Sea-Fever

Sea-Fever – by John Masefield

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I must down to the sea 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 gray mist on the sea’s face and a gray dawn breaking.

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I must down to the sea 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.

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I must down to the sea 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 a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

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Oh, how I miss the sea!  The quiet hours spent with my feet in the cold, moody Atlantic (O kindred spirit!), watching the tide drain from the sand between Gola and the shore of Gaoth Dobhair, my only company the shrimp dancing on my feet—never has my soul felt so at home than on those faerie shores.  Yes, I probably romanticise it, but I am, after all, a decided romantic.  (On a less poetic note, my TOMS still have sand from those shores imbedded in the soles.)dsc_0451

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Mid-Winter Sun

The sun blinds me, makes me sneeze

The winter sun, the winter air

The blue, blue sky—incredibly blue!

I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t seeing it

Not in Nebraska, more fields than people,

Crop-duster capital of the world.

No, it’s incredible.

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Ferris Wheel

A note I found that I wrote in high school:

The girl on the Ferris wheel doesn’t care what the people below do or think, but only that the sky is so close, she could bring some of the blue home in her backpack.

I’m betting this was inspired by that Aaron Sprinkle song, “Not About To”: “I know that you could feel / like a girl on a Ferris wheel.”

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Rediscover

Do you ever forget your dreams?  You think you’re following them, but you get so wrapped up in whatever you’re doing that you forget what it felt like to love that thing and that dream.

And then you see someone doing their dream so wonderfully that it reminds you what it was like to be passionate about something.

Noah Gundersen inspired me this afternoon to pull out my hollow body and turn up the gain like I haven’t in years.  More to come on these thoughts, but I will definitely be putting away my classical rep this Christmas break.

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I Dream of Ireland

As always, I find myself missing Ireland.  Right now, I particularly miss Dublin and the Liffey, and I am consoling myself by reading The Road Round Ireland by Padraic Colum. Here’s an amazing quote from George Moore that Padraic includes in a discussion about Dublin and the literary revival (emphasis mine) :

…I began to ask myself if I were the victim of an hallucination.  Had I come over to Ireland?  Else surely Ireland had lost her reality?  The problem was an interesting one, and getting it well before me, I began to consider if it might be that through excessive indulgence in dreams for over a hundred years the people had at last dreamed themselves and Ireland away.  And this was a possibility that engaged my thoughts as we crossed Carlisle Bridge.  I put it to myself in this way :  reality can destroy the dream, why shouldn’t the dream be able to destroy reality?

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“Memory…

All alone in the moonlight…” (I couldn’t resist 🙂 ).  I know, it’s been forever since I’ve written.  Here’s a poem I wrote in the first week of school this fall—I thought about giving you context, but I’m kind of curious about how it will affect you without you knowing what it’s actually about…

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—She Reminds Me—

What on earth is she doing?

She sits in the corner crying—

Crying, but not just, for she

Can’t stop writing, she

writes like the devil is watching her write

And now she stops

Crying

But she doesn’t stop writing writing and writing

And writing she can’t stop

Until she drinks coffee.

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She was singing

Before, when I looked at her

And she didn’t look at me

She was singing.

She was singing along with the music in her head

The music that was being poured into her head

That only she could hear

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Fabricated music

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Created to be old, to be

Heard long after it was made

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She looks like Alex.

When she looked at me, after she had

Finished crying,

She didn’t look like anyone but herself

But with her head

Against

The

Wall

As she writes,

She looks like Alex

And I feel like crying.

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Peace

The Lake Isle Of Innisfree – W.B. Yeats

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I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

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And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

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I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

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Oh, to live simply, and without the complications of the digital age!  The Internet and ready access thereto have made communicating easier, but they have also diminished our appreciation for small things: honey, birdsong, the sound of water, a spontaneous visit from a friend.  How often do we spend time to appreciate these daily gifts from God, and to extend that kind of thoughtfulness to a friend?  Appreciate time—whether it’s someone else’s time they’ve chosen to give to you, or your own time you’ve been given by God—waste not!  Not necessarily always doing something, but always appreciating, whether that be time spent accomplishing things or time spent just enjoying life.  Being productive may be a discipline, but being able take time to appreciate God’s gifts (without feeling like that time has been wasted) is certainly an art.

Moderately cohesive stream-of-consciousness finished 🙂

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