Next Poem to Memorize

Here is the next poem i am going to try to memorize.

The Hound of Heaven by Francis Thompson. The language and meter will be the hardest by far, yet.

I FLED Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years; I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears I hid from Him, and under running laughter. Up vistaed hopes I sped; And shot, precipitated,

58 seconds poem about Gaza

4am in the Morning Poem

FOUR IN THE MORNING

Wislawa Szymborska

The hour from night to day.
The hour from side to side.
The hour for those past thirty.

The hour swept clean to the crowing of cocks.
The hour when earth betrays us.
The hour when wind blows from extinguished stars.
The hour of and-what-if-nothing-remains-after-us.

The hollow hour.
Blank, empty.
The very pit of all other hours.

No one feels good at four in the morning.
If ants feel good at four in the morning
--three cheers for the ants. And let five o'clock come
if we're to go on living.

Translated by Magus J. Krynski and Robert A. Maguire

Twas the Night Before Christmas on Parliament Hill

Liberal MP Rodger Cuzner rekindles his holiday tradition in 2013 with a parody of Twas the Night Before Christmas aimed at the PM.

Pastor Jacob Birch and a Poem for Apolcalyptic Thursday

William Butler Yeats

The 1st stanza of The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre 
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;   
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;   
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

Yeats, (not a Christian) writing at the end of WWI and the Russian Revolution, about how 20 centuries of "of stony sleep" brought on by the Christian worldview were about to be overwhelmed and devoured by the "blood dimmed tide" and "rough beast" of violence that he saw arising in the 20th century. Given the news of late... one can't help but reflect upon Yeats' vision with a mixture of admiration and horror. 

Pastor Jacob Birch's Poem of the Day

High School Training Ground by Malcolm London