Excellent. :D
I just know that X-Runner is out there somewhere and will come and outclass us all.
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HHH...you are good...real good boyo!
A Soliloquy Of The Full Moon, She Being In A Mad Passion
by Samuel Coleridge
Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation!
Wherever they can come
With clankum and blankum
'Tis all Botheration, & Hell & Damnation,
With fun, jeering
Conjuring
Sky-staring,
Loungering,
And still to the tune of Transmogrification--
Those muttering
Spluttering
Ventriloquogusty
Poets
With no Hats
Or Hats that are rusty.
They're my Torment and Curse
And harass me worse
And bait me and bay me, far sorer I vow
Than the Screech of the Owl
Or the witch-wolf's long howl,
Or sheep-killing Butcher-dog's inward Bow wow
For me they all spite--an unfortunate Wight.
And the very first moment that I came to Light
A Rascal call'd Voss the more to his scandal,
Turn'd me into a sickle with never a handle.
A Night or two after a worse Rogue there came,
The head of the Gang, one Wordsworth by name--
`Ho! What's in the wind?' 'Tis the voice of a Wizzard!
I saw him look at me most terribly blue !
He was hunting for witch-rhymes from great A to Izzard,
And soon as he'd found them made no more ado
But chang'd me at once to a little Canoe.
From this strange Enchantment uncharm'd by degrees
I began to take courage & hop'd for some Ease,
When one Coleridge, a Raff of the self-same Banditti
Past by--& intending no doubt to be witty,
Because I'd th' ill-fortune his taste to displease,
He turn'd up his nose,
And in pitiful Prose
Made me into the half of a small Cheshire Cheese.
Well, a night or two past--it was wind, rain & hail--
And I ventur'd abroad in a thick Cloak & veil--
But the very first Evening he saw me again
The last mentioned Ruffian popp'd out of his Den--
I was resting a moment on the bare edge of Naddle
I fancy the sight of me turn'd his Brains addle--
For what was I now?
A complete Barley-mow
And when I climb'd higher he made a long leg,
And chang'd me at once to an Ostrich's Egg--
But now Heaven be praised in contempt of the Loon,
I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon.
Yet my heart is still fluttering--
For I heard the Rogue muttering--
He was hulking and skulking at the skirt of a Wood
When lightly & brightly on tip-toe I stood
On the long level Line of a motionless Cloud
And ho! what a Skittle-ground! quoth he aloud
And wish'd from his heart nine Nine-pins to see
In brightness & size just proportion'd to me.
So I fear'd from my soul,
That he'd make me a Bowl,
But in spite of his spite
This was more than his might
And still Heaven be prais'd! in contempt of the Loon
I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon.
Er...well it's got MOON in the title...:D
The Moonflowers
It's as if the dark, which had before
just been context, gave to vulnerability
a permission, almost: fleshy saucers of
spilled cream, so many parchment fists,
unfisting; and now, in pieces, the delicate
mask of an indifference offered radically
up against what, each time, seems as
unthinkable, as unexpected, as when,
in the long dream of retraction, that sea
that is finally not a sea, but what else
to call it, begins again its shifting, and
though to every push of the will forward
there's something noble—which is to say,
something lonely, also—it's too late.
CARL PHILLIPS
Aaaaaah, a Lonely Moon poem...
TO THE MOON
Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever changing, like a Joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?
By Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
The Mermaid’s Wish
Awaken now, or soon be awoke
A chariot’s appeared
Seahorse drawn and mermaid driven
The fish popped up and peered
From the sandy sea-shelves
They watch her graceful dance,
The princess of the lake
Eager for amber sunbeams
Glassy surf won’t penetrate
To shine on coral kingdoms
Within the pearly deep
Her one wish
On brittle star
This fairy of the lagoon
To dance among both stars and shells
And sing to the man in the moon…