Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Well as some songs go
Does anyone truly know?
They often just fade away
Some even fall far from the sun's golden rays
Forever never seeing the light of a new day; they've lost all hope
Others even get hooked on alcohol and/or dope; they've forgotten about prayer
They sit around and around always wearing their frowns
As a king does his crown; tilted just a little to one side
Re-living their past love affairs
Where there is left no air or Ares
Spirits sunk into the mire
Heartless, tired from lack of desire
They would die if the flesh would let them; some eventually do
Others their spirits just will not let them; and they don't
Yet, deep down inside souls burn forth with
Re-birth within their dying embers
A thought sparks hope and what is left of their desires
A seed is planted; a hatch-ling begins to breathe
The breath of air is this; that there is someone out there
As the fire-bird from these ashes did rise
So too a willing young Phoenix, may yet fly
We broken heart-ed souls can not stand to be sold or told
Nay not for a Love that was purchased so cheap
Even when the match was lit from heaven
These lost mates would wish you a better fate
These lovers would bid you to go onward with their quest
To dispel the Dark Princes decrees
For he always shouts! This; it was not meant to be
Punch that Sucker right in his mouth
And continue to breathe the God giving air
This I dare say is what a true lover wishes for their departed mates
Cuss the foolish fool who beckons to fate; before its to late
Remember for a heart to be truly broken, it first must be bound
To a Soul, a mate that was never truly found; but offered up
Then again mate do Souls truly exist?
Well how can they in a world of UN-Spirited men?
A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man
Monday, February 23, 2015
The Biggest Challenge
What is it you perceive to achieve?
If You do Not Ask of me with belief
How will I Know that you truly believe?
What are you wishing for Child when you say
But Father Please! I do I do Father No pay
What is your Biggest Challenge Son What do you believe?
Again Child what is your Biggest Challenge?
Is it with My one and Only Begotten Son?
Father I do not Yet understand Why
Cry not My Child Your Ignorance is to be expected!
You My Child were stolen away
Forced to live in a land without Stay
No truth to behold None have you found
Since the day that your feet have hit the ground
A system I have put into Place
There is a Devil who goes about without a face
No trace of him can be found
But Confusion abounds whispering
Boarder Guards abound
No Ups No Downs Everything is turned upside Down
Back words thinking all men are sloppy
Babes who wounder about only unjustified tinkers
Child Listen Close to what I have to Say
I wish not to lose any of you today
Do not Cry unto me
The questions are thus
You must ask yourselves Your brothers
Your Sisters and Your Mothers
Your enemies Too!
The neighbor who bumps into you
Please dear Every single one you meet
What is their biggest challenge Son
We have always been up to It here
My Child have just begun
The Work of It
The Work of It
A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man
Thursday, February 12, 2015
"The Road Not Taken" is a poem by Robert Frost, published in 1916 as the first poem in the collection Mountain Interval.
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in America. He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech.
His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes. One of the most popular and critically respected American poets of the twentieth century, Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime, receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry.
He became one of America's rare "public literary figures, almost an artistic institution."  He was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal in 1960 for his poetical works. On July 22, 1961 Frost was named Poet laureate of Vermont by the state legislature through Joint Resolution R-59 of the Acts of 1961, which also created the position.
Robert Frost (1941)
|Born||Robert Lee Frost
March 26, 1874
San Francisco, California, US
|Died||January 29, 1963 (aged 88)
Boston, Massachusetts, US
|Notable works||A Boy's Will, North of Boston|
HistoryFrost spent the years 1912 to 1915 in England, where among his acquaintances was the writer Edward Thomas.
Thomas and Frost became close friends and took many walks together. After Frost returned to New Hampshire in 1915, he sent Thomas an advance copy of "The Road Not Taken."
The poem was intended by Frost as a gentle mocking of indecision, particularly the indecision that Thomas had shown on their many walks together. However, Frost later expressed chagrin that most audiences took the poem more seriously than he had intended; in particular, Thomas took it seriously and personally, and it provided the last straw in Thomas' decision to enlist in World War I.
Thomas was killed two years later in the Battle of Arras.
|This section needs additional citations for verification. Please help improve this article by adding citations to reliable sources. Unsourced material may be challenged and removed. (May 2014)|
"The Road Not Taken" is a narrative and autobiographical poem consisting of four stanzas of iambic tetrameter (though it is hypermetric by one beat – there are nine syllables per line instead of the strict eight required for tetrameter) and is one of Frost's most popular works.
The poem, besides being among the best known, is also one of the most misunderstood. 
The final lines "I took the one less traveled by / And that has made all the difference" are often cited[by whom?] as emblematic of America's individualist spirit of adventure, in a reading that assumes they are to be taken literally.
But whatever difference the choice might have made, it was not made on the basis of a discerned difference between the two paths that opened up before the traveler. The speaker admits in the second and third stanzas that both paths may be equally worn and equally leaf-covered, and it is only in his future recollection that he will call one of the two roads, the one he took, "less traveled by."
The "sigh" can be interpreted as one of regret or of self-satisfaction; in either case, the irony lies in the distance between what the speaker has just told us about the roads' similarity and what his or her later claims will be.
Frost might also have intended a personal irony: in a 1925 letter to Crystine Yates of Dickson, Tennessee, asking about the sigh, Frost replied, "It was my rather private jest at the expense of those who might think I would yet live to be sorry for the way I had taken in life."
According to Larry L. Finger's analysis, nearly all critics have agreed that the sigh represents regret as this is mirrored in the regretful tone of the opening lines.
He quotes scholar Eleanor Sickels as saying that the poem is about "the human tendency to wobble illogically in decision and later to assume that the decision was, after all, logical and enormously important, but forever to tell of it 'with a sigh' as depriving the speaker of who-knows-what interesting experience."
Likewise, Frost's biographer Lawrance Thompson is cited as saying that the speaker of the poem is "one who habitually wastes energy in regretting any choice made: belatedly but wistfully he sighs over the attractive alternative rejected."
While a case could be made for the sigh being one of satisfaction, given the critical support of the 'regret' analysis it seems fair to say that this poem is about the human tendency to look back and attribute blame to minor events in one's life, or to attribute more meaning to things than they may deserve.