Here is some of my favorite verse. These are works with which my being resonates – and I've provided them here so that, if you discover a similar resonance, you'll know somewhat of who and how and what I am.

Abou Ben Adhem
James Leigh Hunt

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel writing in a book of gold:

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?" The Vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men."

The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

Khalil Gibran

Then said a teacher, "Speak to us of Teaching."

And he said:

No man can reveal to you aught but that which already
lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge.

The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple,
among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather
of his faith and his lovingness.

If he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the
house of wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold
of your own mind.

The astronomer may speak to you of his understanding
of space, but he cannot give you his understanding.

The musician may sing to you of the rhythm which is
in all space, but he cannot give you the ear which
arrests the rhythm nor the voice that echoes it.

And he who is versed in the science of numbers can tell
of the regions of weight and measure, but he cannot
conduct you thither.

For the vision of one man lends not its wings to
another man.

And even as each one of you stands alone in God's
knowledge, so must each one of you be alone in his
knowledge of God and in his understanding of the earth.

The Moving Finger Writes; and, Having Writ...
Omar Khayyam

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

My Candle Burns at Both Ends...
Edna St Vincent Millay

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends
It gives a lovely light!

Roy Croft

I love you
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.
I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.
I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can't help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find
I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple.
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.
I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good.
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.
You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.

Sonnet 43
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, – I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! – and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Love is Not all
Edna St Vincent Millay

Love is not all: it is not meat or drink
Nor slumber, nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food,
It well may be. I do not think I would.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

The Road not Taken
Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
though as for that, the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no feet had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less travelled by,
and that has made all the difference

Let Me Grow Lovely
Christina Rossetti

Let me grow lovely, growing old
So many fine things to do
Laces and ivory and gold
And silks need not be new
And there is healing in old trees
Old streets a glamour hold
Why may not I, as well as these
Grow lovely growing old?

I shall not pass this way again
Through this toilsome world, alas
Once and only once I pass
If a kindness I may show
If a good deed I may do
To the suffering fellow man
Let me do it while I can
No delay for it is plain
I shall not pass this way again

If I Had Known
Christina Rossetti

If I had known what trouble
You were bearing
What grief were in the
Silence of your face
I would have been more
Gentle and more caring
And tried to give you gladness
For a space
I would have brought more
Warmth into the place if I had known
(Why do we never understand?)

William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Christina Rossetti

The night has a thousand eyes,
The day but one
Yet the light of the bright
World dies
With the dying sun

The mind has a thousand eyes
And the heart but one
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When its love is done

Christina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty,
to find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better,
whether by a healthy child,
a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier
because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.

Random Images
Morris Dovey

Night collects the beauty of every day into memories
That we might plant their seeds in each new dawn.

Hail 360 Child of Evil
Mary Shaw

Hail 360, Child of Evil, for Thy misdeeds we curse Thee. Verily, do we curse and condemn Thee; We call down the Wrath of the Heavens upon Thee.

Know, Three Sickly, that we hate Thee with a Pure and White-Hot passion. May all the Microseconds of Thine Existance be eons in Misery. As Thou pushest about the Bits of Thy Programs, may the 1-bits cause chills and may the 0-bits itch, and may Thou be in continual Torment. As Thou miscomputest the problems of Thy Users may every Man’s hand be turned against Thee. May children cast Card Chad at Thee and call Thee cursed.

May Thy insulation all evaporate and Thy ROS become writeable; and may a User write his FORTRAN program all over it.

May Thy printers Rewind; and Thy tapes Unwind; and Thy memory banks grow Senile; and Thy drums be Out of Round; and Thy high-speed channel be Multiplexed with Thy reader/punch; and may Thy Channel Programs loop.

May Thy bits all have three states. May OS have 100 Releases, and may each release have 5000 APARS. May each APAR have 100 PTFs, and may each PTF be punched Off-Register on Warped Cards. May each PTF have 100 Hex patches, and may each patch grow scar tissue.

May each Release require ten SYSGENs, and cost a Shift, and may each Shift be Billed at Prime Rates.

May Thy Wait State ABEND; may Thy SVC’s get protection violations; may Thy SPOOL overflow, may Thy DATA UNIT cut in and out. May Thy Adder drop its seventh Bit, and may Thy Multiplier compute Cube Roots. May Thy Move-Characters instruction complement every Third Bit. May Thy Floating-Point registers be where Thy Fixed-Point registers should be.

A Pox upon Thee and upon Thy kin: upon Thy mod 44’s and upon Thy mod 91’s and upon Thy mod 67’s. Yea, upon Thy children and Thy children’s children, even unto the seventh Generation of Hardware.

Yea, 360, know that Thou shall be sorely afflicted. From this time forth shall Thy Peripherals become independent Processors and shall Thou be synchronized with the low-speed printer. And Thy Cores shall be as dust within Thee and in Sorrow shall Thou lament Thy lot.

J.C.L. Guest

On either side the printer lie
Fat stacks of paper six feet high
That stun the mind and blur the eye.
And lo! Still more comes streaming by.
A fresh SYSABEND dump.

Ye printer clacketh merrily.
Alack! What can the matter be
That made SYSABEND dump.

My TCAM hath no MCP?
My data cannot OPENed be?
Consult my neighborhood SE?
The devil take thy dam and thee,
Thou vile SYSABEND dump.

Assemble modules on the fly
And link for yet another try.
With SUPERZAP a patch apply


On either side the printer lie
Fat stacks of paper twelve feet high
That blow the mind and plast the eye.
Gadzooks! How shrill yon varlet's cry
As sixteen megabytes go by
In yet another dump.

Copyright © 2009 Morris R. Dovey

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