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- Writing Alone in a Toilet
- The King: the Ghost, a Princess, and a Robot, a Da...
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- The Mother of All Scams or Advice to People Starti...
- Not a Ghost Amongst the Bees
- When I'm Published and the Ol' Beehive has landed
- Twisting the Plot with Ghosts, Mike Hammer, and Be...
- BEES HAVE PERSONALITIES AND EMOTIONS?
- INTERVIEW WITH KENNA BY ALAN PLACE
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Memorable Characters Writer's Workshop I went to my first writer's workshop last Saturday, put on by the Canadian Authors'...
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Thursday, March 29, 2012
The King: the Ghost, a Princess, and a Robot, a Dark Night and a Nightingale
The King remained a ghost who haunted them because he wasn't there, had never been there, and waited in their minds to ambush all strangers.
Someone wrote a blog yesterday on despair. The Grocers of Despair, as though we were fed despair by an outside agency. Blame is endemic in the world. Where is the spirit of independence and liberty; free thinking?
The princess and the robot boy do not blame. They laugh together and are witty and bright. They despair in silence.
"Invictus" is one of the best known poems of despair in the English language. Does anyone know the lovely, joyful poem that follows, by the same author?
Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
William Ernest Henley
The Nightingale Has A Lyre Of Gold
The nightingale has a lyre of gold,
The lark's is a clarion-call,
And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,
But I love him best of all.
For his song is all of the joy of life,
And we in the mad, spring weather,
We two have listened till he sang
Our hearts and lips together.
The lark's is a clarion-call,
And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,
But I love him best of all.
For his song is all of the joy of life,
And we in the mad, spring weather,
We two have listened till he sang
Our hearts and lips together.
The Queen, the Princess, and the Robot Boy waited until it got better. As it always does.
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