dual personalities

Tag: poetry

October 23, 2025

Barking through the moonlight

by chuckofish

Well, I went to the dentist yesterday for my semi-annual cleaning. This is always somewhat stressful as one always expects the worst. But as usual I got an A+ for my dental hygiene, and I left feeling good about myself. ⭐ 🙌 I also felt very mellow as the music which had been playing in the background during my visit was all late sixties hits–“House of the Rising Sun”, “Mellow Yellow”, “Daydream Believer”, “I’ve Got You, Babe”, and even “Like a Rolling Stone”. I do not expect to be jamming to Bob Dylan at the dentist, and I’m not complaining. But, yes, a bit surreal.

I finished My Beloved by Jan Karon and thoroughly enjoyed it. It may not be Middlemarch (another study of provincial life), but these days I could not handle that. I am quite satisfied with Jan Karon.

In other news, the boy came over and gassed up my car, so I am ready to head to the prairie today for a few days with daughter #2 and the prairie girls. It has been very blustery of late 💨💨 so let’s hope I don’t blow off the highway.

And here’s a poem about dogs by Billy Collins:

The neighbors’ dog will not stop barking.
He is barking at the fence, barking at nothing,
barking at the mosquitos settling on his fur.
He is barking through the moonlight,
barking at distant sirens,
barking at squirrels he can’t see.

(“Another Reason Why I Don’t Keep a Gun in the House”)

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October 20, 2025

The House Was Quiet and The World Was Calm*

by chuckofish

I am back from my travels. I had a fabulous time, but the return trip was arduous. It took about 12 hours to get home because we were delayed in Baltimore–updating the software on the plane (for real?) took much longer than anticipated–modern problems. It was taxing, but daughter #1 and I made it and she even managed to retrieve Mr. Smith from the kennel three hours after closing time.

He was happy to be home and he loved the tri-corner hat chew toy she brought him from Colonial Williamsburg.

Tomorrow I will have a longer post about our visit to Virginia, but for now, this is all I can do.

*Read the poem by Wallace Stevens here.

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October 8, 2025

How’s it goin’?

by chuckofish

Well, cooler weather has finally arrived! I actually wore a sweater yesterday. For this, I am thankful.

Here’s a poem about that by Robert Herrick (1591—1674):

Lord, Thou hast given me a cell

         Wherein to dwell,

A little house, whose humble roof

         Is weather-proof:

Under the spars of which I lie

         Both soft, and dry;

Where Thou my chamber for to ward

         Hast set a guard

Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep

         Me, while I sleep.

Low is my porch, as is my fate,

         Both void of state;

And yet the threshold of my door

         Is worn by th’ poor,

Who thither come and freely get

         Good words, or meat.

Like as my parlour, so my hall

         And kitchen’s small;

A little buttery, and therein

         A little bin,

Which keeps my little loaf of bread

         Unchipp’d, unflead;

Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar

         Make me a fire,

Close by whose living coal I sit,

         And glow like it.

Lord, I confess too, when I dine,

         The pulse is Thine,

And all those other bits, that be

         There plac’d by Thee;

The worts, the purslain, and the mess

         Of water-cress,

Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;

         And my content

Makes those, and my beloved beet,

         To be more sweet.

‘Tis Thou that crown’st my glittering hearth

         With guiltless mirth;

And giv’st me wassail-bowls to drink,

         Spic’d to the brink.

Lord, ’tis Thy plenty-dropping hand

         That soils my land;

And giv’st me, for my bushel sown,

         Twice ten for one;

Thou mak’st my teeming hen to lay

         Her egg each day;

Besides my healthful ewes to bear

         Me twins each year;

The while the conduits of my kine

         Run cream, for wine.

All these, and better, Thou dost send

         Me, to this end,

That I should render, for my part,

         A thankful heart,

Which, fir’d with incense, I resign,

         As wholly Thine;

But the acceptance, that must be,

         My Christ, by Thee.

And here’s an important reminder: “Paul teaches us how we can learn to become grateful. We become grateful by practicing it. Gratitude doesn’t start with a feeling. It starts by simply obeying the Bible’s commands to give thanks in everything. And we can start with whatever is going on in our lives right now, with our families, our work, and the people around us.”

These are great hymns to sing at the end of life or anytime. We sing these hymns regularly in my church.

So look up, be thankful, sing!

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October 1, 2025

Another turned page

by chuckofish

It’s October! Zut alors! Last year at this time I was in beautiful Monument Valley with the OM and daughter #1.

Guess I’ll watch The Searchers (1956) this week…

Well, we must “live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.” Who said that? Yes, of course, it was Thoreau in “Walden, or, Life in the Woods”.

Earlier in September, we were told by the Missouri Department of Conservation to be “bear aware” when hiking in the woods. So just as a reminder, here is where bears have been sighted in Missouri since 2020:

Yikes! Take care with those bird feeders and barbecues!

Here are Nine Hymn Lyrics You’ve Probably Misunderstood. We sing all these hymns in church. The author suggests that “something that was written 500 years ago can be confusing to a modern audience,” and maybe that is so. If so, “you can learn to sing these words with renewed faith as you come to better understand what they mean!”

And here’s a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke about Autumn:


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September 18, 2025

As lost as Carthage

by chuckofish

Of all the streets that blur in to the sunset,
There must be one (which, I am not sure)
That I by now have walked for the last time
Without guessing it, the pawn of that Someone
Who fixes in advance omnipotent laws,
Sets up a secret and unwavering scale
for all the shadows, dreams, and forms
Woven into the texture of this life.
If there is a limit to all things and a measure
And a last time and nothing more and forgetfulness,
Who will tell us to whom in this house
We without knowing it have said farewell?
Through the dawning window night withdraws
And among the stacked books which throw
Irregular shadows on the dim table,
There must be one which I will never read.
There is in the South more than one worn gate,
With its cement urns and planted cactus,
Which is already forbidden to my entry,
Inaccessible, as in a lithograph.
There is a door you have closed forever
And some mirror is expecting you in vain;
To you the crossroads seem wide open,
Yet watching you, four-faced, is a Janus.
There is among all your memories one
Which has now been lost beyond recall.
You will not be seen going down to that fountain
Neither by white sun nor by yellow moon.
You will never recapture what the Persian
Said in his language woven with birds and roses,
When, in the sunset, before the light disperses,
You wish to give words to unforgettable things.
And the steadily flowing Rhone and the lake,
All that vast yesterday over which today I bend?
They will be as lost as Carthage,
Scourged by the Romans with fire and salt.
At dawn I seem to hear the turbulent
Murmur of crowds milling and fading away;
They are all I have been loved by, forgotten by;
Space, time, and Borges now are leaving me.

–Jorge Luis Borges, “Limits”

A poem for Thursday. Have a good day!

3 Comments
August 28, 2025

The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful

by chuckofish

I’ve been working hard this week. How about you?

And today I am packing a bag to travel up to see the prairie girls and DN tomorrow. Here’s a poem by William Cullen Bryant to get us all in the mood…”The Prairies”:

These are the gardens of the Desert, these

The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,

For which the speech of England has no name—

The Prairies. I behold them for the first,

And my heart swells, while the dilated sight

Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo! they stretch,

In airy undulations, far away,

As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell,

Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed,

And motionless forever. —Motionless?—

No—they are all unchained again. The clouds

Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath,

The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye;

Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase

The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South!

Who toss the golden and the flame-like flowers,

And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high,

Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not—ye have played

Among the palms of Mexico and vines

Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks

That from the fountains of Sonora glide

Into the calm Pacific—have ye fanned

A nobler or a lovelier scene than this?

Read the whole poem here.

2 Comments
August 27, 2025

A singular elegance

by chuckofish

I forgot to mention that Sunday was the birthday of Jorge Luis Borges, the great Argentine essayist, poet and translator. As you know, he is a favorite of mine.

I will toast him tonight and read some poetry.

I watched a good movie the other night, one recommended by my DP several years ago. The Professor and the Madman (2019) is the true story of professor James Murray, who in 1879 became director of an Oxford University Press project, The New English Dictionary on Historical Principles, and the man who became his friend and colleague, W.C. Minor, an American doctor who submitted more than 10,000 entries while he was confined at Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum at Crowthorne after being found not guilty of murder due to insanity.  

Mel Gibson plays the Professor and Sean Penn is the Madman. They are both excellent.

This is not a film that would appeal to a large audience, but I liked it. Despite the fact that it takes place in large part in an insane asylum and a university, it is full of interesting, intelligent and kindly people. The only real cruelty is perpetrated by well-meaning doctors trying to advance medical understanding. There is even a Christian message.

I also re-watched Seven Days in Utopia (2011) starring Robert Duval and Lucas Black, two more favorites of mine. It tells the story of Luke Chisholm, a young professional golfer, who, after melting down during a tournament and shooting 80 in the final round, crashes his car into a fence and finds himself stuck in Utopia, Texas while his car is repaired. He meets retired golfer Johnny Crawford and learns from him how to move on with his life and career. It also has a Christian message.

This movie is actually rated G!

I am currently re-reading Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather. It is a great book, so beautifully written.

“Under his buckskin riding-coat he wore a black vest and the cravat and collar of a churchman. A young priest, at his devotions; and a priest in a thousand, one knew at a glance. His bowed head was not that of an ordinary man,—it was built for the seat of a fine intelligence. His brow was open, generous, reflective, his features handsome and somewhat severe. There was a singular elegance about the hands below the fringed cuffs of the buckskin jacket. Everything showed him to be a man of gentle birth—brave, sensitive, courteous. His manners, even when he was alone in the desert, were distinguished. He had a kind of courtesy toward himself, toward his beasts, toward the juniper tree before which he knelt, and the God whom he was addressing.”

So read a poem, watch a good movie, re-read a favorite book, and praise God from whom all blessings flow.

3 Comments
August 15, 2025

Up to the stone wall

by chuckofish

It’s Friday again–do you have plans for the weekend?

Me neither. I have been reading some poetry. Here’s one:

A Time to Talk

When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.

–Robert Frost (1974-1963)

And I thought this was actually funny…

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April 30, 2025

Old and modern nooks

by chuckofish

It’s the last day of April! Spring has sprung! Buds on the peonies, buds on the iris…

Goodness gracious–weeds proliferating!

Here’s a poem for May by Leigh Hunt:

There is May in books forever;
May will part from Spenser never;
May’s in Milton, May’s in Prior,
May’s in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer;
May’s in all the Italian books:—
She has old and modern nooks,
Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves,
In happy places they call shelves,
And will rise and dress your rooms
With a drapery thick with blooms.
Come, ye rains, then if ye will,
May’s at home, and with me still;
But come rather, thou, good weather,
And find us in the fields together.

And here’s a prayer daughter #1 sent me yesterday–it’s a good one:

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April 22, 2025

“I think of the stark and puritanical sky”*

by chuckofish

The Easter weekend was a blur of activity, but I do remember that something fun happened on Good Friday. I went over to daughter #1’s house for an impromptu lunch after which we hopped over to an estate sale nearby at a Clayton penthouse. Normally condos are not worth going to because the people living in them have already down-sized, but this one was listed by our favorite estate sale company and there were a lot of books.

We did, indeed, find a few books, but I also found an antique loveseat that had been recovered in a fab fabric. (Like the Madcaps, no beige for me!) I started to fill out a bid card, but Lamar called us over and looked at it and gave it to me for my asking price (60%)! Plus he threw in everything else for the Lamar discount of free.

One of their guys delivered it to my house and he and his son got it upstairs and into my office easy peasy. I am thrilled.

And I made it to church by 6 o’clock!

With all the excitement I almost forgot it was my birthday. I received many lovely birthday gifts over the weekend…

My children know me so well.

My daughters also gave me fancy beauty treatments which I very much appreciate, because they are “in the know” and I am not. They know too to put the effort into fancy wrapping and ribbons, which they learned from me and I learned from my mother. They also know to go to the Dollar Tree for fab decorations! This warms my mothers heart.

All the rain, of course, has resulted in lush growth everywhere. Look at Don’s beautiful creek bed–fresh rainwater runoff over bedrock behind his house…

…and I love his beautiful dogwoods…

And here’s a poem by Jorge Luis Borges*:

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