I don't know, but I've been told, you can't run too fast with the weight of gold.

On the other hand, I've had it said, it's just as hard with the weight of lead.

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas Originally published in the journal Botteghe Oscure in 1951

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Do_not_go_gentle_into_that_good_night#Analysis

"Sea-Fever"

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

This poem is quoted in part by Captain James T. Kirk.

Three monkeys sat in a coconut tree Discussing things that were said to be. Said one to the others, “Now listen you two, There's a certain rumor that can't be true. That man descended from our noble race. Why, the very idea is a disgrace! No monkey ever deserted his wife, Starved her babies and ruined her live. You'll never see a mother monk Leave her babies with others to bunk, Or pass them around from one to the other, 'Til they scarcely know who is their mother. And another thing you'll never see Is a monkey build a fence around a coconut tree, And let the coconuts go to waste, Forbidding all other monkeys a taste. Why, if I built a fence around this coconut tree, Starvation would force you to steal from me. Another thing a monkey won't do Is go out at night and get on a stew and use a gun, a club, or a knife To take some other monkey's life. Yes, man descended, the ornery cuss! But brothers, he didn't descend from us!”

• variously attributed

We Who Are Your Closest Friends by Phillip Lopate

we who are / your closest friends / feel the time / has come to tell you / that every Thursday / we have been meeting / as a group / to devise ways / to keep you / in perpetual uncertainty / frustration / discontent and / torture / by neither loving you / as much as you want / nor cutting you adrift

your analyst is / in on it / plus your boyfriend / and your ex-husband / and we have pledged / to disappoint you / as long as you need us

in announcing our / association / we realize we have / placed in your hands / a possible antidote / against uncertainty / indeed against ourselves / but since our Thursday nights / have brought us / to a community of purpose / rare in itself / with you as / the natural center / we feel hopeful you / will continue to make / unreasonable / demands for affection / if not as a consequence / of your / disastrous personality

then for the good of the collective

• See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21270#sthash.FfTzE06y.dpuf

There is a marvelous collection of poetry edited by Caryn Miirriam-Goldberg entitled: "Begin Again - 150 Kansas Poems" Here are two samplings of this wonderful anthology:

We Read - by Kevin Rabas

At the Olpe Chicken House behind the glass there's a copy

of Ken Ohm's new book Ducks Across the Moon.

An old woman and her husband cane their way

to the counter, pay with cash, the bills

old and crumbled and green, and ask about the book.

The kid behind the counter, who looks like the town

quarterback, says, I didn't write it," annoyed,

"Heck, I don't know." And the old couple walks on,

go home, along the way mentioning books they do

know, and love, and read, and then slump in peace, sleep

on their La-Z-Boys, the tv snow, the books

held in their laps, the reading lamps still on.

You Look Beautiful - by William J. Harris

The husband says, You look beautiful."

Not hearing, the wife says,

"Have you seen my glasses?"

"I said, you look beautiful."

"Well, let's find my glasses

And we'll see."

Thanks, Ronda, for introducing me to this fine volume of Kansas poetry.

Nothing Gold can stay

Nature's first green is gold Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay. -Robert Frost

“My beard grows down to my toes, I never wears no clothes, I wraps my hair Around my bare, And down the road I goes.”

-Shel Silverstein

Wings of a Redbird Ronda Miller In loving memory of my niece who would have turned 32 today.

Out of the corner of my eye Your bright red wings spread Catching me by surprise Take my breath and use it To lift yourself away You fly on some higher plane Encircling all you've loved In one uplifting swoop And now you're gone I continue to hold my breath Until I find One lone feather left behind To hold against my chest