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 charge with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Mamacita says: This is one of many poems Mrs. Chandler made us memorize in Junior English. I am still amazed at the number of students who simply refused to do it and took a zero and didn’t give a tinker’s dam about it.
I know that many people do not believe in memorizing poetry or anything else because we can always look something up if we want or need to know it. I am sorry for these people.
I love memorizing things and can sit back in my airplane seat, close my eyes, and read entire books in my head. When we memorize something, we have it with us always. We can entertain ourselves from within. We are never bored. We don’t need batteries.
Even cooler than those things: we have tons of “stuff” to make connections with. Remember, education is all about the connections. The more we know, the more connections we can make.
I pity the little kids whose parents don’t help them learn nursery rhymes, poems, stories, and cool trivia before they begin kindergarten. I don’t think a child can ever make up for all that lost and wasted time, and parents who don’t do this are selfish dysfunctional assholes lazy know-nothings.
Then again, we can’t miss Days or Oprah or the big game; sheesh.
I still despise the father who refused to drive his spelling Bee winning son to the radio station to compete against the winners from the other schools because he was tired and didn’t want to miss the big game on TV. Whenever I see this man, I think of this. Whenever I picture this man in my mind, I see a fat dirty guy in a wifebeater shirt, belching, stinking, and demanding beer after beer to be brought to him because he’s too worthless to get up off his ugly ass to get it himself. This man is a prominent citizen (hahahahahaha), but I know what he really is.
He’s a selfish jerk who puts himself and his own wishes before the welfare of his children.
I hate this man, to be quite honest.
And this was over ten years ago. Yes, I tend to hold a grudge against people who don’t do right by a child.
I frankly don’t care WHAT this man says or does now. He may have changed his ways and become a nice guy, a model citizen, but I will never believe it. He put himself before his son, and that is all I will ever think of when I see him.
Don’t piss me off.
I fear that my personality type goes against the grain of the poems I love best. Wishful thinking on my part, maybe.