Suddenly this defeat.
This rain.
The blues gone gray
And the browns gone gray
And yellow
A terrible amber.
In the cold streets
Your warm body.
In whatever room
Your warm body.
Among all the people
Your absence
The people who are always
Not you.

I have been easy with trees
Too long.
Too familiar with mountains.
Joy has been a habit.
This rain.

-Jack Gilbert


Daydream Believer

“You once thought of me
as a white knight on his steed.
Now you know how happy I can be.
Oh, and our good times start and end
without dollar one to spend.
But how much, baby, do we really need?

Cheer up, sleepy jean.
Oh, what can it mean
to a daydream believer
and a homecoming queen?”

Because a little Cole Porter is always welcome in my head and I’m feeling old-fashioned today. . .

I bring some classic songs to you. The recordings may not be to everyone’s taste, but the compilation is a fantastic assortment of his epic body of work. 🙂

If you’re a n00b, I recommend starting at Track 1 and playing all the way through, but you could also begin with favorites of mine, such as “Night and Day”, “Evr’y Time We Say Goodbye” and “You Do Something to Me”.

Why instrumental over lyrical? No reason, other than today’s preference. There are just as many fantastic recordings of his songs by many well-known singers, so I urge you to seek them out if the mood strikes you 🙂

Mason and Yeats offer their thoughts on beauty and life


for Dewey Huston

Tell me again about the butterflies,
old friend of my father, bringer of tales,
the gully, mossy rocks of the streambed,
a cool breeze off the glacier high above,
and suddenly butterflies everywhere
as if the air you breathed were blossoming.

I’ve seen so many things, you said. I wish
I could write them down. And when my brother died
you were the alpinist and engineer
who had an explanation where he’d gone,
waving a hand in air. It’s energy,
you said. That energy must still be somewhere.

Ah, but the real life is never written down,
and who could understand the butterflies —
that there were so many, so surprisingly?
Tell me again, old friend, and I will try
to catch the light, the flavor of the air
like moss, like distant ice, like clear water.

-David Mason

The Rose of the World

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,
Mournful that no new wonder may betide,
Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna’s children died.

We and the labouring world are passing by:
Amid men’s souls, that waver and give place
Like the pale waters in their wintry race,
Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,
Lives on this lonely face.

Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:
Before you were, or any hearts to beat,
Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;
He made the world to be a grassy road
Before her wandering feet.

-W.B. Yeats