I grow old, I grow old.I shall wear the bottom of a 3-sheet rolled.

--- On Tue, 26/10/10, [email protected] <[email protected]> wrote:

From: [email protected] <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: [MOPO] FA: The air is humming, And something great is coming 
TONIGHT from...
To: [email protected]
Date: Tuesday, 26 October, 2010, 14:50



 
 

 Am I in the right place?  Poetry Corner?  Thought I'd share 
this really nifty poem by T.S. Eliot. I hope y'all like it.   
Rick
 
 THE HOLLOW 
MEN   
                

              
I
            


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning 
together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We 
whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or 
rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, 
shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those 
who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- 
if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The 
stuffed 
men.

            

                
II
            


Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do 
not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a 
tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and 
more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's 
dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, 
crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No 
nearer --

Not that final meeting
In the twilight 
kingdom

            

                
III
            


This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone 
images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's 
hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's 
other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with 
tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken 
stone.

            

                
IV
            


The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of 
dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost 
kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid 
speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, 
unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of 
death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty 
men.

            

                
V
            


Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly 
pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the 
morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the 
motion
And the act
Falls the 
Shadow

                    
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the 
creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the 
Shadow


                    
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between 
the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the 
descent
Falls the 
Shadow

                    
For Thine is the Kingdom


For Thine is
Life is
For 
Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the 
world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a 
whimper.

 



  
  
    
      Added: Feb 20 
 

In a message dated 10/26/2010 6:27:14 A.M. Pacific Daylight Time, 
[email protected] writes:

  Who knows? 
There's something due any day; 
  
I will know right away, 
Soon as it shows. 
It may come 
  cannonballing down through the sky, 
Gleam in its eye, 
Bright as a 
  rose! 

Who knows? 
It's only just out of reach, 
Down the block, 
  on a beach, 
Under a tree. 
I got a feeling there's a miracle due, 
  
Gonna come true, 
Coming to me! 

Could it be? Yes, it could. 
  
Something's coming, something good, 
If I can wait! 
Something's 
  coming, I don't know what it is, 
But it is 
Gonna be great! 
  

With a click, with a shock, 
Phone'll jingle, door'll knock, 
  
Open the latch! 
Something's coming, don't know when, but it's soon; 
  
Catch the moon, 
One-handed catch! 

Around the corner, 
Or 
  whistling down the river, 
Come on, deliver 
To me! 
Will it be? Yes, 
  it will. 
Maybe just by holding still, 
It'll be there! 

Come on, 
  something, come on in, don't be shy, 
Meet a guy, 
Pull up a chair! 
  
The air is humming, 
And something great is coming! 
Who knows? 
  
It's only just out of reach, 
Down the block, on a beach, 
Maybe 
  tonight . . . 

OUR 11TH ANNUAL HALLOWEEN AUCTION STARTS TONIGHT AND 
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-- 
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P.O. Box 874
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Phone: 417-256-9616 (hours: Mon-Fri 9 to 5 except from 12 
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