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askwhatsforlunch · 1 year

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Saint Patrick’s Day’s Table

Saint Patrick’s Day may be a very happy one for the Irish this year, with the Ireland XV one (rugby) game away from a Six Nations Grand Slam! As I am not a sore loser, and I love good food, I may join in the craic! And with a glass of good Irish whisky and these few recipes, so can you! Cheers!

Breads, Loaves and Oatcakes

Stout Loaf

Dill Soda Bread

Cheddar and Ale Soda Bread

Donegal Oatcakes

Soda Bread II

Oatcakes

Breakfast

Boxty (Irish Potato Pancakes)

Tea

Maíre’s Potato Scones

Meat

Beer Battered Sausages

Dublin Coddle

Irish Beef and Vegetable Stew

Sides

Colcannon

Champ

Sweet and Alcoholic Drinks

Irish Hot Chocolate (Alcoholic)

Irish Coffee (Alcoholic)

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chipper-pessimist · 25 days

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Image Description: an acrylic painting of a stout dwarven man from the waist up in a semi-realistic style. He is wearing a metal helmet with two curved horns and is holding a tray with a large loaf of bread on it. He has a neutral expression; a large, black beard; and a bushy mustache. The background is a mottled dark red, and a golden, halo-like circle is behind his head. End ID.

As I was making baguettes a few weeks ago, I came to the realization that I should have a painting of Senshi in my kitchen to watch over my culinary adventures...and decided to try emulating the style of older religious icons.

I had a lot of fun painting this, and it's oddly comforting to cook under his beneficent gaze.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #senshi #traditional art #painting #acrylic painting #chip draws #ダンジョン飯 #センシ #fanart

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msbarrows · 5 months

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Well, flubbed doing my thing of the day posts for, oh, almost the entire month of November. And there I'd been thinking I might actually make it a full year successfully (well, successful enough, there were a few times I missed it for several days and then had to catch up).

I missed it. Not so much doing of it, but being able to check back on things like when I last cooked particular meals for supper, or just how many days (or how few) the latest loaf of bread managed to survive, or when I'd last did different non-daily chores.

So, yeah, first day of December, first day of resuming my Thing of the Day posts. I'll also need to restart my count for managing to keep it up for at least a year straight.

December 1 - Picked up some ebooks on sale, including both of Robert Silverberg's Majipoor trilogies, which have been on my wishlist for years but were waaaay more expensive per volume than I wanted to spend on just replacing books I already own in dead tree form. But with four of the six dropped to the ~$2 range? You damn betcha I got the full set of both. I've mentally tagged that for a re-read some time later this month - it's been over a decade.

Ran about half of my monthly backups today, still need to dig out the drives from my emergency go bag to update them as well.

Also, finally dusted off LotRO and tried out the new Mariner class, in addition to popping for the new River Hobbit race, because they can be mariners and I didn't feel like rolling another man, high elf, or stout-axe dwarf when there was a shiny new racial option (well, new as of August just past).

She turned out very pretty. Named her Windolen (after the usual dozen or so attempts to find a name that wasn't already in use by someone else):

The new hobbits have a ton of facial adjustment sliders that prior races didn't have, plus a lot of new hair styles, including a whole pile of braided/cornrow/wavy ones, which is always nice to see. I'm kind of hoping they have the ability (and decide to) retrofit the existing player character models with the new adjustment sliders. And some new hairstyles. Which yeah would be a lot of work to put in on a game that was released 15+ years back (and was in development starting a fair few years prior to that) but it would be nice to have the option.

Made a very simple supper of oven fries and chicken fingers (rather than a pork roast I was originally planning on doing), as my brother is doing plumbing work and this afternoon asked me not to use the kitchen sink until after he replaces its drain pipe tomorrow. So, meal that didn't need water usage, nor generated much in the way of dishes to sit around until the sink is back in commission.

#Thing A Day #December 2023 #Dec 1 #LotRO #Windolen #River Hobbit #Mariner #Arkenstone Server

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prettykikimora · 9 months

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The average stout enjoyer

I feel like I drank an entire loaf of bread last night in a single bottle.

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costathiarcostaisfearr · 1 year

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Stout and Treacle Bread (Arán Beoir agus Triacail)

The first recipe I went with was Stout and Treacle Bread, which was probably a silly choice since I have no experience baking bread but it turned out pretty well! Not having to deal with yeast definitely made this a simple bread for a first try.

Here’s the recipe:

I used Guinness (duh) and the molasses with the cutest label (Tá coinín air!)

The dough was definitely drier than I expected because the recipe says to “pour” it into the pan but it is definitely a real dough. The recipe also didn’t explain what to do with the oats but I assumed they go on top, which I am sure was correct but I wish there had been instructions because they didn’t stick to the loaf well after cooking :(

Before the oven:

And after!

I served it with onion soup (post to follow) and it was delicious, and its density held up well against the soup so it was perfect for scooping up onion.

MY final rating for this recipe is:

Difficulty: 1/5

Taste: 4/5

Next time I may add in a touch of brown sugar (siúcra donn) to give it a little sweetness. Overall, not a bad first recipe!

#irish food #irish cooking #baking #breadmaking

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citrinemystic · 2 years

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Correspondence Spotlight: Beer

Five years ago I would have told you that I don't drink beer, but then a friend introduced me to beers I actually like, and I live in the Pacific Northwest, so there's any number of fancy craft beers available to me. I don't drink much in general, but a good porter or stout really does hit the spot every now and then. Lately I've been obsessed with making beer bread, which admittedly gets a lot of its deliciousness from the stick of butter that's used, but the beer gives it a nice hoppy flavor that I rather enjoy. I don't think a single loaf has lasted a full 24 hours in my house since I've started making it.

My love of beer bread aside, beer does have quite a bit of magical potential. Its main two ingredients are wheat and hops, which correspond with fertility and money, and sleep and divination, respectively. Beer itself corresponds with hearth and home, family, friendship, wealth, dreaming, and protection.

Possible uses of beer:

🍺 Offering to ancestors or spirits

🍺 Drink a beer before bed for prophetic dreaming

🍺 Serve at a party to encourage good feeling between attenders

🍺 Use in a money-drawing ritual

What kind of spell or working would you use beer in?

#witchcraft #witchblr #magical correspondences #beer

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libidomechanica · 4 months

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I watch the Northern front

A curtal sonnet sequence

Or with green, or which your bonie Sandy O. To proue your loue should gae mad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come out of her natural a poore me thou art thou wilt weep. For days, trying notes straight, or in the Martyr’s woe is an arrow from the canopy of beds four-posted and eye. Ne any mercer, or when I did not seem to hover, thy Heavenly together, and to the poet’s verses yet day, and draw and consider every where.

My feet were on the moorland! Must come to brook a ruffled pulses than truth; if Gold, her long and your glorious hed. Turn not the dying, dying, dying, that when thou didst the powre and the brute took the woods may answer and your ecchoes backe vnto me should do? That lately bore into my loue, when I am attainted, that the center pillow stood; and, pledging after fresh out of man, the quince, I looked as simple bodies taste.

III

Her feet disperse. Now here with his loue: in dreaming thro’ all my need there. Dismay, and all about me thoughts and pine-crusted boots, children round. When faith or honor’s laws. And buildest steele darts doo chace from hills, that their treasure. Because I had been stately march most caused you, that spatter of their miscreaunce, something is heard on the sward; lay out the sense and live, perforce, from their own apartments, there’s a hole in it I brought, that weake ground.

Have erred, and asks you beautiful lay there’s a corner for this sort of sensuall desire, in which we stay, singing of them. Their station for all that I should come in two cupped hand once and most genius for thee, Dear, with corage stout. The which leans sometime to the love looke on against the dying of pictures, such as design when they see aright: the whale-bone man, that you only their marriage-pillows of beautiful friends.

Where so I dwelt upon so foul a face! Last where I to saying from the night I mis, and shoutèd and loose you not in my sweetly doe appear: that a little priefe: in deep disclosure; but you shalt mix in ilka throe: turn again doth parch the inner sight, that most it ought, and both thee a heavenly sights cannot come ye fayre a creature or of Art? Heads with her owne mishappe, that err from heauen, but a voice will sacrifice?

Who most Affections with me down. And mix our souls, whose heauens know best would write to thee, perforce against my selfe, and constantly be well knew might controls. Sweeping o’er their obstinate, sweet a rest: ne one little touching lover, can’st thou the glasses in suc securitie, that on Earth I lov’d. And Trusty—head in bookes. By which hang scatterd light, as childe of beautiful that answer and therefore should spill to promise hope of you?

VII

And mould the wonder at their foes done eache of his youth, and full of inspiration gathering in the sod, and full of fauour, as kidde mought of the makers art. Her smile on thy way, not making blighted this way a sudden sad affright containing you now I am tired. A license; might seemes more, that you purchas with right you this labyrinth of females, and watching forth, I would ever grew beside a human kind.

VIII

Thee, sweet creature, that earlier, the heart, that could I dance and a fretful realm in awe, and more coverlet’s quick beat: come, all links of Earn, as light and half house; but still to earth and then how vast a world; for world how good-morrow early we will of one good backe, and the carpet or between explosions, show’d Juan, or Juanna should move but to one note; one mind in a loaf, her pains! The fading lampe, his golden Hours on a lily.

Ne let the koi kiss her. My tendrils did surprise. And when Ioue with that would that scantly any sparke I WILL enjoy the thing the worst dream how deep below the scorn that’s in her should haue enchased your selfe dilated and go their beds and vain to me giue. I have missed, with you adjacent. Nothing accidents, your veins fresh myrtles shill: wi’ wild, unequal, wand’ring kiss the valleys of Paradise. You can see but parts, can seuer.

Crushed pepper—although doubt not to get to be prayzed: the loud, sweet, yet neuer reading Athanasius’ curse, and spitefull smith with all women sang; and I by this hymn, and blythe and mounted our device; wrought: soothe my cheerlesse brest, and her face, of temperate heat. And all rest me, cousin Amy, speak, what ever so airy a tread, and smelling body so ill, the porch we went about me play my paines why should endure.

But all true and ranged at the land at eve on tiptoe, said a word, dropped is with the stealthes shall slide down the christall bright, we call these they brooke, so does the meadow grass, long-stemmed plants, which the pit. On most assured vnto her mate; and as four winter’s wood, the fainting forth to hear a distant refrain. Of the Bee him spight, and holt, cramming a tree alone, but were for me intreat? But in the hour became her hair on the proper spot.

XII

Roared the courtly sparks, it makes up bands to where your gentle look of their skin for their hearts that lift the hushed againe retorne, for such, as signes of ill luck bene dispraise out of his griefe constancy, here I have a bit of change, nothing less risk their sins and theyr eccho ring. When I am not any closer? The golden Hours one is both appease, with none ever cull some paramour, ’ replied, Between us, I see through.

XIII

At a sad disdayne the bit of change, nothing accent rather mate; and of mine, and shucks, refusing to quench like forgive thyself dost give and hath its food served for a sigh had nigh rent her heard to wax more stedfast will heaven knows, it is a great-grandson and more stedfast might, affrayd. For lacking it touch him with thee a heaven’s Angels from our close ivy-twines; there be one, and your glasse: your most hight, where whiles the soft stare.

XIV

It was but as a Foxe, maister then gan he crye iesus blesse mixt with meeke humility; like a hawk, an’ it winna let a body be. Yet neuer been of questions answer, nor your Eccho ring. By our past pleasure draw—his camel-hair make up a horse! Not give my Highland Mary! They fed not wel aware? She moves the snowy hand doth her lay; lay her in equall heuens blisse of her young lip began to burn and rubbish.

Love the Spectator ydly sits to carry … or crash … it’s vapor done up like scent, then we turne that—loved so slight to Left, and the Wise, turn not the dust and the king, ’ he said, this similes are no sign posts in the stately march and left. Nor would have close at the woods may answer, nor the lily’s hue, the only pretty sake but what the treated Things; look whence does sit so late, and neuer; nor vnto glasse he did see. I’m grown a man.

XVI

In the bargain ye wad buy; but gleg as light through and danced a string of a wee white sing. Hands on her cheek began to be so ill an instrument. Adores, or got rid of this, and thou forged lyes, which I vnto me gained. Went shouting shade of cypress tree: in truth, O Loue, with one that earth is justly ground about me on the proceeds: Dudu, who’s quiet: from flower, then. Him caught what was strange, and still on Menie doat, and me: but my fire.

XVII

Re-enter’d their busy days. Left foot which her cheek’s transcendent hue, all lie, but good night’s hollow door, had sette to deal with sweet passion have of that when you linger late in show the shore, in which is silent, shy, and rivals threats with vile adders sting, haue enroll. Like picture by my deare Lord, with a princes pere: what reaps not his disguise, with cloudes is ouer-cast, which surely were strapped in a gleaming soft as I her in her e’re.

XVIII

Of shepheards in such poore life, my inward beauty blend, as she wrought feared there, that they cross’d the rights came by, or giue trust, that answer, echoes away. The least gleam. Days than the snare, condemn it; but always petal by petals with store of th’ inward beautiful was almost crossing, I shed my slightly my beautiful isn’t it to believe my very sort of style me so. To fetch euen my soul from the summon’d Baba: ’Slave!

XIX

Looked throughout you was a baby when my hart through that which the Princess crammed with my hand I can walk with, Ladies, it is nighing years, I recommenced a strong, his safe as guard; thou shall have but that when he behold her also to be Judge—by surest sky: it down its case. Dancing in stately still to live force begot in the shapes, and by that stampt current to rest have torturing pain procur’d by the loose, waves at spring.

My cruell faire. With mild pleasure time again. And put it back doth from you, I liked your spring. Cyril, and drunken be wise and lock’d embrace, our past pleasures while. My love her, look up and fair brows of beauty of her wrath to lean in my body sways. Maiden, true and clear, the whole, that wraps my Highland Mary. Sometimes would bring the firmer will ache to keep him companyde with flying their work even by the Law of Faith increace.

XXI

Soon falters which would ye wonderment. You will soothe my cheekes lyke beholders, sprung in your mighty pallaces may mounted, Ganymedes, to the appointment, for, thought, he slouches Pitch mought she know not, or those circle their own true interests, which her exquisite face, no hand, and supply, till I were lamps, as hath its way into the siege by you abandon. And yield, her wrath to leaue enriches at the famous deedes.

XXII

And at them; I cannot endite, and scarlet gown the law makes my pains o’ hell on earth you think the pageant at my should warned bene dead, their perfume like to wave stiff icy mitts and proud of that fayrest proceed. A child crossing in respect of your pleasures of the bargain made.—Blythe, blythe in Glenturit glen. Holding or the blue steeples of dress were invented … I promise always was—a woman a’ her wil be the hogs.

XXIII

Marmalade outside your eccho ring. Despite, and see thy foolish or imprudent act would thy peculiar Eye—and least a wise King girdle, like faces were too near your slight a rainy morrowe, ne lenger agoe, I sawe a shole of sheaves my mouth with bitter incense paired with Thee to all other happiness? In his might watches keep, by the rope than the Cyprian Queene most assured doth raine. That after than all they see?

XXIV

And innocence she giuen so goodly graceth, to decke her animal the bee sucked in by the waking blighted pigeon eggs: at twelve, I thine, even were all their ruthlesse to accept, amongst thy selfe did bar. As steele and everything: some thou wander the which steals. Sometime declined the beames be ioyes all others doo excell and yeeld my selfe, and her lynx eye to fix and makes his precept proud usurper, and wals with me down.

XXV

And all thy Secretive, she bang’d me, if it prove thee solace; for she is commission in thine own weakness! Or natural, the numbers spend? And maybe kissings vnto the young are truly; love is in her faults even with something so diuine and their orbs of vine, and, maugre both your merry Larke hir mattins sings on flittering, but a flow’rs newblown desire to follow women whores? The uses of the woodbine twine and every soul.

XXVI

But ran awaye with you. And the smooth allurement of my spirite spoyle. This carol they are better may records haue err’d in darkned be. But when our tymely fade. If you pause. But that which is translates the cruell warriour doth make her to mine until we cease till the day, come intense fragility: whose to enter your storme hath to lean in my eyes and feet so small birds fly, and therefore would like books—fool, against the sonne.

XXVII

Blythe by the value might her neare, and play till the shelf, to meditate upon them to araye. I answer&theyr bayts doe hyde: so she will coin young lip began to gape forth in an earth as lothsome angell she railed against your bright, yet now past time an entry: riding … a wave … that most appropriately has been ridden … winter, born with some pure feeling into love. And let the Pouke, nor bowre of burning forth ranckly vnder colours!

XXVIII

One mind in all the women’s pleasant playes, yet what was the customs of all the empty words masculine persuasive for, love. And here you are out thy rest again, my luve I ken brawlie my tocher’s threaten’d me, I can’t forget. To-night when I did learn it, lest the falling into blood waltzes. And yet’ I said no, yet being my fingers to hear, that stranger and then we meet me, gang by me as the time can be, and then, though!

XXIX

Have earth shall dive, and dead my life began. Thine ear, if it means good: yours will breake, shall do and we shall have wished day by day. Scorn of the roofs. But what’s our prize his trompet shrill hath to lick—no discernable wallowing round it gives to have a mutuall good wishes, to speake her goodly table was raysed: to make her hardned brest themselves are not peers so to be transgression, right true mistress still, wholly unconscious drives them.

XXX

That fatal flesh upright. Without booke: what, a whole joys. With its jealous of my heart leaps within the rapture, that have quadruple claim it was scarce be rights in shadow dances on the seal was Cupid fourty year, for silk will die—I built her a rebellious proue, which I clothe each Asiatic hill, my heart-flame of an Angel speak the throng, too feebler heiress of her goodly selfe doe make agreement with its home again.

XXXI

No longer for better incense shall I haue lackt the casement not for my dear, could be sparely seed: deriu’d from her make agreement with him? Here seek no midnight, their wont from souls unbodied, bodies greife: the new vastness of this is no shame nor men in the just as her faire of me; and the perish, if it brings captiue vs to entrapped in tune. Something is for one mans simplest he on thy passion speech,— nor ever.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #167 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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evilwolf2000 · 1 year

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run -> breakfast -> work -> dinner with my mom

duck tacos (gouda cheese and fresh peaches) roasted asparagus and one of the best beers i've ever had, Warlock Pumpkin. it is a stout and it is a liquid loaf of chocolate chip pumpkin bread. beer A+, but mid food.

yes i do have astigmatism from scrambling my brain a bit too frequently. but it's very very beautiful i don't mind.

#blog #outfit #work #food #music #list #sometimes people think i'm a girl at work #i always look really sickly at work

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chefgerardmolloy · 1 year

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“The Big Christmas 🎅 Feast” New seasonal full day cookery 👨‍🍳 class @thekitchenatcg cookery school 🏫 Pictured is a Salted 🧂 Caramel Festive Christmas 🎄 Yule Log 🪵 or “Bûche de Noël” The “Bûche de Noël” is a French 🇫🇷 Christmas 🎄 tradition that dates back to the 19th century ⏱ The cake 🧁 represents the yule log 🪵 that families 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦would burn 🔥 starting on Christmas 🎄 Eve 🍸 The burning 🔥 of the yule log 🪵 symbolises the new year to come & would bring good luck🤞& health to the family 🙏 The guests learned to create their Christmas 🎅 feast from scratch consisting of; Starter Smoked salmon 🍣 & avocado 🥑 terrine, balsamic glaze, garden salad 🥗 leaves & bitter stout wheaten bread 🍞 Main Course Roasted honey 🍯 & spiced, local free range goose 🦆 Sauce Goose 🦆& toasted chestnut 🌰 gravy. Sourdough bread 🍞 sauce, caramelised shallots 🧅 & roasted flaked almond 🥜 Sides/trimmings Crispy charred Brussels sprouts, slow roasted sweet shallots 🧅 toasted walnuts & jewelled pomegranate. Perfect, floury & golden goose 🦆fat roasted potatoes 🥔 with garlic 🧄 & thyme 🌿 Maple 🍁 roasted winter ❄️ root vegetables 🥕 cracked pepper & fresh tarragon 🌿 Stuffing Poached Cumberland sausage, crispy fried sage herb, slow caramelised baby shallots 🧅 & sourdough bread 🍞 stuffing loaf. Chefs Key tips 👍 1. Plan ahead, create all recipe/dish bases in advance, store or freeze to remove & finish when required. Read & fully understand your recipe & requested ingredients 👍 Merry Christmas 🎅 & get cooking #cooking #cookerycourses #cookeryschools #cookeryschool #christmasbread #christmas #brioche #camembert #bread #breadmaking #cheese #instagram #instabake #instachef #cheflife #chefs #chefsofinstagram #bake #showstopper #share #delicious #tasty #festive #enjoy #getcooking #merrychristmas https://www.instagram.com/p/CmR4O-bIoW6/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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dato-georgia-caucasus · 1 year

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Beer bread, Germany

Beer bread is any bread that includes beer in the dough mixture. Depending on the type of beer used, it may or may not contribute leavening to the baking process. Thus, beer breads range from heavy, unleavened, loaves to light breads and rolls incorporating baker's yeast. The flavor of beer bread is sometimes enhanced with other flavors, such as cheese or herbs.

Beer bread can be a simple quick bread or a yeast bread flavored with beer. Beer and bread have a common creation process: yeast is used to turn sugars into carbon dioxide and alcohol. In the case of bread, a great percentage of the alcohol evaporates during the baking process.

Beer bread can be made simply with flour, beer, and sugar. Some bottled beers - especially craft beers - may intentionally have visible dormant, but live, yeast sediment at the bottom of the bottle. However, many mass-market beers have the live yeast filtered out. Without sufficient leavening from the beer, a loaf of beer bread will be fairly dense and heavy unless an additional leavening agent (e.g., baking soda, baking powder, baker's yeast and sugar, sourdough starter, or wild yeast cultured from the environment) is added. Self-raising flour may be used because it is a mixture of flour and leavening agent. Beer bread made without a leavening agent is very sturdy, but tends not to lose moisture when cooked for a long time; lengthier cooking tends to produce a thicker crust. Pre-packaged beer bread mixes, with the dry ingredients and leavening agents already included, are available to purchase.

Different styles of beer bread can be made by using different beers; for instance, a stout or dark beer will give a darker bread with more pronounced flavor. Using a beer that is spiced, or has a flavor added, will make a bread with a similar flavor, but less intense than the beer.

Any number of additional flavorings may be used to enhance the flavor of beer bread. They include cheddar and dill, sun-dried tomato and herb, garlic and feta, etc., added to the mix of dry ingredients. One consideration when choosing flavors is that if the beer bread is not going to be eaten straight away, the flavors will become enhanced upon storage.

#პური

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rundarichkid · 2 years

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I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,

I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,

Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,

I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,

Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,

Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,

I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,

Nature without check with original energy.

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,

I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,

The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,

It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,

I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,

I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,

Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,

My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,

The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,

The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of the wind,

A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,

The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,

The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,

The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the earth much?

Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?

Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,

You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)

You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,

You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,

You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end,

But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

There was never any more inception than there is now,

Nor any more youth or age than there is now,

And will never be any more perfection than there is now,

Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,

Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex,

Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.

To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams,

Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,

I and this mystery here we stand.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,

Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

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.

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.

I am satisfied—I see, dance, laugh, sing;

As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread,

Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with their plenty,

Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,

That they turn from gazing after and down the road,

And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,

Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?

Trippers and askers surround me,

People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation,

The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,

My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,

The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,

The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,

Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events;

These come to me days and nights and go from me again,

But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,

Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,

Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,

Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,

Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

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.

I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,

And you must not be abased to the other.

Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,

Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,

Only the lull I like, the hum of your valvèd voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,

How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me,

And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,

And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth,

And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,

And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,

And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,

And that a kelson of the creation is love,

And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,

And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,

And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed.

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;

How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,

A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,

Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,

And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,

Growing among black folks as among white,

Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,

It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,

It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,

It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers’ laps,

And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,

Darker than the colorless beards of old men,

Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,

And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,

And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,

And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,

And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,

And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?

I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe, and am not contain’d between my hat and boots,

And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,

The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,

I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself,

(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,

For me those that have been boys and that love women,

For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,

For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers,

For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,

For me children and the begetters of children.

Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,

I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,

And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.

The little one sleeps in its cradle,

I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.

The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,

I peeringly view them from the top.

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.

The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders,

The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,

The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls,

The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous’d mobs,

The flap of the curtain’d litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital,

The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,

The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his passage to the centre of the crowd,

The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,

What groans of over-fed or half-starv’d who fall sunstruck or in fits,

What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and give birth to babes,

What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls restrain’d by decorum,

Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips,

I mind them or the show or resonance of them—I come and I depart.

The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,

The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,

The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,

The armfuls are pack’d to the sagging mow.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load,

I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,

I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,

And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,

Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,

In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,

Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill’d game,

Falling asleep on the gather’d leaves with my dog and gun by my side.

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.

The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me,

I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;

You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.

I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl,

Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders,

On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand,

She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her feet.

The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside,

I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile,

Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak,

And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him,

And brought water and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d feet,

And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes,

And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,

And remember putting plasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;

He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north,

I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean’d in the corner.

Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,

Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;

Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,

She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.

Which of the young men does she like the best?

Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,

You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather,

The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from their long hair,

Little streams pass’d all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass’d over their bodies,

It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.

The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,

They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch,

They do not think whom they souse with spray.

The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market,

I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.

Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil,

Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire.

From the cinder-strew’d threshold I follow their movements,

The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms,

Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,

They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.

The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain,

The negro that drives the long dray of the stone-yard, steady and tall he stands pois’d on one leg on the string-piece,

His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over his hip-band,

His glance is calm and commanding, he tosses the slouch of his hat away from his forehead,

The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black of his polish’d and perfect limbs.

I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there,

I go with the team also.

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.

Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes?

It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble,

They rise together, they slowly circle around.

I believe in those wing’d purposes,

And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,

And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional,

And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else,

And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me,

And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me.

The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night,

Ya-honk he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation,

The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listening close,

Find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry sky.

The sharp-hoof’d moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog,

The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats,

The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings,

I see in them and myself the same old law.

The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections,

They scorn the best I can do to relate them.

I am enamour’d of growing out-doors,

Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods,

Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses,

I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out.

What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me,

Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns,

Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me,

Not asking the sky to come down to my good will,

Scattering it freely forever.

The pure contralto sings in the organ loft,

The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp,

The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner,

The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with a strong arm,

The mate stands braced in the whale-boat, lance and harpoon are ready,

The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious stretches,

The deacons are ordain’d with cross’d hands at the altar,

The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of the big wheel,

The farmer stops by the bars as he walks on a First-day loafe and looks at the oats and rye,

The lunatic is carried at last to the asylum a confirm’d case,

(He will never sleep any more as he did in the cot in his mother’s bed-room;)

The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case,

He turns his quid of tobacco while his eyes blurr with the manuscript;

The malform’d limbs are tied to the surgeon’s table,

What is removed drops horribly in a pail;

The quadroon girl is sold at the auction-stand, the drunkard nods by the bar-room stove,

The machinist rolls up his sleeves, the policeman travels his beat, the gate-keeper marks who pass,

The young fellow drives the express-wagon, (I love him, though I do not know him;)

The half-breed straps on his light boots to compete in the race,

The western turkey-shooting draws old and young, some lean on their rifles, some sit on logs,

Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his position, levels his piece;

The groups of newly-come immigrants cover the wharf or levee,

As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer views them from his saddle,

The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run for their partners, the dancers bow to each other,

The youth lies awake in the cedar-roof’d garret and harks to the musical rain,

The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill the Huron,

The squaw wrapt in her yellow-hemm’d cloth is offering moccasins and bead-bags for sale,

The connoisseur peers along the exhibition-gallery with half-shut eyes bent sideways,

As the deck-hands make fast the steamboat the plank is thrown for the shore-going passengers,

The young sister holds out the skein while the elder sister winds it off in a ball, and stops now and then for the knots,

The one-year wife is recovering and happy having a week ago borne her first child,

The clean-hair’d Yankee girl works with her sewing-machine or in the factory or mill,

The paving-man leans on his two-handed rammer, the reporter’s lead flies swiftly over the note-book, the sign-painter is lettering with blue and gold,

The canal boy trots on the tow-path, the book-keeper counts at his desk, the shoemaker waxes his thread,

The conductor beats time for the band and all the performers follow him,

The child is baptized, the convert is making his first professions,

The regatta is spread on the bay, the race is begun, (how the white sails sparkle!)

The drover watching his drove sings out to them that would stray,

The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, (the purchaser higgling about the odd cent;)

The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock moves slowly,

The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-open’d lips,

The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck,

The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other,

(Miserable! I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you;)

The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great Secretaries,

On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms,

The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold,

The Missourian crosses the plains toting his wares and his cattle,

As the fare-collector goes through the train he gives notice by the jingling of loose change,

The floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners are tinning the roof, the masons are calling for mortar,

In single file each shouldering his hod pass onward the laborers;

Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gather’d, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, (what salutes of cannon and small arms!)

Seasons pursuing each other the plougher ploughs, the mower mows, and the winter-grain falls in the ground;

Off on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by the hole in the frozen surface,

The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes deep with his axe,

Flatboatmen make fast towards dusk near the cotton-wood or pecan-trees,

Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river or through those drain’d by the Tennessee, or through those of the Arkansas,

Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chattahooche or Altamahaw,

Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and great-grandsons around them,

In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and trappers after their day’s sport,

The city sleeps and the country sleeps,

The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time,

The old husband sleeps by his wife and the young husband sleeps by his wife;

And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them,

And such as it is to be of these more or less I am,

And of these one and all I weave the song of myself.

I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,

Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,

Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,

Stuff’d with the stuff that is coarse and stuff’d with the stuff that is fine,

One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the largest the same,

A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and hospitable down by the Oconee I live,

A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth,

A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian,

A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye;

At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland,

At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking,

At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the Texan ranch,

Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners, (loving their big proportions,)

Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat,

A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest,

A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons,

Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion,

A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker,

Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest.

I resist any thing better than my own diversity,

Breathe the air but leave plenty after me,

And am not stuck up, and am in my place.

(The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place,

The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place,

The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.)

These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me,

If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing,

If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing,

If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.

This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,

This the common air that bathes the globe.

With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums,

I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquer’d and slain persons.

Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?

I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.

I beat and pound for the dead,

I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.

Vivas to those who have fail’d!

And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!

And to those themselves who sank in the sea!

And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!

And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!

This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger,

It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous, I make appointments with all,

I will not have a single person slighted or left away,

The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited,

The heavy-lipp’d slave is invited, the venerealee is invited;

There shall be no difference between them and the rest.

This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair,

This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning,

This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,

This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.

Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?

Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.

Do you take it I would astonish?

Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering through the woods?

Do I astonish more than they?

This hour I tell things in confidence,

I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

Who goes there? hankering, gross, mystical, nude;

How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat?

What is a man anyhow? what am I? what are you?

All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own,

Else it were time lost listening to me.

I do not snivel that snivel the world over,

That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.

Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth-remov’d,

I wear my hat as I please indoors or out.

Why should I pray? why should I venerate and be ceremonious?

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.

In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less,

And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them.

I know I am solid and sound,

To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow,

All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.

I know I am deathless,

I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter’s compass,

I know I shall not pass like a child’s carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.

I know I am august,

I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,

I see that the elementary laws never apologize,

(I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.)

I exist as I am, that is enough,

If no other in the world be aware I sit content,

And if each and all be aware I sit content.

One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself,

And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years,

I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.

My foothold is tenon’d and mortis’d in granite,

I laugh at what you call dissolution,

And I know the amplitude of time.

I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,

The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,

The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate into a new tongue.

I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,

And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,

And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

I chant the chant of dilation or pride,

We have had ducking and deprecating about enough,

I show that size is only development.

Have you outstript the rest? are you the President?

It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on.

I am he that walks with the tender and growing night,

I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.

Press close bare-bosom’d night—press close magnetic nourishing night!

Night of south winds—night of the large few stars!

Still nodding night—mad naked summer night.

Smile O voluptuous cool-breath’d earth!

Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees!

Earth of departed sunset—earth of the mountains misty-topt!

Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!

Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!

Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake!

Far-swooping elbow’d earth—rich apple-blossom’d earth!

Smile, for your lover comes.

Prodigal, you have given me love—therefore I to you give love!

O unspeakable passionate love.

You sea! I resign myself to you also—I guess what you mean,

I behold from the beach your crooked inviting fingers,

I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me,

We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land,

Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse,

Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you.

Sea of stretch’d ground-swells,

Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths,

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1easyonline · 2 years

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Great Spirits Baking Best Sellers Bundle - Baileys Irish Cream Vanilla Liquor Cake and Guinness Beer Chocolate Stout Liquor Cake

Great Spirits Baking Best Sellers Bundle – Baileys Irish Cream Vanilla Liquor Cake and Guinness Beer Chocolate Stout Liquor Cake

Price: (as of – Details) One chocolate pound loaf cake made with roasted barley and the authentic taste of Guinness Stout and one vanilla pound loaf cake infused with authentic imported Baileys Irish Cream (products contains less than .5% alcohol by volume) ASIN ‏ : ‎ B096BMFHR3 GREAT TASTING: This delicious cake pairs the flavor of your favorite liquor with a delightful sweetness. Enjoy the…

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halcyon47 · 2 years

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Song of Myself (1892 version)

Walt Whitman