In March 1969, Doors singer Jim Morrison was charged with obscenity and indecent exposure stemming from an incident at a concert in Miami, FL. Prior to sentencing, the court asked his father for a letter describing Jim's character and situation. This was his response. Photo: Jim Morrison and his father aboard the  USS Bon Homme Richard prior to Jim's fame.

Reading Clare Harner's Immortality, a beautiful poem for a eulogy. Other authors have tried to pass it off as their own, so I talk about that, too.Do not stand          By my grave, and weep.     I am not there,          I do not sleep—I am the thousand winds that blowI am the diamond glints in snowI am the sunlight on ripened grain,I am the gentle, autumn rain.As you awake with morning’s hush,I am the swift, up-flinging rushOf quiet birds in circling flight,I am the day transcending night.     Do not stand          By my grave, and cry—     I am not there,          I did not die.

Saturday Morning Words and Coffee. Taking a look at Robert Frost's The Master Speed.No speed of wind or water rushing byBut you have speed far greater. You can climbBack up a stream of radiance to the sky,And back through history up the stream of time.And you were given this swiftness, not for hasteNor chiefly that you may go where you will,But in the rush of everything to waste,That you may have the power of standing still-Off any still or moving thing you say.Two such as you with such a master speedCannot be parted nor be swept awayFrom one another once you are agreedThat life is only life forevermoreTogether wing to wing and oar to oar

Reading Ozymandias. What does it teach us about Kings of Kings and hubris? That the sand reclaims everything eventually.I met a traveller from an antique land,Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stoneStand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,Tell that its sculptor well those passions readWhich yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;And on the pedestal, these words appear:My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!Nothing beside remains. Round the decayOf that colossal Wreck, boundless and bareThe lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Reading chapter 22 from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and talking about the dangers of the mob mentality.

Saturday morning words and coffee. Reading Yeats' "A Coat" and talking abut reappraising our own work as we go through life. Is it time to "strip down" and simplify? Yeats might tell you, "Yes."

Robert Frost is a great poet and, in a roundabout way, helped me to take a better road by dropping English lit. Have a decision to make on which path to take? I talk about that here.

Saturday morning words and coffee. Reading Thomas Hardy's poem from a New Year's Day many years ago.I leant upon a coppice gate      When Frost was spectre-grey,And Winter's dregs made desolate      The weakening eye of day.The tangled bine-stems scored the sky      Like strings of broken lyres,And all mankind that haunted nigh      Had sought their household fires.The land's sharp features seemed to be      The Century's corpse outleant,His crypt the cloudy canopy,      The wind his death-lament.The ancient pulse of germ and birth      Was shrunken hard and dry,And every spirit upon earth      Seemed fervourless as I.At once a voice arose among      The bleak twigs overheadIn a full-hearted evensong      Of joy illimited;An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,      In blast-beruffled plume,Had chosen thus to fling his soul      Upon the growing gloom.So little cause for carolings      Of such ecstatic soundWas written on terrestrial things      Afar or nigh around,That I could think there trembled through      His happy good-night airSome blessed Hope, whereof he knew      And I was unaware.

Jabberwocky is a poem from Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass. It's called a "nonsense poem" because it uses made up words that you can't find in the dictionary. In this podcast episode, I read the poem and talk about what it might mean.'Twas brillig, and the slithy tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe;All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe."Beware the Jabberwock, my son!The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!Beware the Jubjub bird, and shunThe frumious Bandersnatch!"He took his vorpal sword in hand:Long time the manxome foe he sought—So rested he by the Tumtum tree,And stood awhile in thought.And as in uffish thought he stood,The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,And burbled as it came!One, two! One, two! And through and throughThe vorpal blade went snicker-snack!He left it dead, and with its headHe went galumphing back."And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?Come to my arms, my beamish boy!O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"He chortled in his joy.'Twas brillig, and the slithy tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe;All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe.

Reading Chapter 69 - The Funeral from Moby Dick. Do you believe in ghosts, my friend?