guest book; DENIED

i wrote something, probably too personal - as usual, for Coach Marshall's online guest book and the moderator, one of the Marshall kids seems to have chosen not to display it. i submitted it on Friday and i thought that maybe it was because of the long weekend. they were just not paying attention to submissions... and that may still be the case. i dunno. thing is, now it's got me in a tailspin about attending the memorial on Friday. if they dissed me over what i wrote, maybe that means they don't want to see me there, and i don't have enough power of personality on my own behalf to go there alone. i don't know anyone that will be there, except maybe Linda Silva, but i haven't heard from her in ages. i guess i could call her. anytime i've called her in the past it usually takes her about 3 weeks to respond. i'll probably still go anyway but just slip in and sit in the back row so i can leave as quickly afterwards as possible. if anyone had cared to contact me (after reading my tribute to him, i would have volunteered to read a poem, or something...

when i read this poem, thinking about him, it moved me to tears...



O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

~Walt Whitman


(Sure would be nice to see Jolene though...  *sigh*. Not that she'd have anything to say to me...)