Shame.

We shall now “blog”, thusly:

Tumblr: of salt, flower

Twitter: @deselfleur

We may be back someday to post something TL;DR, or we may not. Tumblr & Twitter are better suited to our superficiality and short attention spans, we think.

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image by Jerry Ting

my father moved through dooms of love

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“Only a Dad” by Edgar Guest

image by Dan Harrod Photography

Only a dad with a tired face, 
Coming home from the daily race, 
Bringing little of gold or fame, 
To show how well he has played the game, 
But glad in his heart that his own rejoice 
To see him come and to hear his voice. 
 
 
Only a dad with a brood of four, 
One of ten million men or more. 
Plodding along in the daily strife, 
Bearing the whips and the scorns of life, 
With never a whimper of pain or hate, 
For the sake of those who at home await. 
 
 
Only a dad, neither rich nor proud, 
Merely one of the surging crowd
Toiling, striving from day to day, 
Facing whatever may come his way, 
Silent, whenever the harsh condemn, 
And bearing it all for the love of them. 
 
 
Only a dad but he gives his all
To smooth the way for his children small, 
Doing, with courage stern and grim, 
The deeds that his father did for him. 
This is the line that for him I pen: 
Only a dad, but the best of men.

Whatever thing men call great, look for it in Joan of Arc, and there you will find it. —  Mark Twain

Joan was a being so uplifted from the ordinary run of mankind that she finds no equal in a thousand years. She embodied the natural goodness and valour of the human race in unexampled perfection. Unconquerable courage, infinite compassion, the virtue of the simple, the wisdom of the just, shone forth in her. She glorifies as she freed the soil from which she sprang.   —  Winston Churchill

Quisiera esta tarde divina de octubre

pasear por la orilla lejana del mar;

que la arena de oro y las aguas verdes

y los cielos puros me vieran penar …

Ser alta , soberbia, quisiera,

como una romana, para concordar

con las grandes olas, y las rocas muertas

y las anchas playas que ciñen el mar.

Con el paso lento y los ojos fríos

y la boca muda dejarme llevar;

ver cómo se rompen las olas azules

contra los granitos y no parpadear;

ver cómo las aves rapaces se comen

los peces pequeños y no suspirar;

pensar que pudieran las frágiles barcas

hundirse en las aguas y no despertar;

ver que se adelanta, la garganta libre,

el hombre más bello; no desear amar …

Perder la mirada distraídamente,

perderla y que nunca la vuelva a encontrar;

y, figura erguida entre cielo y playa,

¡sentirme el olvido perenne del mar!

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“Dolor” by Alfonsina Storni

Més Que Un Club

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FC Barcelona wins in a masterpiece final

Barca’s Roman Warriors are a class above United

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www.saint.org

AMC -  Blogs – Horror Hacker

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