Some people call it musings. Some people call it random crap. Some people call it a slice of life. I call it superfluous miscellany, which roughly translates into "a bit too much of a bunch of different stuff." Enjoy!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Forgive Me, I'm in the Mood for Powerful Poetry
Ode On Melancholy by John Keats
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; Make not your rosary of yew-berries, Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl A partner in your sorrow's mysteries; For shade to shade will come too drowsily, And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty--Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
I am Jami.
Mom to six smart(mouthed) angel-monkeys, three of whom have moved on to college.
Never been cool, never going to be cool.
No matter what I'm doing, I'd rather be reading.
Wish life was fair and everyone felt loved.
Love God (because he first loved me).