Canción del pirata

The breeze fair aft, all sails on high,
Ten guns on each side mounted seen,
She does not cut the sea, but fly,

A swiftly sailing brigantine;
A pirate bark, the “Dreaded” named,
For her surpassing boldness famed,
On every sea well-known and shore,
From side to side their boundaries o’er.

The moon in streaks the waves illumes
Hoarse groans the wind the rigging through;
In gentle motion raised assumes
The sea a silvery shade with blue;

Whilst singing gaily on the poop
The pirate Captain, in a group,
Sees Europe here, there Asia lies,
And Stamboul in the front arise.

“Sail on, my swift one! nothing fear;
Nor calm, nor storm, nor foeman’s force,
Shall make thee yield in thy career
Or turn thee from thy course.

Despite the English cruisers fleet
We have full twenty prizes made;
And see their flags beneath my feet
A hundred nations laid.

My treasure is my gallant bark,
    My only God is liberty;
My law is might, the wind my mark,
    My country is the sea.

“There blindly kings fierce wars maintain,
For palms of land, when here I hold
As mine, whose power no laws restrain,
Whate’er the seas infold.

Nor is there shore around whate’er,
Or banner proud, but of my might
Is taught the valorous proofs to bear,
And made to feel my right.

My treasure is my gallant bark,
    My only God is liberty;
My law is might, the wind my mark,
    My country is the sea.

“Look when a ship our signals ring,
Full sail to fly how quick she’s veered!
For of the sea I am the king,
My fury’s to be feared;

But equally with all I share
Whate’er the wealth we take supplies;
I only seek the matchless fair,
My portion of the prize.

My treasure is my gallant bark,
    My only God is liberty;
My law is might, the wind my mark,
    My country is the sea.

“I am condemned to die !—I laugh;
For, if my fates are kindly sped,
My doomer from his own ship’s staff
Perhaps I’ll hang instead.

And if I fall, why what is life?
For lost I gave it then as due,
When from slavery’s yoke in strife
A rover! I withdrew.

My treasure is my gallant bark;
    My only God is liberty;
My law is might, the wind my mark,
    My country is the sea.

“My music is the Northwind’s roar;
The bellowings of the Black Sea’s shore,
And rolling of my guns.

And as the thunders loudly sound,
And furious the tempests rave,
I calmly rest in sleep profound,
So rocked upon the wave.

My treasure is my gallant bark,
My only God is liberty;
    My law is might, the wind my mark,
My country is the sea.

Jose de Espronceda, (1808-1842)


A Succession of Love Stories

I will witness a love story today, and the day after, and the day after that. 

I was hanging upside down on my bed looking up at the clouds through a small rectangular framed window.  It was one of those moments where you neither have the ability to focus on other people nor even yourself.  My roommate clicked away at her computer on the other side of the room; in my head I narrated a story to myself.

Outside of the dorm Orientation hustled and bustled.  Down the hallway boxes were being stripped of packaging tape and smiles and shouts of polite, unsure excitement resonated down the hallway.  And I, in my room, finding temporary solitude witnessed a love story.

Above the commotion and burgeoning relationships floated a pair of clouds.  Clouds? Clouds indeed.  The first was of an old man.  Judging by the lack of hair and a well-brushed mustache, I concluded that he was a retired colonel and for our purposes he shall be referred to as Colonel.  He sat in a soft upholstered chair by the fireplace.  However, it was not nighttime and so he must have been seeking some quiet midday peace like me.

Opposite Colonel was the second cloud.  It was a locket.  Inside the locket was a picture of a young woman.  She appeared gently kind and smiled out from the little oval frame.  Colonel must have been missing her greatly for he stared at her picture lovingly.  I’m not sure what he was remembering, but it looked like a happy memory to me.

We stayed like that for a while.  Colonel in his chair, the woman smiling from the locket, and me upside down on my bed.  Soon, the wind began to blow and Colonel’s memory of the woman dissipated into air.

This recalls many references for me and call me crazy the sky is capable of telling stories.  Perhaps it reflects what it sees down here.  Recently I have been studying Romanticism.  I thought that this story related to the movement fairly well.

Here’s something that this story reminds me of:

“This is how I would die into the love I have for you,
as pieces of cloud dissolve in sunlight.” 

~Jelaluddin Rumi, (1207-1273)

With the commencement of college underway I’ve been plunged into classes and the communal nature on campus.   Let me disclaim that although classes will influence my postings, I promise to not make this blog a diary account of my life 😀

A Story They Know

The Talented Works of Josephine Wall
Notice a pattern? Contemporary art!


It’s time for us to join the line of your
madmen all chained together.  Time to be

totally free, and estranged.  Time to give
up our souls, to set fire to structures and

run out in the street.  Time to ferment.  How
else can we leave the world-vat and go to

the lip?  We must die to become true human
beings.  We must turn completely upside down

like a comb in the top of a beautiful woman’s
hair.  Spread out your wings as a tree lifts

in the orchard.  As seed scattered on the
road, as a stone melts to wax, as a candle

beccomes the moth.  On a chessboard the king
is blessed again with his queen.  With out

faces so close to the love mirror, we must
not breath, but change to a cleared place

where a building was and feel the treasure
hiding inside us.  With no beginning or end we

live in lovers as a story they know.  If you
will be the key, we’ll be tumblers in the lock.

~Jelaluddin Rumi, (1207-1273)

No beginning, no end.  Just love. Just life. 

What Dreams are These?

Lead me away into the stars to dance
among the planets and sing with the comets.
Riding upon a ball of fire,
I am able to see galaxies filled with creatures of myth.

Swirling stars beneath my feet
I lift off and join the merry.
I dance with the nymphs and play along with the muses.
Minotaur provide excitement
and there is laughter.

But it’s time to go.
On a falling star I say goodbye.
My friends say their farewells too
with planets and comets that collide
together causing an explosion with a sound so magnificent
that it still flows over my ears like in droplets of a great symphony.

Slowly, the star falls until I feel my feet alight on a branch.
Birds sing their melody to the rising sun.
And I know that home is near.


I just found this poem today.  It was archived in my documents folder from long ago.  The dream as I call it in the poem was more of a daydream in reality.

There is None Like Her

She wears silk made from fabric as light as air
Butterflies adorn her long flowing hair as
they dance around her elegant gossamer wings.

I sit and stare as her beauty envelopes
the heavens and my heart.

She looks up at me with her lovely eyes and
smiles with all the radiance of the sun.

There is none like her with the grace and peace her
aura brings to fill my heart, my mind, with joy
so abundant that I may rush to her side forevermore.

She reaches out her graceful hand, and
with sylphlike loveliness takes me away.

The veils of my dream lift from my heart, and
I feel this sense of freedom.
Yet it is all a wish, a glimmer of a hope to come
but stayed at the entrance.

Perhaps one day this enchanting dream
shall come to take me away.


1920s Murder Mystery: Round 3 of Clues

Round 3 is finally here! Heads up, Lacy doesn’t have a clue in this round. Sorry :p

Setting and Story
Round 1 of Clues
Round 2 of Clues


Round 3:


Elizabeth: While the Kingsley household appeared to be at peace, it was indeed not.  Lurking beneath the thin veneer of civility lay a writhing snake of anger and malcontent.  Elizabeth and Robert were not getting along very well.  Ever since the car accident Robert had been acting flustered about every expense that Elizabeth racked up.  Of course these were necessary expenses.  To show Robert just how necessary they really were, she decided to throw him party.  This put him over the edge and hours before the guests arrived they had been fighting so intensely that Elizabeth almost didn’t hear the phone call from Al.


Alberto: It is revealed to the “party” group that Al is in fact a low ranking gangster who owns a speakeasy downtown.  He, like Lacy, doesn’t know who he works for and believes it to be the Chicago Outfit.  This was the largest gang association in the state and had a bad reputation for smuggling in alcohol among other things.


Mendobale: Mrs. Mendobale had been taking a precursor nap to the party that evening when she was awakened by Robert and Elizabeth’s fighting.  She poked her head out of her apartment door just in time to see Joe trudging up the stairs trailing dirt with his cardboard box.  He was muttering about the posh lifestyle of Robert.  Mrs. Mendobale thought this rather rude of Joe since Robert had invited him to see his high-end apartment.  It was a privilege no less.


John: John signed for the food delivery which had come unexpectedly early.  He remembers seeing Robert watch him as he placed the boxes by the Kingsley’s totaled car.  He had already been invited to dinner by then, so thought nothing of it, and took the elevator upstairs to join the party.  


Joe: As a side note, Joe brings up the order in which the guests had arrived with the food.  He can only remember a few people however and offers up this information: Lacy had come up first, and then maybe Al was last or second to last? He can’t quite remember.  Joe came up right after Lacy.



Fahad Hossain

“These autumn gardens, russet, gray and brown,
The sward with shrivelled foliage strown,
The shrubs and trees
By weary wings of sunshine overflown
And timid silences,–

Since first you, darling, called my spirit yours,
Seem happy, and the gladness pours
From day to day,
And yester-year across this year endures
Unto next year away.

Now in these places where I used to rove
And give the dropping leaves my love
And weep to them,
They seem to fall divinely from above,
Like to a diadem

Closing in one with the disheartened flowers.
High up the migrant birds in showers
Shine in the sky,
And all the movement of the natural hours
Turns into melody.”

Trumbull Stickney, Loneliness
Here’s another poem by the magnificent Trumbull Stickney.  He always seems to speak in the moment, yet from an observing stance.  It’s as if the past and present, in memory or retrospect, are not subject to the rules of time like the physical body is.  Have a lovely day, or night!!!