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MY FAR AWAY FRIEND

A MAN HAS A MISSION WHEN HIS LIFE IS YOUNG
WHETHER HE LIVES IN THE ICECAPS OR UNDER THE SUN
THERE IS PASSION AND PLEASURE WITH AMBITION DEFINED
LIVING HAS MEANING AND DIRECTION COMBINED
BUT AS YEARS PASS BY AND DREAMS ARE ACHIEVED
HE LOOKS IN THE MIRROR TO SEE DESIRED BEREAVED
SO WHAT DOES HE DO AND WHERE DOES HE GO
WHEN HE STARTS TO HATE RAINFALL SUNSHINE AND SNOW
HIS MIND IS IN TURMOIL WITH CONTENTMENT DISPLACED
HE BATTLES THE DEMONS HE SHOULD HAVE FACED
IN THE COMPANY OF A FRIEND TO LIGHTEN THE MOOD
HE STARES DOWN A BOTTLE AND HE PICKS AT HIS FOOD
ALL IS ACCOMPLISHED THE FUTURE LOOKS BRIGHT
BUT THAT DESTROYS MOTIVE AND A STOMACH TO FIGHT
THE PURPOSE OF LIVING DENIES HIM RESPECT
AND LIFE HAS NO PURPOSE THAT HE CAN DETECT
SO HE WANDERS EXISTENCE WITH HIS SPIRIT IN TOW
PAUSING SOMETIMES TO PUT ON A SHOW
BUT SOONER OR LATER THE BOTTLE BETRAYS
THIS LIFE OF A MAN AS HIS BODY DECAYS
AND WHEN THAT DAY COMES HIS LOVED ONES WILL SEND
ME NEWS OF THE DEATH OF MY FARAWAY FRIEND

Thank you for posting this tribute to the golf Legend Alex Jesaulenko. If he were alive today he would be feeling dead good about your beautiful poem

Harry

Yorkshire Lad wrote:MY FAR AWAY FRIEND

A MAN HAS A MISSION WHEN HIS LIFE IS YOUNG
WHETHER HE LIVES IN THE ICECAPS OR UNDER THE SUN
THERE IS PASSION AND PLEASURE WITH AMBITION DEFINED
LIVING HAS MEANING AND DIRECTION COMBINED
BUT AS YEARS PASS BY AND DREAMS ARE ACHIEVED
HE LOOKS IN THE MIRROR TO SEE DESIRED BEREAVED
SO WHAT DOES HE DO AND WHERE DOES HE GO
WHEN HE STARTS TO HATE RAINFALL SUNSHINE AND SNOW
HIS MIND IS IN TURMOIL WITH CONTENTMENT DISPLACED
HE BATTLES THE DEMONS HE SHOULD HAVE FACED
IN THE COMPANY OF A FRIEND TO LIGHTEN THE MOOD
HE STARES DOWN A BOTTLE AND HE PICKS AT HIS FOOD
ALL IS ACCOMPLISHED THE FUTURE LOOKS BRIGHT
BUT THAT DESTROYS MOTIVE AND A STOMACH TO FIGHT
THE PURPOSE OF LIVING DENIES HIM RESPECT
AND LIFE HAS NO PURPOSE THAT HE CAN DETECT
SO HE WANDERS EXISTENCE WITH HIS SPIRIT IN TOW
PAUSING SOMETIMES TO PUT ON A SHOW
BUT SOONER OR LATER THE BOTTLE BETRAYS
THIS LIFE OF A MAN AS HIS BODY DECAYS
AND WHEN THAT DAY COMES HIS LOVED ONES WILL SEND
ME NEWS OF THE DEATH OF MY FARAWAY FRIEND

nice pome but young & sun doesnt ryme to good, & i likes MY FAR AWAY FRIEND TIGER WOODS better for the titel. chris

Yorkshire Lad.. I thought to follow up the dear sentiment of your poem with a poem by Keats.. he died very young, just twenty-five, in fact.. but his poetry keeps alive that vital aspect of.. just being, I guess..

be well,
v i o l e t (flower)..

Yorkshire Lad wrote:MY FAR AWAY FRIEND

A MAN HAS A MISSION WHEN HIS LIFE IS YOUNG
WHETHER HE LIVES IN THE ICECAPS OR UNDER THE SUN
THERE IS PASSION AND PLEASURE WITH AMBITION DEFINED
LIVING HAS MEANING AND DIRECTION COMBINED
BUT AS YEARS PASS BY AND DREAMS ARE ACHIEVED
HE LOOKS IN THE MIRROR TO SEE DESIRED BEREAVED
SO WHAT DOES HE DO AND WHERE DOES HE GO
WHEN HE STARTS TO HATE RAINFALL SUNSHINE AND SNOW
HIS MIND IS IN TURMOIL WITH CONTENTMENT DISPLACED
HE BATTLES THE DEMONS HE SHOULD HAVE FACED
IN THE COMPANY OF A FRIEND TO LIGHTEN THE MOOD
HE STARES DOWN A BOTTLE AND HE PICKS AT HIS FOOD
ALL IS ACCOMPLISHED THE FUTURE LOOKS BRIGHT
BUT THAT DESTROYS MOTIVE AND A STOMACH TO FIGHT
THE PURPOSE OF LIVING DENIES HIM RESPECT
AND LIFE HAS NO PURPOSE THAT HE CAN DETECT
SO HE WANDERS EXISTENCE WITH HIS SPIRIT IN TOW
PAUSING SOMETIMES TO PUT ON A SHOW
BUT SOONER OR LATER THE BOTTLE BETRAYS
THIS LIFE OF A MAN AS HIS BODY DECAYS
AND WHEN THAT DAY COMES HIS LOVED ONES WILL SEND
ME NEWS OF THE DEATH OF MY FARAWAY FRIEND

..I'm just reading a bit more about this Keats poem.. and see it's an excerpt from an epic poem of his, based on the Greek myth, Endymion.. and actually, it was the name Endymion that prompted my search..



A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever


A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.

Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimmed and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end!
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.


John Keats


edit:.. hmm.. I kept trying to write a line that just wasn't working.. I wanted to say something about Keats in relation to your poem.. but.. words fail one sometimes.. so.. I deleted it.. v.

Oscotarach wrote:

Yorkshire Lad wrote:MY FAR AWAY FRIEND

A MAN HAS A MISSION WHEN HIS LIFE IS YOUNG
WHETHER HE LIVES IN THE ICECAPS OR UNDER THE SUN
THERE IS PASSION AND PLEASURE WITH AMBITION DEFINED
LIVING HAS MEANING AND DIRECTION COMBINED
BUT AS YEARS PASS BY AND DREAMS ARE ACHIEVED
HE LOOKS IN THE MIRROR TO SEE DESIRED BEREAVED
SO WHAT DOES HE DO AND WHERE DOES HE GO
WHEN HE STARTS TO HATE RAINFALL SUNSHINE AND SNOW
HIS MIND IS IN TURMOIL WITH CONTENTMENT DISPLACED
HE BATTLES THE DEMONS HE SHOULD HAVE FACED
IN THE COMPANY OF A FRIEND TO LIGHTEN THE MOOD
HE STARES DOWN A BOTTLE AND HE PICKS AT HIS FOOD
ALL IS ACCOMPLISHED THE FUTURE LOOKS BRIGHT
BUT THAT DESTROYS MOTIVE AND A STOMACH TO FIGHT
THE PURPOSE OF LIVING DENIES HIM RESPECT
AND LIFE HAS NO PURPOSE THAT HE CAN DETECT
SO HE WANDERS EXISTENCE WITH HIS SPIRIT IN TOW
PAUSING SOMETIMES TO PUT ON A SHOW
BUT SOONER OR LATER THE BOTTLE BETRAYS
THIS LIFE OF A MAN AS HIS BODY DECAYS
AND WHEN THAT DAY COMES HIS LOVED ONES WILL SEND
ME NEWS OF THE DEATH OF MY FARAWAY FRIEND

nice pome but young & sun doesnt ryme to good, & i likes MY FAR AWAY FRIEND TIGER WOODS better for the titel. chris

Dear Oscotarach, you have made some typographical errors in your otherwise succinct and interesting response but a general "well done"! By the way, have you any idea why the original "poem" here is all in capitals. Wouldn't it be fascinating to know the writer's thinking. Oh, alright. It wouldn't be at all fascinating

Harry

PS congratulations on your suggested title "My Fairway Friend, the screwing Legend Tiger Woods".

Harry S wrote:By the way, have you any idea why the original "poem" here is all in capitals. Wouldn't it be fascinating to know the writer's thinking.

he looked at keybored when he is rwiting & look at screan to lait. its all are in cap-slock but it to lait. he fed up & not wants to do it in reprise. to much job. chris

Oscotarach wrote:

Harry S wrote:By the way, have you any idea why the original "poem" here is all in capitals. Wouldn't it be fascinating to know the writer's thinking.

he looked at keybored when he is rwiting & look at screan to lait. its all are in cap-slock but it to lait. he fed up & not wants to do it in reprise. to much job. chris

Just a mistake ! My computer skills do not stretch to changing from capitals to ordinary print when copying from word . Thats all there is to it . No other hidden agenda !

Yorkshire Lad writes:

BUT SOONER OR LATER THE BOTTLE BETRAYS
THIS LIFE OF A MAN AS HIS BODY DECAYS
AND WHEN THAT DAY COMES HIS LOVED ONES WILL SEND
ME NEWS OF THE DEATH OF MY FARAWAY FRIEND

When we can honestly ask ourselves who those people are in our lives that mean the most to us, we often find that it's usually those who share in our pain and are willing to help heal our wounds with a warm, honest hand/heart. Friends who stand by in those thick uncomfortable moments of silence and extreme grief, those who simply tolerate and face with us, the reality of our weaknesses. For those friends are the diamonds of life and I'll bet that late at night when all the world is asleep they are the ones still awake, thinking about us, hoping for peace to soothe us, grace to hold us and for love to always be there to comfort us.

I am reminded of this verse from a card I sent to a friend of mine a couple weeks ago…

Don't think of him as gone away
his journey's just begun,
life holds so many facets –
this earth is only one.

Just think of him as resting
from the sorrows and the tears
in a place of warmth and comfort
where there are no days and years.

Think how he must be wishing
that we could know today
how nothing but our sadness
can really pass away.

And think of him as living
in the hearts of those he touched…
for nothing loved is ever lost –
and he was loved so much.

Carm
How worldly wise you are and not for the first time your words touch my heart and soul !