16 thoughts on “This is the way poetry month ends

  1. The river is within us, the sea is all about us;
    The sea is the land's edge also, the granite
    Into which it reaches, the beaches where it tosses
    Its hints of earlier and other creation:
    The starfish, the horseshoe crab, the whale's backbone;
    The pools where it offers to our curiosity
    The more delicate algae and the sea anemone.
    It tosses up our losses, the torn seine,
    The shattered lobsterpot, the broken oar
    And the gear of foreign dead men. The sea has many voices,
    Many gods and many voices.

    -THE DRY SALVAGES (No. 3 of 'Four Quartets'), by Eliot, T.S.

    1. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
      Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
      You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
      A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
      And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
      And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
      There is shadow under this red rock,
      (Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
      And I will show you something different from either
      Your shadow at morning striding behind you
      Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
      I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

    1. As one who used to program these signs, I can say that the password is usually 4 characters, almost always either 1-2-3-4 or 0-0-0-0. Still, likelihood of inside job=100%

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