Mithril

Bloomsday is no ordinary benefit concert. It is about combinations in harmony. Obvious is the conjunction of musical and spoken word performances. Deeper is the meeting of Irish, Turkish and American genius. Our host is Muslim, while The Mithril Fund is Christian inspired. At the deepest level is its celebration of the Spirit in all life, whether human or feline, that genus which embodies humor, love, and spiritual independence.

Our artists,

Charles Kiernan is a master storyteller and president of the LV storytelling guild. He will be performing his famous Mark Twain act, 1 hour.

Roger Latzgo is a recording artist specializing in central European and Turkish music. He will begin with 30 minutes of Turkish music and end with 30 minutes of European traditional music.

Mithril Achtung, Katzenjammers. My description is way out of date. My current agenda is to add to Mithril's Garden of Verses, usually five per week. Eventually, I want to put it all in a urine resistant pamphlet and pass it around.

Final version of our 'teaser' poster. for Bloomsday on June 16 at the Respect Graduate School. Reception at 6:30 PM.

Bloomsday is coming in June. Stay tuned for more information.

Mithril's Garden of Verses Nr. Mid B

What can come of magic cast?
How does magic aim to last.
What do we do with the prize
That magic is akin to lies?

Let us be sure that magic has
Two sides to which we turn, alas.
If magic be like lies we see
How can it be a good to me?

Magic is not free of all
It must be measured by tall
Wills, perfect free of men
By intel that lies not our ken.

One steward of our magic reach
Is that it not belay the reach
Of natural lore, of Newton's best
Of Einstein, Mach, and all the rest.

Think us for a moment on
The fearsome tracts of Faustus gone
Wishing to break nature's bonds
Calls only his own destruction cons.

A similar case in Frankenstein
He tries to cheat death, yours and mine.
His handiwork produces Cain
The evil soul, not nature's main.

The Touchstone of good magic be
A harmony with our sand and sea
A love of our most aged roam
With wisdom make it trim and home

Mithril's Garden of Verses Nr. Mid-A

Whither Magic

Far and wide we celebrate
And often enthuse the prate
Of all things magical oh my.
We never give it our good bye.

But magic lands on many dotes
First of all consider rotes
Penn and Teller tell us all
That life's illusions fool the ball.

Such magic is just hidden science
Often repeated, in strict compliance
With the rules of slight of hand
Put out five tricks, then cue the band.

Then, the Harry Potter conceits
Served up as if good study treats
Aptitude and success in mage
Taken from some holy page.

Not 'real' magic then
As it follows formulas penned
Just the kind we may imagine
But never use or have for at 'em.

Go to school instead with rings.
Wizards hidden power sings
Of far off lands and dragon wings
Magic intrudes on our dear things

Magic may come unannounced
Magic may arrive with bounce
Magic offers hopes of gold.
Magic lore gains fuel from old.

The Hobbit Dwarves song - Bing Intelligent search from Bing makes it easier to quickly find what you’re looking for and rewards you.

Mithril's Garden of Verses Nr. 0

Creation from our Cherished Dreams ☯

What is our most important dream?
Our purpose and our end may seem
Our firmament on which we stand.
But where may come this promised land?

It cannot come from science, true.
Where mind can change from red to blue.
With every newly published tome.
Wish we were safe in hidden dome.

Did Plato speak upon creation?
Did Thales' water come from nations?
No. The ancient wise relied on sight,
Forgiving dreams, for its rare might.

Hesiod came before Thales
The master of man's ages, please.
His chronicle of Works and Days
Gather hopes and yearnings praise.

It is no surprise to us,
Beginning myths begin with dust.
Is that not what we fear most.
Lives committed to 'weening ghosts.

Insubstantial, groundless minds
With no means to peace time find.
Creation gives us ground to stand,
It makes it real, this promised land.

And how do we come these myths about
Aboriginals talk of dreamland bout.
And how do dreams become as real?
By stories, mate. as real as fishes in the creel. 🐟🐠🐳...

Mithril's Garden of Verses Nr. 42

I wish I were a bumble bee
In August, when the coneys bloom.
Lots of purple flowers be
Millions of wee rays balloon.

We have a friendly plum harvest
I even saw a monarch fly.
First of the season, all Sunday best.
Sorry king, no milkweed by.

We are great with sharing needs
We bees harvest nectar raw,
But yellow finches search for seeds
We all stock up, before its Fall

Mithril's Garden of Verses Nr. 41

Today I offer prayers for Bill
Daddy best for Shak' and Dyl'
(Shaka and Dylan)
Long COVID suffers, topped by shrill
Birth defect on hearty hill

Pray for Bill and Esther too,
Constant loved dear companion
Battle hard to not be blue.
Dismal thought, begone, shun.

Bill swallows mighty mini cam
Track the gut from stem to stern
All to verify the safety man,
Of open heart defect remend.

Mithril's Garden of Verses Nr. 40

Yesterday, we fete Achilles
Demigod, the Myrmidon
Today we sing of conscience be
Who did the con that brought down Troy.

Loyal Odysseus, Ithaca's king
Sire to son Telemachus,
Husband to Penelope
Model man to all of us.

Silver tongue beguile Thetis' son.
"Do for Greece, not for you
Gain victory and your fame is done.
You will be in song and epic yew.

On Troy's beach there lays much wood
Little carvings grow a seed.
Would that we could all be hood
Our ruse will work, the gates be freed.

The tail of mighty Odysseus, I fear will need a second verse.
Stay tuned.

Mithril's Garden of Verses Nr. 39

Who do I ken as my great lord?
Who stands tall our feline heroes?
The Nemean lion does not hold
Androcles' lion, true friend in pit
Holds true to Christ, defends it's writ.

In new writs, there tigers shore.
Tony, Tigger, Rags, and Khan
In made up lore, there are many.
Dare I take on hero man?

I ask my classic scholar Bruce,
Which warrior would you loose?
To that, he answers in a thrice
Noble Achilles, just throw of dice.

No dual life, no made up rival
Master of all battle skills
Moral issues, seem bare trivial
Who, but Achilles, captures thrills
From twenty eight centuries gone.
Remembered now in tale and song.

But wait we need another rhyme,
To also make Odysseus mine...