Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on that sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Your poem of the day 🙂
I first heard this poem in the movie Equilibrium. If you haven’t watched it–DO! It is an amazing film!
It has been brought to my attention that I have a wealth of urban legends in my own country that I have yet to share with all of you.
The Karoo can be a beautiful place, but for one stretch of road that has intrigued and perturbed many South Africans. If you are a fan of haunted houses, ghosts and other paranormal phenomenon, you may very well already know of Maria Roux–known as the Uniondale Hitchhiker.
Uniondale Road Hitchhiker
Maria Roux was a lovely young woman who was engaged to a Mr. G.M. Pretorius. Unfortunately, poor Maria would never see her wedding day. While travelling in the car with her fiancé from Graaf Reneit to Riversdal on 12th April 1968, Maria had fallen asleep in the back of the car. While fast asleep, Maria and her fiancé were in a car accident. Her fiancé survived, but Maria was not so fortunate. A year later her fiancé got married and that was when the first sighting of Maria occurred.
Since the late 1960s there have been many sightings of Maria. So much in fact that she became infamized in the movie The Curse of Highway Sheila. All the reports indicate that Maria waits, on the road where she was killed, for passing motorists to give her a lift. When they stop and offer her a lift, thinking she’s a normal hitchhiker, she climbs in. After a few kilometers, they hear a laugh, feel an icy breeze inside the car and then she is gone.
These incidences only occurred for a about 20 years. It seems that upon the death of G.M. Pretorius (in a car accident as it turns out) these appearances stopped almost instantly. It would seem that after so many years of haunting, Maria has finally found peace.
Maria’s story is short, but unnerving as any of her victims can attest. Of the many ghost stories and hauntings few found peace like Maria. It would seem she could only rest soundly once she had seen her fiancé die in the same fashion she had.
I will be investigating some horror stories from my own backyard. Most of these stories still linger in modern day South Africa like the tale of poor Maria Roux.
God bless all of you today, my darling avidReaders.
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune–without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I’ve heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
Your poem of the day. 🙂
I’ll try and post another article today or tomorrow. I have one I’m dying to share with all of you.
Say, heavenly Powers, where shall we find such love?
Which of you will be mortal, to redeem
Man’s mortal crime, and just to unjust to save?
Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear?”
He ask’d, but all the Heavenly: on Man’s behalf
Patron or intercessour none appear’d,
Much less that durst upon his own head draw
The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set.
And now without redemption all mankind
Must have been lost, adjudg’d to Death and Hell
By doom severe, had not the Son of God,
In whom the fulness dwells of love divine,
His dearest mediation thus renew’d.
“Father, thy word is past, Man shall find grace;
And shall grace not find means, that find her way,
The speediest of thy winged messengers,
To visit all thy creatures, and to all
Comes unprevented, unimplor’d, unsought?
Happy for man, so coming; he her aid
Can never seek, once dead in sins, and lost;
Atonement for himself, or offering meet,
Indebted and undone, hath none to bring;
Behold me then: me for him, life for life
I offer: on me let thine anger fall;
Account me Man; I for his sake will leave
Thy bosom, and this glory next to thee
Freely put off, and for himlastly die
Well, pleased; on me let Death wreak all his rage.
Under his gloomy power I shall not long
Lie vanquished. Thou hast given me to possess
Life in myself for ever; by thee I live;
Though now to Death I yield, and am his due,
All that of me can die, yet that debt paid,
Thou wilt not leave me in the loathsome grave
His prey, nor suffer my unspotted soul
For ever with corruption there to dwell
But I shall rise victorious and subdue
My vanquisher, spoiled of his vaunted spoil
Death his death’s wound shall then receive and stoop
Inglorious, of his mortal sting disarmed;
I thought the ample air in triumph high
Shall lead Hell captive maugre Hell, and show
The powers of darkness bound. Thou, at the sight
Pleased, out of Heaven shalt look down and smile,
While, by thee raised, I ruin all my foes;
Death last, and with his carcass glut the grave;
Then, with the multitude of my redeemed,
Shall enter Heaven, long absent, and return,
Father, to see thy face, wherein no cloud
Of anger shall remain, but peace assured
And reconcilement: wrath be no more
Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire.
The above is Christ’s plan of salvation and the sacrifice He made for YOU AND ME. He loves us so much that from the very beginning He knew He would have to leave his home, his Father and die for OUR sin.
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. “Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Your daily dose of poetry. I will endeavour to post more and more articles. Perhaps I should tell you all a little about South Africa’s own legends? Let me know in the comments what you think?
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,— act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.
God bless and have a lovely weekend, all my darling avidReaders. 🙂
The sea was still. The only sound to be heard was the lapping of the gentle waves against the sides of our ship, gently rocking us back and forth. It caused all the men aboard to go quiet. Just a few seconds ago we’d been in a violent storm yet now this calm had come to rest on the waves. The seas may have calmed, but the violent storm had only moved from the waves to now wage on in our own hearts. We should’ve been relieved, but there was something about this silence. It was an eerie calm.
That was when we heard the cries. The dried out voices of desperate men. Our captain called back as loud as his voice allowed him only to be returned with silence. Our captain started barking orders at us, demanding we get closer to these poor souls should they need our help. So we did. We rushed to our positions and started in the direction of the voices. It seemed the closer we got, the more the sickening feeling grew in our stomachs, but we trusted our captain and kept at our work until at last we heard loud cries of help. There we saw him–if what we saw could be described as a ‘him’. The figure we saw was inhuman. His flesh hung from his bones and, like the rest of his ship and crew, he glowed with an unearthly red as though he had climbed his way out of hell.
We had all heard rumours of the Dutchman (for that was no doubt what was before us), but had never come across her ourselves. We all knew the legend of the Dutchman–her captain had vowed to round the Cape of Good Hope regardless of the cost. As the story goes, he was cursed by the devil to wander the waters for all eternity. Some said it only was by the love of a woman that he would be saved, while others claimed that this was a falsehood.
It didn’t matter what men said about her–the truth was far more terrifying. The Dutchman’s captain wore no hat as there was no hair or flesh for it to rest on. His crew moaned tearful oaths begging, pleading, for us to send their messages to those both dead and alive. The captain uttered no sound, but stood quiet and resilient. He stared into the eyes of our captain–finding the measure of this man who bore flesh when he could not. In contrast to the painful, desperate cries of his crew, we all stood still and silent as the waves beneath us.
The ghost captain continued to size up our captain, not a word from either man. We stared at his crew too shocked to look away, lest we never see these apparitions again. Then it happened. Right in front of our eyes they were gone! The ship, the crew, the cries–all gone, as though it was nothing but a dream. All of them returned to the Locker from whence they had come. No one would believe that right before us stood the crew of the Flying Dutchman! Though she was always seen from afar by a lucky few, our crew had been the first to see her captain face to face. It didn’t matter what other men thought of our stories, we would always know that we had been the first to see the crew of the Flying Dutchman and to gaze into the eyes of her terrible captain.
I hope you enjoyed this little piece I wrote. I’ve had it on my heart to write something about the Dutchman and then thought it would be fun to do it from a narrative point of view. Please let me know if you liked it and if you want me to do more myths and legends in this format.
John Donne No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were. Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.