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Poetry from the Live Stream
In Welcome to the Forum
TheCoinCaptain
Jan 02, 2021
12/31/2020 Livestream "New Year" By Ella Wheeler Wilcox  The year like a ship in the distance          Comes over life's mystical sea.     We know not what change of existence          'Tis bringing to you or to me.     But we wave out the ship that is leaving          And we welcome the ship coming in,     Although it be loaded with grieving,          With trouble, or losses, or sin.     Old year passing over the border, -          And fading away from our view;     All idleness, sloth, and disorder,          All hatred and spite go with you.     All bitterness, gloom, and repining          Down into your stronghold are cast.     Sail out where the sunsets are shining,          Sail out with them into the past.     Good reigns over all; and above us,          As sure as the sun gives us light,     Great forces watch over and love us,          And lead us along through the night.     Look up, and reach out, and believe them -          Believe in your infinite worth.     Do nothing to wound or to grieve them,          And you shall find heaven on earth.     The body needs conflict and tussle,          To render it forceful and grand;     The soul, too, has sinew and muscle,          Which sorrow alone can expand.     Though troubles come faster and faster,          Rise up, brace yourself for each blow;     It is only Fate's great fencing Master          Instructing your spirit to grow.     The new ship comes nearer and nearer,          We know not what freight she may hold;     Hope stands at the helm there to steer her,          Our hearts are courageous and bold.     Sail in with new joys and new sorrows,          Sail in with new banners unfurled,     Sail in with unwritten to-morrows,          Sail in with new tasks for the world.
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Poetry from the Live Stream
In Welcome to the Forum
TheCoinCaptain
Jan 02, 2021
12/29/20 Livestream "The World's All Right" - By Robert William Service  Be honest, kindly, simple, true;      Seek good in all, scorn but pretence;      Whatever sorrow come to you,      Believe in Life's Beneficence! The World's all right; serene I sit, And cease to puzzle over it. There's much that's mighty strange, no doubt; But Nature knows what she's about; And in a million years or so We'll know more than to-day we know. Old Evolution's under way --     What ho! the World's all right, I say. Could things be other than they are? All's in its place, from mote to star. The thistledown that flits and flies Could drift no hair-breadth otherwise. What is, must be; with rhythmic laws All Nature chimes, Effect and Cause. The sand-grain and the sun obey --     What ho! the World's all right, I say. Just try to get the Cosmic touch, The sense that "you" don't matter much. A million stars are in the sky; A million planets plunge and die; A million million men are sped; A million million wait ahead. Each plays his part and has his day --     What ho! the World's all right, I say. Just try to get the Chemic view: A million million lives made "you". In lives a million you will be Immortal down Eternity; Immortal on this earth to range, With never death, but ever change. You always were, and will be aye --     What ho! the World's all right, I say. Be glad! And do not blindly grope For Truth that lies beyond our scope: A sober plot informeth all Of Life's uproarious carnival. Your day is such a little one, A gnat that lives from sun to sun; Yet gnat and you have parts to play --     What ho! the World's all right, I say. And though it's written from the start, Just act your best your little part. Just be as happy as you can, And serve your kind, and die -- a man. Just live the good that in you lies, And seek no guerdon of the skies; Just make your Heaven here, to-day --     What ho! the World's all right, I say. Remember! in Creation's swing The Race and not the man's the thing. There's battle, murder, sudden death, And pestilence, with poisoned breath. Yet quick forgotten are such woes; On, on the stream of Being flows. Truth, Beauty, Love uphold their sway --     What ho! the World's all right, I say. The World's all right; serene I sit, And joy that I am part of it; And put my trust in Nature's plan, And try to aid her all I can; Content to pass, if in my place I've served the uplift of the Race. Truth! Beauty! Love! O Radiant Day --     What ho! the World's all right, I say.
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Poetry from the Live Stream
In Welcome to the Forum
Poetry from the Live Stream
In Welcome to the Forum
TheCoinCaptain
Jan 02, 2021
12/27/2020 Livestream "The Treasure Box" - By Jean Blewett I asked Aunt Persis yester-eve, as twilight fell,  If she had things of value hidden safe away -  Treasures that were her very own? And did she love  To bring them forth, and feast her eyes upon their worth,  And finger them with all a miser's greed of touch?  She smiled that slow, warm smile of hers, and drew me down  Beside her in the inglenook. The rain beat hard  Against the panes, without the world was doubly gray  With twilight and with cloud. The room was full of shade  Till Persis stirred the slumbering grate fire wide awake,  And made it send its flickering shafts of light into  Each corner dim - gay shafts that chased the shadows forth  And took their place, then stole away and let  The shadow back, and then gave chase again,  The maddest and the stillest game!  To music of  The raindrops on the pane, and wind that softly shrilled  About the eaves, the treasure box was opened wide  And its contents exposed to the rude gaze of one  Too young, too worldly-wise to know their value great.  I thought to see pearls, corals, quaint, old-fashioned gems, Or lace like gossamer creamed by the hand of time -  Real treasures worthy of the hoarding.  Lo! I saw  A leather-covered book, a worn and musty thing  With ragged leaves and many marks. "What is it?" I asked;  "To me it looks the school-book that some stupid child  Has learned its lesson from."  "And so it is," she smiled. "My father's testament,  And at his knee I conned the Golden Rule, and all  The wondrous truths that teach us how to live. 'Tis dear  To me, you may suppose."  A knot of ribbon that  Had once been blue, a braid of dark brown hair, a spray  Of lily o' the valley, withered, sere, yet holding still a breath Of sweetness indescribable; some letters tied  With silk, a broken fan, some verses scribbled on  A yellow page, a baby's shoe, more letters, and,  What think you, friend? A string of amber beads, without  A trace of value - beads of glass strung on a bit  Of twine. Aunt Persis took them in her hand and let  The firelight play on them. "My grandmother's first gift," She said, and slipped them round her neck. "I love them best  Of all my ornaments - each amber bead holds fast  A joy caught in the childhood days of pleasantness,  And when I sit here with the sparkling things held close  The joys they gathered long ago slip from them to  My heart, and ere I know, I am a child once more.  "Treasures! Nay, dear one, in your clear young eyes I see  The disappointment grow - no treasures these, you say; These faded things, and poor, these musty, ragged things -  But some day in the gloaming of your life you'll ope  Your treasure box, and find a hoard of just such things  As these - a few rare trifles wrapped in memories."
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Poetry from the Live Stream
In Welcome to the Forum
TheCoinCaptain
Jan 02, 2021
12/26/2020 Livestream "Christmas at Sea" - By Robert Louis Stevenson The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand; The decks were like a slide, where a seamen scarce could stand; The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea; And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee. They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day; But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay. We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout, And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about. All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North; All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth; All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread, For very life and nature we tacked from head to head. We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared; But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard: So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high, And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye. The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam; The good red fires were burning bright in every 'long-shore home; The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out; And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about. The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer; For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year) This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas morn, And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born. O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there, My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair; And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves, Go dancing round the china-plates that stand upon the shelves. And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me, Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea; And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way, To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day. They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall. "All hands to loose topgallant sails," I heard the captain call. "By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate Jackson, cried. ..."It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied. She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good, And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood. As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night, We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light. And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me, As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea; But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold, Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old.
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Poetry from the Live Stream
In Welcome to the Forum
TheCoinCaptain
Jan 02, 2021
12/23/20 Livestream - "'Twas The Night Before Christmas" Original 1823 Version 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads, And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap— When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprung from the bed to see what was the matter, Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name: "Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen, "On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixem; "To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! "Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of Toys—and St. Nicholas too: And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound: He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys was flung on his back, And he look'd like a peddler just opening his pack: His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry, His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face, and a little round belly That shook when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly: He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jirk, And laying his finger aside of his nose And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle: But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight— Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
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Poetry from the Live Stream
In Welcome to the Forum
TheCoinCaptain
Jan 02, 2021
12/20/20 Livestream "Sleep Flies Me" - By Robert Fuller Murray  Sleep flies me like a lover          Too eagerly pursued,     Or like a bird to cover          Within some distant wood,     Where thickest boughs roof over          Her secret solitude.     The nets I spread to snare her,          Although with cunning wrought,     Have only served to scare her,          And now she'll not be caught.     To those who best could spare her,          She ever comes unsought.     She lights upon their pillows;          She gives them pleasant dreams,     Grey-green with leaves of willows,          And cool with sound of streams,     Or big with tranquil billows,          On which the starlight gleams.     No vision fair entrances          My weary open eye,     No marvellous romances          Make night go swiftly by;     But only feverish fancies          Beset me where I lie.     The black midnight is steeping          The hillside and the lawn,     But still I lie unsleeping,          With curtains backward drawn,     To catch the earliest peeping          Of the desired dawn.     Perhaps, when day is breaking;          When birds their song begin,     And, worn with all night waking,          I call their music din,     Sweet sleep, some pity taking,          At last may enter in.
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Poetry from the Live Stream
In Welcome to the Forum
TheCoinCaptain
Dec 20, 2020
12/16/2020 Livestream The Wreck of The Hesperus - By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow It was the schooner Hesperus,       That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr,       To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,       Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,       That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm,       His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow       The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sailòr,       Had sailed to the Spanish Main, "I pray thee, put into yonder port,       For I fear a hurricane. "Last night, the moon had a golden ring,       And to-night no moon we see!" The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,       And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind,       A gale from the Northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine,       And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain       The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,       Then leaped her cable's length. "Come hither! come hither! my little daughtèr,       And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale       That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat       Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar,       And bound her to the mast. "O father! I hear the church-bells ring,       Oh say, what may it be?" "'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" —       And he steered for the open sea. "O father! I hear the sound of guns,       Oh say, what may it be?" "Some ship in distress, that cannot live       In such an angry sea!" "O father! I see a gleaming light,       Oh say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word,       A frozen corpse was he. Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,       With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow       On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed       That savèd she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave       On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear,       Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept       Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. And ever the fitful gusts between       A sound came from the land; It was the sound of the trampling surf       On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows,       She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew       Like icicles from her deck. She struck where the white and fleecy waves       Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side       Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,       With the masts went by the board; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,       Ho! ho! the breakers roared! At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,       A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair,       Lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast,       The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,       On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,       In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this,       On the reef of Norman's Woe!
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Poetry from the Live Stream
In Welcome to the Forum
TheCoinCaptain
Dec 20, 2020
12/15/2020 The City In The Sea - Edgar Allan Poe Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently- Gleams up the pinnacles far and free- Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls- Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls- Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers- Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathedfriezesintertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine. Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. So blend the turrets and shadows there That all seempendulousin air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down. There open fanes and gaping graves Yawn level with the luminous waves; But not the riches there that lie In each idol's diamond eye- Not the gaily-jewelled dead Tempt the waters from their bed; For no ripples curl, alas! Along that wilderness of glass- No swellings tell that winds may be Upon some far-off happier sea- No heavings hint that winds have been On seas less hideously serene. But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave- there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide- As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. The waves have now a redder glow- The hours are breathing faint and low- And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence.
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Introduce Yourself!
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Poetry from the Live Stream
In Welcome to the Forum
TheCoinCaptain
Dec 12, 2020
12/10/20 Livestream "To the Men of the Mines" By Edward Dyson Ww specked as boys o’er worked-out ground     By littered fiat and muddy stream, We watched the whim horse trudging round,     And rode upon the circling beam, Within the old uproarious mill     Fed mad, insatiable stamps, Mined peaceful gorge and gusty hill With pan, and pick, and gad, and drill,     And knew the stir of sudden camps. By yellow dams in summer days     We puddled at the tom; for weeks Went seeking up the tortuous ways     Of gullies deep and hidden creeks. We worked the shallow leads in style,     And hunted fortune down the drives, And missed her, mostly by a mile— Once by a yard or so. The while     We lived untrammelled, easy lives. Through blazing days upon the brace     We laboured, and when night had passed Beheld the glory and the grace     Of wondrous dawns in bushlands vast. We heard the burdened timbers groan     In deep mines murmurous as the seas On long, lone shores by drear winds blown. We’ve seen heroic deeds, and known     The digger’s joys and tragedies. I write in rhyme of all these things,     With little skill, perhaps, but you, To whom each tale a memory brings     Of bygone days, will know them true. Should mates who’ve worked in stope and face,     Who’ve trenched the hill and swirled the dish, Or toiled upon the plat and brace, Find pleasure in the lines I trace,     No better welcome could I wish.
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TheCoinCaptain
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