The Department of Redundancy Department

I'm sure everyone knows by now. In fact, the media may know by now, but yeah, we're meeting on May 11th at 6 pm. It's now official. It wasn't official before. It became official exactly 25 seconds ago.

Reschedule?

As I mentioned in yesterday's post which is directly below this post, the room is free on May 11th and I have booked it. Can I get some yea's and/or nay's concerning meeting on Thursday, May 11th at 6 pm?

Meeting cancelled

We won't be able to meet tomorrow, the room has been taken over by the Board of Elections for early voting. Maggi suggested we try to meet in a week or so. The room is free on May 11th if you guys are interested in meeting then.

Alrighty, then

It looks like reports of this blog's demise were premature.

Don't forget to remember that this Thursday is the fourth Thursday of April and you all know what that means: pot luck down at the VFW hall. No wait, that's no right. It's the monthly meeting of the Morrison Writers Club or, as it was known last time, The Thursday Night Fights. Be sure to bring something to read. If there is not enough material brought in to keep us busy all night I have a special weapon in reserve. I have a CD of me singing songs about my cats and will play it if you guys can't keep me interested. You have been warned.

Ode to a Dead Blog

O, dead blog
we hardly knowed yuh.
We came into this world
slowly and left less slowly,
some would say almost quickly.

We'll meet on the other side,
dead blog.
You'll be there with Johnny Cash
and his bride who is young again.
You'll be there with that dog of mine
that got diabetes and we had to put down.
You'll be there with Minnie Pearl
and Waylon and Willie (who's still around I hear)
and that rat I gave to the pound
before I left for the Marines
in the summer of '86.

But you haven't left yet,
dead blog.
There are weeks of archives
that the curious may yet peruse.
Let's call you dormant, not dead
blog.
You are a aluminum Christmas tree
sitting in a box in the garage in July.
You may feel close to despair but,
like that tree, someone has you
in their mind.

Stephen Crane

Since there ain't been much put up recently I thought I would post that poem by Stephen Crane that Megan read last week. This should brigten up any day.


Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom --
A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind