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December
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- The Blogosphere taketh away and the Blogosphere gi...
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December
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7 comments:
He's back! Great post, Rich, I also use T9 regularly.
My Lost Blog
Often I think of the beautiful blog
That is seated by the sea,
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant posts of that dear old blog,
My youth residing in http.
And a verse of an Ivy fight-song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A blogger's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of good posts are long, long thoughts."
I can see the shadowy lines of the blogger Tee's
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my blogger dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
"A blogger's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of good posts are long, long thoughts."
I remember the tired hands and lousy tips,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Yale girls with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A blogger's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of good posts are long, long thoughts."
I remember the Chess babes by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The number eight, with russian dress' galore,
The drum-beat repeated o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A blogger's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of good posts are long, long thoughts."
I remember the flame-war far away,
How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead bloggers, as they lay In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay,
Where they in posting died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
"A blogger's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of good posts are long, long thoughts."
I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Harkness' Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A blogger's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of good posts are long, long thoughts."
I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the blogger-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A blogger's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of good posts are long, long thoughts."
There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
Some comments that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A blogger's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of good posts are long, long thoughts."
Strange to me now are the flames I meet
When I visit the dear old blog;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A blogger's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of good posts are long, long thoughts."
And Harkness' Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost blog again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A blogger's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of good posts are long, long thoughts."
Eric: I told you I would always come for you. Why didn't you wait for me?
Nostradamus: Well... you were dead.
Eric: Death cannot stop true blogging. All it can do is delay it for a while.
Delino fans: We will never doubt again.
Eric: There will never be a need.
(I hope you enjoyed the poem)
The Grandson: A blog?
Grandpa: That's right. When I was your age, television was called blogs. And this is a special blog. It was the blog my father used to read to me when I was sick, and I used to read it to your father. And today I'm gonna read it to you.
The Grandson: Has it got any sports in it?
Grandpa: Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles...
The Grandson: Doesn't sound too bad. I'll try to stay awake.
Grandpa: Oh, well, thank you very much, very nice of you. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.
I'm touched by this anonymous bard...
Try Eatoni's EQ3--many fewer confusions of this sort. Go to www.handango.com, search for "eatoni".
"A Berger's will is the wind's will..."
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