November is that historied Emperor Conquered in age but foot to foot with fate Who from his refuge high has heard the roar Of squadrons in pursuit, and now, too late, Stirrups the storm and calls the winds to war, And arms the garrison of his last heirloom, And shakes the sky to its extremest … Continue reading Sunday Sonnett
I have been working on administrative things, and have completed that task. This meant I could look for poetry. Then I stumbled onto a metaphysical poet who survived King Philip's War in the then new colony of Massachusetts. Who may not write as well as Donne, but is of the same school. How us Colonials … Continue reading Our forebears were better poets than us.
At the longer blog, I have just finished putting up the last of the introduction to John Calvin's Institutes of the Christian Religion.. So, on this place, where I try to keep things a little more digestable, I thought I would put up some calvinist poets. A fair number of these poems are hymn lyrics. … Continue reading Salvation is no us being made better.
This age has trained men to have no spine and balls. To want to be in a place of comfort, where they are never challenged and anything satirical is hurtful. An example. The stupidity can be seen in the public’s inability to grasp blatant irony or satire. Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal called for the … Continue reading The safe space is hell.
Ironically, this is being published on Guy Fawkes' Day. Twenty one Almighty God, whose justice like a sun Shall coruscate along the floors of Heaven, Raising what's low, perfecting what's undone, Breaking the proud and making odd things even. The poor of Jesus Christ along the street In your rain sodden, in your snows unshod, … Continue reading Sunday Sonnet
Cassandra was a beautiful princess, so beautiful that she was wooed by an Apollo, whom she rejected. She had given a vow or virginity: some say she agreed to lose her virginity to the god so she could be a prophet. But the rejection meant that she always told truth but was not believed. From … Continue reading Predation is ancient.
A Girl The tree has entered my hands, The sap has ascended my arms, The tree has grown in my breast - Downward, The branches grow out of me, like arms. Tree you are, Moss you are, You are violets with wind above them. A child - so high - you are, And all this … Continue reading Folly Poem.
The idea of the victim is without moral agency is noxious. It removes the humanity from others. Such lives are fungible: others must do what is best for them. Gans notes with disapproval the troll logic that leads to this. . I should add that though many Gramscian socialists are Jews, not all Jews are … Continue reading There are no victims.
Seventeen Because my faltering feet may fail to dare The first descendant of the steps of Hell Give me the Word in time that triumphs there. I too must pass into the misty hollow Where all our living laughter stops : and hark The tiny stuffless voices of the dark Have called me, called me, … Continue reading Sunday Sonnet
First the Pravda. HSC students who have launched social media attacks on an Indigenous poet — in one instance comparing her to a monkey — have been urged to apologise for their actions by the NSW Education Standards Authority. Upon opening paper 1 of the Higher School Certificate on Monday, students were faced with an … Continue reading The Ruined Maid and Mangoes