Chalmers Industrial Communications Inc.

Game-Changing PR for Industry

Ray Chalmers and his equally opinionated associates may be contacted at 734/765-2666,
by fax at 734/468-0186, or at
Magic through words.

In this, my **throat-clearing noise** decade of life,
I have lost any sense of shame in loving poetry.
Poetry is the highest form to which mere words can
aspire, and while what I do for my day job is not in
any way poetry, the prose will always be inspired by
those souls and their work who show us that magic
exists here and now on this plane and that love,
death, victory, loss, redemption, and joy expressed
through words can be a universal celebration of
humanity and spirit. Enjoy the following or submit
your own game-changers to this space to share
with others.

Ask Me
by William Stafford

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others have come
in their slow way into my thought, and some have
tried to help or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.

I will listen to what you say.You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know the current is there,
hidden; and there are comings and goings
from miles away that hold the stillness exactly before us.

What the river says, that is what I say.

The Song of Wandering Aengus 
by: W.B. Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long-dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.      
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