Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Where I hang my hat

They say begin with some great poetry.


I grow old … I grow old …
shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.


The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock –T,S, Elliot


The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,

The vapours weep their burthen to the ground,

Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,

And after many a summer dies the swan.

Me only cruel immortality

Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms



Those two poems have always meant a great deal to me. But I suppose in this instant world very few will take the time to find out why they have been important to me, The disposable age of information.


I am simple to find, though no one will make that journey.



Just travel to Surprise.

Then leave west into the setting Sun.

Keep the mountains on your left,

Carefully make your way through the cacti and the desert bushes,



When you find green in the desert,

And water flowing over the land,

I am near, ever near.



I may be taking one of my walks.

A desert creature.



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