I need to think through whether blogging is wasteful or helpful, a minute or two of reflection or just a waste of time. Writing has no point unless for an audience, I think. I'm in a reflective mood ... it's the morbid Welsh in me ... time to read some poetry, but not John Masefield or those I learnt at school ...... more like John Donne, Gerard Manley Hopkins or Dylan Thomas .... something to test the brain cells.
And Death shall have no dominion
Dead men naked, they shall be one with the wind and the west moon.
No not my mood this morning ... more like .....
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining ftorn shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs--
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings
Amen to that!
