De Catullo et Martiale
by Thomas Campion (1567-1620)
Cantabat Veneres meras Catullus;
quasvis sed quasi silva Martialis
miscet materias suis libellis,
laudes, stigmata, gratulationes,
contemptus, ioca, seria, ima, summa;
multis magnus hic est, bene ille cultis.
by Robert Huntington (1958-)
The autumn leaves sparkle, every hue
Glistening, orange, gold and scarlet red;
What would I say? “They’re wrinkled, dry and dead”
If I looked up without thinking of you.
Majestic storm clouds thrill while peeking through
Behind them brilliant flaming flecks appear
As the sun sets. “Oppressive, dark and drear”
I’d call it if I didn’t think of you.
The venerable writ of habeas corpus is likely to be greatly weakened. The executive will grow stronger and we will all be a little less free.
Today, a black hole observed ? tomorrow, a pothole avoided? On Wednesday, researchers with the Event Horizon Telescope project released the first images ever ta?
Sonnet of Venus and Cupid
by Mark Alexander Boyd (1562-1601)
Fra banc to banc, fra wod to wod, I rin
Ourhailit with my feble fantasie,
Lyk til a leif that fallis from a trie
Or til a reid ourblawin with the wind.
Twa gods gyds me: the ane of tham is blind,
Ye, and a bairn brocht up in vanitie;
The nixt a wyf ingenrit of the se,
And lichter nor a dauphin with hir fin.
Unhappie is the man for evirmair
That teils the sand and sawis in the aire;
Bot twyse unhappier is he, I lairn,
That feidis in his hairt a mad desyre,
And follows on a woman throw the fyre,
Led be a blind and teichit be a bairn.
Patriotism (from The Lay of the Last Minstrel)
by Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonor’d, and unsung.
Once upon a time (2006-2009), I had a blog and I had a lot of fun with it. In addition to posting a poem a day, I offered thoughts on various topics including chess, immigration, books, politics, law, religion, etc. In short, on all things human. I was in Turin for the 2006 Chess Olympiad and FIDE election and posted up-to-the-minute coverage and interviews with the participants. Then the site caught a virus, my webmaster was unavailable and it died. I’ve decided to revive it. Not sure where it will go or how much time I will be able to devote to it. I plan to add a (chess) game of the week feature since I’ve amassed a database of 80,000+ games that aren’t in ChessBase’s Megabase. Beyond that, I don’t know but I am open to suggestions.
This post is a temporary placeholder, and will be deleted when real content starts to appear. The previous blog of this name was suspended on December 6, 2009. Currently, we have no backups, so restarting from scratch, but we hope to restore posts going back to May, 2006.
This is the blog of Robert Huntington. Its current incarnation is hosted by Love Web Wiz at pair Networks.
Life has been busy for Robert; he will get back to this when he can.