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More new posts will be added below this one. Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you! His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return. Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown. Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! Whoever degrades another degrades me, And whatever is done or said returns at last to me.

Made with a plain weave, Oxford shirts have a coloured warp giving it a distinctive woven basket effect. It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on. Have you outstript the rest?

Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. My brain it shall be your occult convolutions! Do you take it I would astonish?

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Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch'd from, The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer, This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. Firm masculine colter it shall be you!

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Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you! And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is so. This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now.

The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck. Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her. Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! Sun so generous it shall be you! Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!

List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it to me. Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive. What blurt is this about virtue and about vice?

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Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified? My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd. Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars? In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as forward sluing, To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing, Absorbing all to myself and for this song. One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking.

The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen. Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. Vivas to those who have fail'd! Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!

Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel'd with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones. Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?

Unscrew the locks from the doors! Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me. Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. Leftoid masochists and the Christian meek call for returning Hawaii to the Hawaiians and capitulating before a massive Mexican reconquista of one-third of America. Root of wash'd sweet-flag!

Is it more humane to go by a stroke of a blunt machete than by a whiff of Zyklon B? We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun, We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak. If our colors are struck and the fighting done? Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.

Come now I will not be tantalized, you conceive too much of articulation, Do you not know O speech how the buds beneath you are folded? The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them.

The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all. Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.

My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision. My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around. See the list at the bottom of this post for links to the previous installments. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.

The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction, The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head, The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master! Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!

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Mix'd tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you! The essay below is the conclusion of the ninth part in a series by Takuan Seiyo.

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