I hoed and trenched and weeded,
And took the flowers to fair;
I brought them home unheeded.
The hue was not the wear.
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So up and down I sow them,
For lads like me to find
When I shall lie below them,
A dead man out of mind.
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Some seeds the birds devour,
And some the season mars
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But here and there will flower
The solitary stars.
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And fields will yearly bear them,
As light-leaved spring comes on,
And luckless lads will wear them
When I am dead and gone.
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Alfred Edward Housman (1859-1936)
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These fragments I have shored against my ruins. -- T.S. Eliot
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NEW GROUP:
I’m shy about this.
The painter in Virginia Woolf’s novel To the Lighthouse, Lily Briscoe, thinks as she faces her canvas, ready to start:
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“It would be hung in the servants’ bedrooms. It would be rolled up and stuffed under a sofa.”
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Some of us write -- have written -- what aspires to more than jobbing adequacy. And know those qualms.
Daring to project a new group feels a bit similar.
Off-beat original writing appears on DKos from time to time — personal narrative, poetry, essay, short story — and can scroll off without deserved attention. So, recently set up, with Angmar, a new group called “FreeWriters."
While there are other literary diary series, this does not seem to duplicate them. It started just any old way, collecting certain diaries already published.
But most of all, it's intended to share original writing .
All welcome. For membership, please KosMail Angmar or me.
No formal schedule at this point. We’ll see how it goes!
Important note: Concerning copyright — I hope writers will please check the rules before sharing anything where this is a critical issue to you. If it’s the next Pride and Prejudice, LOTR or Leaves of Grass, this probably isn't the place. (As for what I write here, who steals my prose does it a signal honor.)
Thanks all.
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Week in poetry:
CLASSIC POETRY GROUP.