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Originally posted by [profile] greenmanenvy_fd at The Grave of Dead Tanis / dreams in the mist

http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-grave-of-dead-tanis-dreams-in-mist.html

The Grave of Dead Tanis

The Grave of Dead Tanis, 2006





dreams in the mist

By Everett A Warren

ghost world
mists walk with me
hung in suspension
bathing with their breath
stained glass skies
framed by branching contortions
forest floor limned
moss, leaf, and fallen limb
crystals of ice encrusted
dreams flitter away
through minds of pre-dawn sleepers
seeking release, freedom of a thawing sky
sun melts away
the tendrils
Earth-bound no longer
and they know this
as they know deeper, darker truths
but in this drifting gray the sun has faded
cackling with madness, ripe with desire
dreams wander, untethered to a soul
yet held fast to the waking world
and there I walk, in their midst
calling to wayward thoughts
offering shelter for lonely dreams
until night cloaks the world
or dawn, delayed, arrives



Copyright © 2004 Everett A Warren



This poem can be found in the collection Poetry from the Porch Period,
available via the publisher or from Amazon.com
or on order from your local bookstore!



This entry was originally posted at http://ellyssian.dreamwidth.org/820518.html. Comments are accepted at both locations.

Slick is Slick

I like the looks of Typesafe Slick. The Lifted Embedding is pretty cool, and would be great to get at data and really do all kinds of things most other languages couldn't dream of.

When I first started working with Scala last year, it struck me that a lot of the things I was learning were things I always found myself wanting to do in an imperative language but they just couldn't do it or they were things (like the recursion) that everyone always said to stay away from because they'd break down and fail in 4GL.

I'd really love to have a plugin for the Caché object database... while accessing it with SQL would be cool, it would be great to just be able to get the objects working together. They're still adding support, though, and with Caché being a niche market tool (although I'd love to see it in more widespread usage) it's not likely to get there unless someone writes it. I'll get right on it... and add it to my to-do list. =)

Of course, my interest in Caché is surface-deep at this point. I love the interface for maintaining the dbs, doing the admin, and running SQLs and object queries and stuff. I haven't spent the time working with it to see how it does with a more strenuous workout. The job I was hoping to interview for a while back fell through before it started, so I focused on what was applicable to other things... but I'd kind of like to work with it some more. I have no idea if it scales as well as their marketing material says it does, and I have no idea how many arms and legs it costs (but I expect it's pricey), but I like the promise it has, and the little I've used it has impressed me.

I'm thinking I might need to develop an app or two using those technologies and see how it goes. With scalability in the language and scalability in the dbs, there could definitely be the promise of handling gobs and gobs of data in a much more efficient manner than other tech I've worked with.

This entry was originally posted at http://ellyssian.dreamwidth.org/820393.html. Comments are accepted at both locations.

Waverly Oaks Sycamore / Of Seasons

Originally posted by [profile] greenmanenvy_fd at Waverly Oaks Sycamore / Of Seasons

http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/11/waverly-oaks-sycamore-of-seasons.html

Waverly Oaks Sycamore

Waverly Oaks Sycamore 2005





Of Seasons

By Everett A Warren

Winds forever blowing
A fade to a chill
Leaves upon the ground
A silent blanket upon the world
Speaking of seasons

Trees lay bared
Souls lie open to ponder
Restless they shake their limbs
For grey they will remain in despair
Whispering of seasons

Rains may echo
Falling slower
Damp beads shine and glimmer
In diffusion the light of full moon
Measuring of seasons

Restless sighing
In caverns of Heart
Forging new worlds to wander
Yet lost in the memories long past
Dreaming of seasons



Copyright © 1992 Everett A Warren





This entry was originally posted at http://ellyssian.dreamwidth.org/820012.html. Comments are accepted at both locations.

JDK in Mavericks

Developers: Just an FYI for those using OSX and upgrading to Mavericks: it hoses your JDK, taking you back to 1.6. If you need the latest and greatest (and I ran up against this submitting a Scala assignment last week), you'll need to reinstall the JDK after the upgrade. Also, make sure you install the JDK itself ~ the runtime environment will not update the Java version used by the command line. Just putting this out there in case anyone is wondering why Java suddenly stopped working as expected ~ and then forgot about the JDK/JRE differences!

This entry was originally posted at http://ellyssian.dreamwidth.org/819854.html. Comments are accepted at both locations.
Originally posted by [profile] greenmanenvy_fd at With Long Boney Fingers... / The Spell of Jack O' Lantern

http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/10/with-long-boney-fingers-spell-of-jack-o.html

With Long Boney Fingers...

With Long Boney Fingers... 2008





The Spell of Jack O' Lantern

By Everett A Warren

With the chill of the night air
comes the fear that he shall return;
Dried corn stalks without the gleaming bones
line the paths he walks,
grinning ear to ear,
as in his heart evil wyrms churn.

Come the harvest moon and the flurry of falling leaves
comes the fear that he shall reap what we have sown;
Cried our tears and left them out to dry
up to the windowsill he stalks,
plucking them up like roasted seeds
upon which he feeds – if they please him, he shall leave us alone.

As the midnight bell tolls
over the fields he rides;
Firelight like autumn leaves flickering in his eyes,
the only warmth he'll ever show,
dancing in the darkness and blood,
as his world and ours collides.

With a creak of a door in the dark of night
comes the fear that has become real;
Soft footfalls upon the stairs,
like whispers of the ravens wing,
silencing the blood in a poor soul's veins,
quiet, now, the night, as the final bells peal.

So heed this warning, for in the waning months
comes the fear that each year he returns;
Bitter winds and silent cries
are all that he leaves behind,
fallen leaves and fallen lives
fuel the fires that, in our dreams, he burns.



Copyright © 2004 Everett A Warren



This poem can be found in the collection Poetry from the Porch Period,
available via the publisher or from Amazon.com
or on order from your local bookstore!



This entry was originally posted at http://ellyssian.dreamwidth.org/819531.html. Comments are accepted at both locations.

Graceful / seasons wane

Originally posted by [profile] greenmanenvy_fd at Graceful / seasons wane

http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/10/graceful-seasons-wane.html

Graceful

Graceful, 2008





seasons wane

By Everett A Warren

words drift downward
like leaves
dancing with gravity
somewhere between laughter and tears

whispers cling tenaciously
like mists
obscuring tomorrows
somewhere between hope and despair

offerings
of light and love
filter through the trees
sunbeams that flicker and fade
elusively retreating with each step

what does darkness bring as seasons wane
like dreams
upon the waking
somewhere between sunshine and falling rain



Copyright © 2004 Everett A Warren



This poem can be found in the collection Poetry from the Porch Period,
available via the publisher or from Amazon.com
or on order from your local bookstore!



This entry was originally posted at http://ellyssian.dreamwidth.org/819454.html. Comments are accepted at both locations.
Originally posted by [profile] greenmanenvy_fd at The Wind Can Not Win / The Wind Remembers from Whence it Came

http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-wind-can-not-win-wind-remembers.html

The Wind Can Not Win

The Wind Can Not Win, 2008





The Wind Remembers from Whence it Came

By Everett A Warren

The wind comes through the trees
and sighs softly in an aside as it stirs fallen leaves
who no more it's way obscure;
bare tree bones tremble and shake and bow their leafless crowns
but not so low as they had of old, for, although they no longer catch the wind up
in green grasp, the wind finds it no easy task to pull boughs down.
The wind, if it were of lesser kind, perhaps would feel thwarted,
but the wind is the breath of the clouds who are the mists of mighty waterfalls,
and the wind remembers from whence it came;
from sunlight descended and leaves assembled,
through heartwood descended and through the roots transcended,
until once more leaves release it, cleansed, to the sky ascended.
The fallen leaves rustle, brought low by the wind, to shelter
and blanket the Earth before the snows;
for the wind remembers from whence it came.



Copyright © 2004 Everett A Warren



This poem can be found in the collection Poetry from the Porch Period,
available via the publisher or from Amazon.com
or on order from your local bookstore!



This entry was originally posted at http://ellyssian.dreamwidth.org/818990.html. Comments are accepted at both locations.

Silver / To sing like a drop of rain...

Originally posted by [profile] greenmanenvy_fd at Silver / To sing like a drop of rain...

http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/10/silver-to-sing-like-drop-of-rain.html

Silver

Silver, 2008





To sing like a drop of rain...

By Everett A Warren

I am silent,
still, and listening.
The words I seek echo
just beyond my reach.
They crawl through fallen leaves,
dance in the falling rain,
they leave me wanting for more.

As the chill in the air
seeps into my bones,
the warmth I feel inside
calls fondly to a long-forgotten friend.
As timeless whispers
cascade from leaf to limb,
I long to run with them again.

To sing like a drop of rain
on Autumnal leaves -
cold clear waters drumming
on fiery hearts that wander free.
Rising in the mists
to chase the dreams
that are true but shall never be.



Copyright © 2004 Everett A Warren



This poem can be found in the collection Poetry from the Porch Period,
available via the publisher or from Amazon.com
or on order from your local bookstore!



This entry was originally posted at http://ellyssian.dreamwidth.org/818803.html. Comments are accepted at both locations.

Lady in the Lake

I have a lot of things I *should* be working on... so what happens?

Yep, that's right, as I should be getting up and getting in the shower and going, I catch sight of a friend liking a picture someone posted, and I look at a few other pictures posted on that page, and I catch a glimpse of a picture as I scroll by that might involve a certain watery tart and a sword (but it may not, I didn't look at it closely, so it might just have been a knight-lady in a sunny woodland glade or something entirely different) and suddenly I'm scrambling to open a new window in Open Office, and I'm typing... and this is (completely unedited) what I get:


Lady in the Lake

By Everett A Warren



That's not how the story goes.

Her voice is raspy, cold, weighted down by the years. There's wisps of grey visible from under the cloak, but not much else you can read from her. Maybe the hunching over, that curve like a sapling that reaches fast for the light and then, over time, bends closer to the ground... maybe that arc is from the weight of that cloak. A thick, heavy, unforgiving material like a warrior might wear. Why scratch the armour when that dense, uncomfortable fabric will turn the sharpest blade and dampen the mightiest hammer. The kind of weight that is not for old women to bear, but is invaluable to the young warrior.

So she tells me that's not how the story goes, and I'm caught. Story is my stock and trade, and I had been telling all about Arturo and Kam and the Table Round and The Sword and I know the tale, know it through and through, the words tripping off my tongue beautifully, and each word lovingly crafted into the whole.

I should know better, because I do know better. And who could know better than I? After all, it was not some poor, bent beggarlady who had watched The Sword from its Sheath leap out into Arturo's hand, glimmering with glamours and preternatural light. It was not some scraggly withered wench who listened attentively to the Wise Woman Myrlynne as she prophesied and advised and taught the Boy Who Would Be King.

And it was not, most certainly and empathetically not, no way, no how, some vile peasant wretch of a hag, a grandmother of shit and dirt and nothing of any worth whatsoever, who slid the blade betwixt Arturo's plate and into that soft, yielding under layer of his flesh, letting his blessed royal lifeblood flow on to the battlefield on that, his last day, and...

Pardon. A moment please.

There.

You see, I was there.

It was I.

I am Mordred.

Oh, some say I was Arturo's younger brother, some say I was his son. We called each other brothers, and although we spilt much blood side by side through the years, the blood that ran within us was wholly our own.

But that is of little matter, it merely clarifies some of the tales you may have heard. Which brings me back to this tale, and the tale I had been telling when this mere woman claims I am wrong and that my story is not what I know it to be, and that the tale I am telling takes a different path entirely.

My anger rises, and the years fall from me, the curse revived, and still... I listen to her, ensnared, myself and my audience now hers. I hear her words wind and twist and echo and resolve, and I wonder briefly if this is Myrlynne, freed from her entrapment -- which I was quite sure involved her death as well, or as close as I could manufacture to it -- and come to seek revenge, because so magickal are her speakings that I can not help but believe.


Copyright 2013 Everett Ambrose Warren



This entry was originally posted at http://ellyssian.dreamwidth.org/818634.html. Comments are accepted at both locations.
Originally posted by greenmanenvy_fd at Bronze Tree / Myths, Legends, and other Truths

http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/09/bronze-tree-myths-legends-and-other.html

Bronze Tree

Bronze Tree 1993





Myths, Legends, and other Truths

It is said that the call of the whippoorwill
brings out the souls of the dead
and takes them on their way
whither they may travel.

It is said that if you can hear the dulcet
tones of the indian ghost pipes
played on a warm June night
then when the flower fades so shall you.

It is said that the moonbeams are
pathways to the stars
and if you walk upon them
the man in the moon shall welcome you as friend.

It is said that journeys are keys,
but what they shall unlock
remains unspoken and unknown
save to those who have walked the ways before.

It is said that the chorusing of frogs
calling out from the pond-edges and bogs at night
are the glorious rhetorical speeches containing
all that should have been said but lay silent through the day.

It is said that the crows gather in the field
to hear the words of a storyteller
weave visions of myths and legends
and when they take wing as one they fly to spread the tale.

It is said that dreams are of two kinds:
flittering shallow fancies or deep whispered truths
and that those who dream the former
are legion and those the latter, few.



Copyright © 2004 Everett Ambrose Warren

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