October 01, 2012

Funeral Blues


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.


Let aeroplanes circle, moaning over head
Scribbling on the sky the message "He is Dead."
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.


He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever.  I was wrong.


The stars are not wanted now: put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can come to any good.
~ W. H. Auden

January 21, 2012

Nothing is wrong with Southern California that a rise in the ocean level wouldn't cure. ~ Ross MacDonald

April 16, 2011

Love builds up the broken wall and straightens the crooked path.  Love keeps the stars in the firmament and imposes rhythm on the ocean tides.  Each of us is created of it and I suspect each of us was created for it. ~ Maya Angelou