Thursday, April 24, 2008
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Bill's Poem to Yvonne used in their Wedding June 21,1969
"SHE GAVE HIM LOVE, AND HOPE
HE GAVE HER LOVE, AND UNDERSTANDING
SHE GAVE HIM REASON, AND SENSITIVITY
HE GAVE HER KNOWLEDGE AND ORDER.
TOGETHER THEIR LOVE COALESCED INTO ONE,
SHE, BRINGING SUBJECTIVITY AND EMOTION
HE, BRINGING OBJECTIVITY AND RATIONALITY
CREATING, TOGETHER, A SENSE OF UNIVERSALITY.
AS ONE THEY EXPLORE THE INTRICACIES OF LIFE
FINDING ANSWERS WHERE BEFORE THERE WERE ONLY GUESSES
FINDING POSSIBILITIES WHERE THERE WERE ONLY DOUBTS
THEIR LIMIT----THE UNIVERSE. THEIR ULTIMATE-----TRUTH"
(b.m.Sinclair)
HE GAVE HER LOVE, AND UNDERSTANDING
SHE GAVE HIM REASON, AND SENSITIVITY
HE GAVE HER KNOWLEDGE AND ORDER.
TOGETHER THEIR LOVE COALESCED INTO ONE,
SHE, BRINGING SUBJECTIVITY AND EMOTION
HE, BRINGING OBJECTIVITY AND RATIONALITY
CREATING, TOGETHER, A SENSE OF UNIVERSALITY.
AS ONE THEY EXPLORE THE INTRICACIES OF LIFE
FINDING ANSWERS WHERE BEFORE THERE WERE ONLY GUESSES
FINDING POSSIBILITIES WHERE THERE WERE ONLY DOUBTS
THEIR LIMIT----THE UNIVERSE. THEIR ULTIMATE-----TRUTH"
(b.m.Sinclair)
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
EPIC ET CETERA
The mead nearly made.
Et Cetera Bookstore!
To what shall we compare thee?
Art thou a bookish hive,
Rectangular shelves stacked high
With nectar - the distillate of
The pollen of human thought?
The gold dust of the ages
Lies bound in your boards,
Each word but a mere mote
And Each book but a dry spur
To a lifelong thirst, never slacked.
Or art thou more or less?
A Place where friends scramble wits
Over cigarette, coffee and chess,
Safe from marauding bears
And the press of the dollar,
From the wan words of newspapers
And their disconcerting headline hollar!
No matter - yours is but a daily epic.
Though time tells us the days
Still mount into years,
I tell you the Golden Age is now,
This day, this hour, this minue,
That the gathering of honey is at hand,
by Arthur Tuck
Et Cetera Bookstore!
To what shall we compare thee?
Art thou a bookish hive,
Rectangular shelves stacked high
With nectar - the distillate of
The pollen of human thought?
The gold dust of the ages
Lies bound in your boards,
Each word but a mere mote
And Each book but a dry spur
To a lifelong thirst, never slacked.
Or art thou more or less?
A Place where friends scramble wits
Over cigarette, coffee and chess,
Safe from marauding bears
And the press of the dollar,
From the wan words of newspapers
And their disconcerting headline hollar!
No matter - yours is but a daily epic.
Though time tells us the days
Still mount into years,
I tell you the Golden Age is now,
This day, this hour, this minue,
That the gathering of honey is at hand,
by Arthur Tuck
Thursday, July 05, 2007
A Poem by Billy Sinclair to Yvonne Sinclair
Through more detours than I care to remember,
This woman has walked with me
_her rippling
Touch renewing my tired resolve
When I have taken the last detour
And stand finally on the eternal path,
I will turn to this woman
of hard wood loyalty
AND give her half of my soul
to wrap about her shoulders.
This woman has walked with me
_her rippling
Touch renewing my tired resolve
When I have taken the last detour
And stand finally on the eternal path,
I will turn to this woman
of hard wood loyalty
AND give her half of my soul
to wrap about her shoulders.