Against Indifference
Charles Webbe

More love or more disdain I crave,
Sweet, be not still indifferent:
O send me quickly to my grave,
Or else afford me more content!
Or love or hate me more or less,
For love abhors all lukewarmness.

Give me a tempest if 'twill drive
Me to the place where I would be;
Or if you'll have me still alive,
Confess you will be kind to me.
Give hopes of bliss or dig my grave:
More love or more disdain I crave.

Finis
Walter Savage Landor

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

Kiss my 911 x

Ah! it was a goodbye kiss x.

Wednesday, 11 August 2010

Hebridean holiday
"Tha gaol agam ort."

Desolate moonscape grabs my heart,
matching my mood. It starts
to rain, the mist descending on
stark, bare mountains, hidden, pretending
they don't exist.
Breaking sun insists
they stand their ground to the eagle's sound,
reflected in lochs, so still, as if ancient glaciers fill,
my heart, lifted by a lamb's faint cry,
and a hint of a blue Hebridean sky.

Mine
 

The Parting
Michael Drayton

SINCE there 's no help, come let us kiss and part--
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
--Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.

The Mill
William Allingham

Two leaps the water from it's race
Made to the brook below;
The first leap it was curving glass,
The second bounding snow.

I've just listened to the rest of the Airbus cd,


Moonlight -  The 'Moonlight' sonata does nothing for me but other pieces ooh, they so do! I think that here James, although meaning well, you might have undone all the good work, built up in the rest of the book. You see, even if the tasks you have formerly set, aren't actually performed by your pupils, they could, at a pinch pretend to have done them having recalled your instructions, However, stick a bloke at a party, in front of the woman of his dreams and have him attempt to play this soulful piece? I'm sorry love, that would be on a par with him imbibing a bucketload of booze and then attempting the kareoke rendition of
 'I Wanna Know What Love Is'. x

p.s. I wish you every success with this new outpouring. As for making men more manly...
flogging a dead horse there mister!

Invictus
William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Not Drowning

You helped me - I was drowning,
in dark waters of despair.
Panicking, floundering,
How did I get there?
I looked at my reflection in the beguiling pool,
Could that be me, pathetic clown, narcissistic fool?
You helped me - threw a lifeline,
and dragged me up and up.
You cared enough to save me,
passed the loving cup.
So I'm forever grateful,
to you, the one who found me,
For your love, I strive to breathe,
when, the waters now surround me.

Mine

I gave you my favourite word, so I think that
I should also give you the one that I dislike the most.
It's CAVEAT. It's a thug of a word, blunt and unmelodic.
Reminds me too much of cadaver, too!
     - postscript - Wrote the above before listening to Airbus.
How many times did you mention that damn word on your CD!

To See a World in a Grain of Sand
William Blake

To See a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

Love is enough
William Morris

LOVE is enough: though the World be a-waning,
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
And this day draw a veil over all deeds pass'd over,
Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter;
The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter
These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.

William Morris

Meet Sahara, who's interests are poetry and James May. Honestly!

Would like to meet, strong, intelligent, male gerbil, capable of annihilating

a toilet roll inner, in less than 60 seconds. x

To Oenone
Robert Herrick

WHAT conscience, say, is it in thee,
When I a heart had one,
To take away that heart from me,
And to retain thy own?

For shame or pity now incline
To play a loving part;
Either to send me kindly thine,
Or give me back my heart.

Covet not both; but if thou dost
Resolve to part with neither,
Why, yet to show that thou art just,
Take me and mine together!

To Night
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear, --
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand --
Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee,
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me? -- And I replied,
No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon --
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovèd Night --
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

There are no words.
postscript - found some words...
"Evil often triumphs, but never conquers."

"Never make a defence or an apology
until you are accused." King Charles I

It seems that I have to apologise,
You're not as tight as... a duck's derriere,
And suggesting that someone was meaning that,
Was definitely, not at all, fair!

If it's not flippin' health and safety,
It's that other most annoying lady 'Sue',
Who, if you unintentionally cross her,
Is quite prepared to crucify you.

Ah! The Cub, so you're actually getting rid (hooray, oops!)
What a shame, it's such an interesting topic!
Just kidding! Well, about you being mean, James.
Knew your middle names were really Phil - an'-Thropic.

Elaine x

To Music, to becalm his Fever.
Robert Herrick

Charm me asleep, and melt me so
With thy delicious numbers;
That being ravish'd, hence I go
Away in easy slumbers.
Ease my sick head,
And make my bed,
Thou Power that canst sever
From me this ill;--
And quickly still,
Though thou not kill
My fever.

Thou sweetly canst convert the same
From a consuming fire,
Into a gentle-licking flame,
And make it thus expire.
Then make me weep
My pains asleep,
And give me such reposes,
That I, poor I,
May think, thereby,
I live and die
'Mongst roses.

Fall on me like a silent dew,
Or like those maiden showers,
Which, by the peep of day, do strew
A baptism o'er the flowers.
Melt, melt my pains
With thy soft strains;
That having ease me given,
With full delight,
I leave this light,
And take my flight
For Heaven.

To Music
Robert Herrick

Begin to charm, and as thou strok'st mine ears
With thine enchantment, melt me into tears.
Then let thy active hand scud o'er thy lyre,
And make my spirits frantic with the fire;
That done, sink down into a silvery strain,
And make me smooth as balm and oil again.

Favourite word at the moment, 'HAPPENSTANCE'.
First noted in the poem, Interlude by Felix Dennis and sure that I heard James use it in one of his many interviews last week.

My daughter, Jess, is off to America in the morning,
so I'm babysitting gerbils!

70 years   At 4:56pm on 7 September 1940, the air raid sirens wailed as the German Air Force, the luftwaffe, launched a massive raid on London. Over 350 bombers flew across the Channel from airfields in France and dropped 300 tonnes of bombs on the docks and streets of the East End of London.

Song
William Browne

For her gait, if she be walking;
Be she sitting, I desire her
For her state's sake; and admire her
For her wit if she be talking;
Gait and state and wit approve her;
For which all and each I love her.

Be she sullen, I commend her
For a modest. Be she merry,
For a kind one her prefer I.
Briefly, everything doth lend her
So much grace, and so approve her,
That for everything I love her.

A poem as promised - (Lordy! The unveiling of The Stig is a totally boring subject!)

The Man Who Sucked Ducks!...or
Much Ado About Nothing
---------------------------------------
Everyone remembers, Armstrong and Aldrin,
Stepping down onto the moon,
But who recalls Columbia's Mike Collins,
Alone up there, facing his private 'High Noon'?

And now there's another such Collins,
Who came out and said, "I'm The Stig",
And the whole world was heard to say, "Bothered!",
Same as, if James had said, he is wearing a wig!

Now some say that The Stig sucks the moisture from ducks,
And allegedly has a webbed bum,
You'll be telling me next that my Santa's not real,
And like Stig ain't believed in by some.

Not content to be a superhero,
An unfathomable legend in white,
Who drove supercars, and taught superstars,
to drive fast. He wanted to... write?

So like Dr Who, he will morph now,
And maybe his book will be big,
Perhaps in the future, all that we'll know is
For certain, he once was, The Stig.

Elaine x

Up at six for a trip to London - seen the man - seen the city - just got back  - ten thirty.

The Moon is Up
Alfred Noyes

The moon is up, the stars are bright.
the wind is fresh and free!
We're out to seek the gold tonight
across the silver sea!
The world is growing grey and old:
break out the sails again!
We're out to see a Realm of Gold
beyond the Spanish Main.

We're sick of all the cringing knees,
the courtly smiles and lies
God, let Thy singing channel breeze
lighten our hearts and eyes!
Let love no more be bought and sold
for earthly loss or gain;
We're out to seek an Age of Gold
beyond the Spanish Main.

Beyond the light of far Cathay,
beyond all mortal dreams,
Beyond the reach of night and day
Our El Dorado gleams,
Revealing - as the skies unfold -
A star without a stain,
The Glory of the Gates of Gold
beyond the Spanish Main.

The James May Thinking and Drinking Gentlemen's Club.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
If you're posh it's a modern-day gentlemen's club,
If you're not it's an, 'everything blokey', themed pub.
Oh yes it's Nirvana, a haven for men,
Gathering like ten year olds, building a den.
All of your interests will be catered for,
No Sir! It ain't Soho, you have the wrong door!
Hate DIY? You can practise it here,
Learn tiling and grouting whilst quaffing a beer.
There's chainsaws and powersaws, but please use them early,
As after a few beers the room goes all twirly.
There's James who can help if you need a mechanic,
If your car sets on fire there's no need to panic,
Colin is teaching him basic firefighting,
Want to get published? He's quite good at writing.
You can be one of five when a light bulb needs changing,
Or cushions or beer bottles need rearranging
Fix a tap washer? They will show you how,
There's more than just plumbing, like, milking a cow!
For the addicts a darkened room, austere and smelly,
Set aside if you HAVE to watch football on tele.
You'll learn lots of skills, be a Jack of all trades,
From splitting the atom to making lampshades.
Once you have entered the gentlemen's club,
You'll never again want to visit the pub!
They have whisky stills and they brew their own beer,
If you ask for a cocktail, you're out on your ear!
Well, what do you think? Do you fancy a dabble?
Can you see yourself joining this MEN ONLY rabble?
They'll be there for you, least that's till they're too drunk,
Then who cares about getting your screw countersunk!

He'd ask you himself, our leader, James May,
But his Woman wont let him play out late today!

Bad Women
Anon

Oh, the gladness of a woman when she's glad,
And oh the sadness of a woman when she's sad!
But the gladness of her gladness
And the sadness of her sadness
Are as nothing to her badness when she's bad!

Richard Cory
Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean-favoured and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good Morning!" and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich, yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine -- we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread,
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet in his head.

Feeling a bit naughty today!

Shakespeare

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts--from far where I abide--
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

Desire
Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame ;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.

Song.  Earl of Rochester

Leave this gaudy guilded stage,
From custom more than use frequented,
Where fools of either sex and age
Crowd to see themselves presented.


To Love's theatre, the bed,
Youth and beauty fly together,
And act so well it may be said
The laurel there was due to either.

Twixt strifes of love and war, the difference lies in this:
When neither overcomes, love's triumph greater is.

Wow! It's not raining this morning.
The sun is actually shining.

Carpe Diem
Robert Frost

Age saw two quiet children
Go loving by at twilight,
He knew not whether homeward,
Or outward from the village,
Or (chimes were ringing) churchward,
He waited, (they were strangers)
Till they were out of hearing
To bid them both be happy.
'Be happy, happy, happy,
And seize the day of pleasure.'
The age-long theme is Age's.
'Twas Age imposed on poems
Their gather-roses burden
To warn against the danger
That overtaken lovers
From being overflooded
With happiness should have it.
And yet not know they have it.
But bid life seize the present?
It lives less in the present
Than in the future always,
And less in both together
Than in the past. The present
Is too much for the senses,
Too crowding, too confusing-
Too present to imagine.

Pilot Officer Magee composed "High Flight" and sent a copy to his parents on the back of a letter . He had flown up to 33,000 feet in a Spitfire Mk 1, his seventh flight. As he orbited and climbed upward he was struck with the inspiration of a poem, "To touch the face of God." He completed it later that day after landing. Several months later, on Dec. 11, 1941, his Spitfire collided with another plane over England, and Magee, only 19 years of age, crashed to his death.

HIGH FLIGHT
John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

Carrot stick your julienne!
------------------------------------
When a ca-rrot
you need to garotte,
does it really need much thought?
No matter how much you pretty it up
it gets stuffed in your face like it ought!

Oh , Mr May,
I just have to say,
I prefer a smart dial and a knob!
Digi-displayin', leave that to game-playin'.
It so complicates every job!

If simple I am,
well, I dont give a damn!
I'm too old now to figure this techno.
It's a car that I'm driving to where I'm arriving
Not playing 'Theft Auto'. Oh heck no!

Elaine x

There's quite a few cat driving pics on here.
This might redress the balance a little.

Almost Out of the Sky (incomplete)
Pablo Neruda

Almost out of the sky, half of the moon
anchors between two mountains.
Turning, wandering night, the digger of eyes.
Let's see how many stars are smashed in the pool.

It makes a cross of mourning between my eyes, and runs away.
Forge of blue metals, nights of stilled combats,
my heart revolves like a crazy wheel.
Girl who has come from so far, been brought from so far,
sometimes your glance flashes out under the sky.
Rumbling, storm, cyclone of fury,
you cross above my heart without stopping.

Where it all began!

James May
11/25/2008 05:36 AM
Maid of Astolat,
THat little poem is rather brilliant. More of this, please.

I've been reading through the poetry that I've chosen.
The old poets I conclude were a miserable lot!
Then I write poetry myself and the serious stuff is
also, mostly, pretty miserable. That must be the key!
Thank goodness that I can still think up silly ditties
for Mr May, thanks James.

Invocation (incomplete)
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Rarely, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
'Tis since thou art fled away.

I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed,
And the starry night;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.

I love snow and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Everything almost
Which is Nature's, and may be
Untainted by man's misery.

I love tranquil solitude,
And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good: -
Between thee and me
What diff'rence? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.

I love Love -though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things,
Spirit, I love thee -
Thou art love and life! O come!
Make once more my heart thy home!

Come back Speedbird!

My Name

Mark Strand

Once when the lawn was a golden green

and the marbled moonlit trees rose like fresh memorials

in the scented air, and the whole countryside pulsed
with the chirr and murmur of insects, I lay in the grass,
feeling the great distances open above me, and wondered
what I would become and where I would find myself,
and though I barely existed, I felt for an instant
that the vast star-clustered sky was mine, and I heard
my name as if for the first time, heard it the way
one hears the wind or the rain, but faint and far off
as though it belonged not to me but to the silence

from which it had come and to which it would go.

Overnight at the Riverside Tower
Du Fu

Evening colours linger on mountain paths.
Out beyond this study perched over River Gate,
At the cliff's edge, frail clouds stay
All night. Among waves, a lone, shuddering

Moon. As cranes trail off in flight, silent,
Wolves snarl over their kill. I brood on
Our wars, sleepless here and, to right
A relentless Heaven and Earth, powerless.

Hebridean holiday

"Tha gaol agam ort."

Desolate moonscape grabs my heart,
matching my mood. It starts
to rain, the mist descending on
stark, bare mountains, hidden, pretending
they don't exist.
Breaking sun insists
they stand their ground to the eagle's sound,
Reflected in lochs, so still, as if ancient glaciers fill,
my heart, lifted by a lamb's faint cry,
and a hint of a blue Hebridean sky.

Mine

"I'm a little teapot..."