12.30.2020 – BC back in time

BC back in time
AD, BCE, CE
But CDE? What?

I grew up with dates being BC or AD.

As in April 24, 2020 AD.

BC meant before the birth of Christ.

AD meant after the death of Christ.

I later learned that AD meant Anno Domini or In the Year of Our Lord or time since the birth of Christ.

Then CE and BCE crept into my reading.

CE meant Christian Era and BCE meant Before the Christian Era.

Or so I thought.

Common Era and Before the Common Era are the other accepted meanings for these abbreviations.

It all comes come to the same time.

Marking the year 0 and the time before the year zero and the time after.

There are also terms of time that refer to specific time spans.

Pax Romana which lasted from 27 BC to 180 AD.

Pax Britannica which lasted from 1815 and 1914.

The Elizabethan Era from 1558 to 1603.

Such terms and phrases are reserved for periods of great historical importance or in recognition of the giant personality on the world stage.

CDE has popped up in my reading over the last couple days.

CDE?

I tired to puzzle it out.

Charles Darwin Era?

Nope.

Centro de Documentación Europea?

Nope.

It has been in a lot of the stories about the NFL Football Draft.

Turns out it stands for, the Common Draft Era.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

That era.

The time since the NFL and AFL merged into one megalith NFL that was so super, they had to play a Super Bowl.

I was living in the CDE and never knew it.

Time marches on and waits for no man.

12.28.2020 – age to come would say

age to come would say
this poet lies; touches ne’er
touched earthly faces

Sorry to say there is a bit of slight of hand here as I looked at my posted posts and thoughts and blogs and haiku and saw that from December 25 to December 28, 2020, I missed 4 days.

In effort to catch up, and fill in blanks, I created 4 haiku from Sonnet 17, my favorite by Big Bill.

Sonnet 17

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say ‘This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.’
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet’s rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme.

Haiku 1 thru 4

Who believes my verse
in time to come, if filled with
your most high deserts

heaven knows it is
but as a tomb hides your life
shows not half your parts

could write the beauty
of your eyes, in fresh numbers
number your graces

age to come would say
this poet lies; touches ne’er
touched earthly faces

12.27.2020 – could write the beauty

could write the beauty
of your eyes, in fresh numbers
number your graces

Sorry to say there is a bit of slight of hand here as I looked at my posted posts and thoughts and blogs and haiku and saw that from December 25 to December 28, 2020, I missed 4 days.

In effort to catch up, and fill in blanks, I created 4 haiku from Sonnet 17, my favorite by Big Bill.

Sonnet 17

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say ‘This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.’
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet’s rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme.

Haiku 1 thru 4

Who believes my verse
in time to come, if filled with
your most high deserts

heaven knows it is
but as a tomb hides your life
shows not half your parts

could write the beauty
of your eyes, in fresh numbers
number your graces

age to come would say
this poet lies; touches ne’er
touched earthly faces

12.26.2020 – heaven knows it is

heaven knows it is
but as a tomb hides your life
shows not half your parts

Sorry to say there is a bit of slight of hand here as I looked at my posted posts and thoughts and blogs and haiku and saw that from December 25 to December 28, 2020, I missed 4 days.

In effort to catch up, and fill in blanks, I created 4 haiku from Sonnet 17, my favorite by Big Bill.

Sonnet 17

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say ‘This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.’
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet’s rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme.

Haiku 1 thru 4

Who believes my verse
in time to come, if filled with
your most high deserts

heaven knows it is
but as a tomb hides your life
shows not half your parts

could write the beauty
of your eyes, in fresh numbers
number your graces

age to come would say
this poet lies; touches ne’er
touched earthly faces

12.25.2020 – Who believes my verse

Who believes my verse
in time to come, if filled with
your most high deserts

Sorry to say there is a bit of slight of hand here as I looked at my posted posts and thoughts and blogs and haiku and saw that from December 25 to December 28, 2020, I missed 4 days.

In effort to catch up, and fill in blanks, I created 4 haiku from Sonnet 17, my favorite by Big Bill.

Sonnet 17

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say ‘This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.’
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet’s rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme.

Haiku 1 thru 4

Who believes my verse
in time to come, if filled with
your most high deserts

heaven knows it is
but as a tomb hides your life
shows not half your parts

could write the beauty
of your eyes, in fresh numbers
number your graces

age to come would say
this poet lies; touches ne’er
touched earthly faces