Alfred Lord Tennyson (6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892)
Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom during much of Queen Victoria’s reign
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
From: The Charge Of The Light Brigade (1854)
By Madison S. Hughes (02.28.2011)
No better than beast they be,
Those Homo sapiens, you and me.
By Madison S. Hughes (10.30.2009)
A blink or a wink,
there must be a difference
yes, voluntary.
By Madison S. Hughes (08.17.2009)
Birds out of eyes sight
Chirping in thick foliage,
Free sonic pleasure.
By Madison S. Hughes (08.17.2009)
The sun falls over,
First tree-tops, then horizon.
Day turns into dusk.
By Madison S. Hughes (08.17.2009)
Nature’s animals
Eat—drink—reproduce and sleep,
No stress of meaning.
By Madison S. Hughes (10.18.2009)
A warm clasp of hands,
His left hand on my shoulder.
Flash, now it’s over.
By Madison S. Hughes (05.30.2009)
Not quite the ides of March,
A day shy of a fortnight before.
Marks the date each year
Of which I abhor.Unlike Caesar,
Remembered by all.
There was a great man
Unknown after his fall.Known by few,
And that is too bad.
Greater than many,
He was my Dad.
By Madison S. Hughes (05.25.2009)
Many search,
and fewer succeed.
That ever-eluding happiness,
Just like you and me.We seek it in fortune,
We seek it in fame.
It’s a vicious cycle,
But rarely a gain.We take three steps forward,
And two steps back.
We find it in theory,
But rarely in fact.We chase an illusion,
And mistake it as truth.
This abstraction called happiness,
Seems always aloof.
By Madison S. Hughes (05.23.2009)
Like grass and the sunflower,
It follows the sun.
It can never be mastered,
And seldom be won.As with this game,
Such is life.
It’s an endless pursuit,
Of conflict and strife.This game is ruthless,
And the results widely vary.
Many find it overwhelming,
And others down right scary.But try, try we may,
One really can’t scoff,
This game, is like life,
It’s a game we call golf.
Always Question Authority 