"Who goes with Fergus?"

Who will go drive with Fergus now,
And pierce the deep wood's woven shade
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man, lift up your russet brow,
And lift your tender eyelids, maid,
And brood on hopes and fears no more.

And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery;
For Fergus rules the brazen cars,
And rules the shadows of the wood,
And the white breast of the dim sea
And all dishevelled, wandering stars.

Earlier I lamented about having no poems memorized, then recalled a few days later I had this one memorized about 20 years ago and am pleased it's still rattling around in there. And "Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll will NEVER be shaken. A head injury may knock "Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold or "God's Grandeur" by Gerard Manley Hopkins loose.

"Leda and the Swan" by Yeats was part of a high school English class. Other than that, I didn't encounter Yeats until studying, then re-reading, and re-re-reading, then re-studying and re-re-re-reading Ulysses by James Joyce. The younger lead character, Stephen Dedalus, has memories of singing the poem to his dying mother and fragments work their way into his day.

Poetry fragments sometimes pop in while out and about. Often context-free - more an echo of a word or phrase or the rhythm of something nearby. "And no more turn aside and brood" is the one that most often gives its (to my conscious mind) advice flicking its tongue into the corners of the day.

Oh, shit! You're 12!

Science says your neurology will change. Your ability to empathize can be expected to diminish while the rest of your metabolism shifts to making you taller and voice deeper and other things that will cause you to think "What the heck is going ON?" the next few years. Or sometimes think "What the heck is NOT going on?"

Those frights will go away. At least it will be a while before you ask your body "Why isn't this working?"

I like that you are getting older. I like your observations. Your questions.

I like your curiosity about music we sang to you. I like hearing you start to quietly sing back.

I like walking with you and chatting about cartoon violence, or politics, or Lord of the Rings, or school, or the politics of the Lord of the Rings and that you still grab my hand when we walk together. Or when you run your arm through mine. It usually shifts to tug-o-war where we contend which is the mightier (which I still win for now).

I like biking with you, and your keen memory, and the animosity you still bear toward the Screw You Bridge that bit into you twice. I like when we stop after crossing the bridge and yell taunts at it.

Even though you're becoming less of a boy, you are still very much my son. And I am proud of you and glad to see you get to twelve.

"Montauk"

New song from Rufus Wainwright's "Out of the Game" album. His daughter having to navigate between her two dads. Daughter whose blood grandfathers include Leonard Cohen and Loudon Wainwright III. Worry that is daughter will not stay. Thoughts of his mother whose ashes are scattered in the nearby ocean. Cyclical structure. What's not to like?

"3 Second Rule": DIY control-freak doomed-relationship anti-music

This is terrific. Whatever is the opposite of AutoTune (AntiTune?) this uses it.

While not astonishingly attractive, there is something to admire about the confidence she has. Make me a hot teacher! Give me a class full of white-shirted cowboys preoccupied with dancing and looking away from me, the one woman around! That edginess gives her a bonus +2 points on the hottie scale.

She has difficulty standing upright, or walking in a straight line. Am left to guess that she has recovered from some trauma that gave her the gumption to fulfill a 20, 30 year-long dream to star in a music video. Bully for her! Don't dream it, BE it!

-3 points for controlling behavior, allowing for three seconds of a wandering eye and then, snap to attention, buster! Contemplate me and my odd fashion choices!

Actually, three seconds is more generous than some who would allow NO visual meandering. Maybe a sense of ovary competition gets her going. "Three seconds of looking at another woman, then I'm taking you HOME and will order you to do what I want." Maybe her album features tracks detailing what she demands in recompense for the three seconds her man's gaze strayed. Each second he stared leads to ten minutes complying with her demands. I'd listen to those songs, would probably stay away from those videos.

Lisa Gail Allred's website

Knock knock

Tick tick tick tick.
What? Whatever. Groggy.
Tap tap tap tap.
For real? Ugh.
Tap TAP tap TAP.
What is IT? Through the hole a prim petite redhead in a company issued suit stands with a cranky keyboard, fidgets, irritated by the course of her day. I've no idea. Angry knuckles reach out to just beneath view.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
No way I'll make her day worse by subjecting her to my throttled-down lucidity.
Ignore. Another round?
Knock knock knock knock.
After this, bet it'll be done.
Done.