It had seemed a sturdy step to take, And as suddenly, it became my mistake. Lying in this emergency room hospital bed, Time was given to think on things Tennyson said.
I found myself n the boundless deep, Setting there the emergency room's keep, And wondering about the roots of poetry again. I settled in to study the word doodles of Tennyson,
It strikes me as odd that he's become less known, At least, as the interests of the elite have shown. For me, he's someone with whom I'd conspire - Who better than the Poet Laureate of the British Empire?
His twelve narrative poems have always felt vital, And it doesn't get any better for a recital - Whether it be splendid moments of knightly gallantry, Or Tennyson's visionary idylls turned into poetry.
Words rightly strung together have their own melody, Pronounced as they are with sincerest empathy. Tennyson's articulate despair beneath an abysmal sea, These are the things Victorians found as fantasy.
Tales told were at once filled with the ancient, And brought forward by the echoes from the patient. Songs that were suddenly a kind of modern magic, Only a few of these hinted at being tragic.
Whispered terrors filled Tennyson's cosmology, At times, this ran deeper than ancient geology. New love, new legends, worldly science, and skepticism, All these joined to form his pessimism.
Tennyson's soul was a turmoil of polite revolution, Stirred as it was by loss of God, extinction, and evolution. Each impacted his intelligence and deep-set emotion. The problems of destiny and identity led him to devotion.
(c)April 30, 2026 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Page One, it's understood. It's under investigation. Who is the bad; who is the good? It's the secret initiation.
The misery won't back down, And the mayor has to be a secret clown. They talk about the dirty and gritty. That's just the feel of New York City.
People talk a lot about responsibility, As if they have any reasonable capability. All of us need some absolution In a world filled with this noise pollution.
It will take a lot of luck and love, Unless we're protected by someone above. "When the law breaks the law, there is no law", Is more than a line from Billy Jack to recall.
The back and forth of retaliation, It leads to a climate of targeted assassination. Rumor has it that it's not who we know, But what will bring an end to the show.
People talk a lot about responsibility, As if they have any reasonable capability. All of us need some absolution In a world filled with this noise pollution.
How do you temper the darker impulses Without fearing the worst of blood feud losses? A raging bull has been loosened and set free In this merciless world, there is no sympathy.
How, then, is it that the city sleeps Filled with naked sleaze and creeps? These are the days we live in, Every day is a walk through vapid sin.
People talk a lot about responsibility, As if they have any reasonable capability. All of us need some absolution In a world filled with this noise pollution.
If we listened to our intellect, we’d never have a love affair… or go into business. You’ve got to jump off cliffs and build your wings on the way down. – Annie Dillard
“Drama is life with the dull bits left out. There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it. I believe in putting the horror in the minds of the audience, and not necessarily on the screen. The length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder.” – Alfred Hitchcock
“As in forming a political society, each individual contributes some of his rights, in order that he may, from a common stock of rights, derive greater benefits, than he could from merely his own; so, in forming a confederation, each political society should contribute such a share of their rights, as will, from a common stock of these rights, produce the largest quantity of benefits for them.” – John Dickinson
There on the edge of an unknown stage Are those who've escaped life's cage. They've chosen patterns of innovation, Stirred by their warp speed imaginations.
Well, now, isn't that a rush? There is and was magic in their touch. They weren't here just to play, They really had something to say.
Others recognize who's the boss, With another shake of that special sauce. There is a lot left to explain, And still, they continue to play on. When others had their moments, And then just as quickly, they are gone. The lesser talents are left in torment, And still, they continue to play on.
There they are on the lighted stage. It's hard to keep the beast in its cage. Though so many of us would love to extract Some of the magic from this act.
It's something else to deep dive. Especially if you have seen them live. If our music could ever manage to say Half as much, we'd know that we could really play.
Others recognize who's the boss, With another shake of that special sauce. There is a lot left to explain, And still, they continue to play on. When others had their moments, And then just as quickly, they are gone. The lesser talents are left in torment, And still, they continue to play on.
Playing past the notes that others play, Each show must feel like judgment day. Moving on quickly to yet another show, This is the beauty of teenaged rck-n-roll.
Tuning by their own rules; feeling their way, This is how talent becomes this way. Making music - there was something going on. The notes in the air will never be gone.
Others recognize who's the boss, With another shake of that special sauce. There is a lot left to explain, And still, they continue to play on. When others had their moments, And then just as quickly, they are gone. The lesser talents are left in torment, And still, they continue to play on.
(c)April 28, 2026 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Heading out of Australia to escape this Aussie winter. First stop Japan, then UK/Ireland and if work doesn't call me back, onto Chicago. I will make it up as I go along
ALOHA PROMISES FOREVER 