But when he wishes to convey the opposite impression, he talks slowly. Thus, duration assigns a mental weight or measure to ideas". In regard to pitch he says, "pitch represents the mental movements, or that which underlies them----the mental motives or aims. When a man is light-hearted, when there is nothing to weigh him down, he generally speaks with a lighter or higher pitch, but if he does feel weighted down, or when regarding serious, grave and dignified matters, he uses low pitch." Mr. Raymond goes on, dealing thoroughly with loudness, softness, simplicity, complexity, the speed of rhythms, etc., and how these are used to represent the feelings behind expressed ideas. If his book on music is as thorough, it may be stimulating to your investigations at the least. He also quotes Aristotle and Max Muller favorably.