Monday, 31 August 2009
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
.JPG)
Just back from a week on the Outer Hebrides........
My Heart's In The Highlands
Robert Burns
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth ;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow,
Farewell to the straths and green vallies below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Silent Noon
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass, -
The finger-points look through like rosy blooms:
Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms
'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.
All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,
Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge
Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn-hedge.
'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass.
Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly
Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky: -
So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above.
Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower,
This close-companioned inarticulate hour
When twofold silence was the song of love.
Sunday, 30 August 2009
Riches I Hold In Light Esteem
by Emily Jane Bronte
Riches I hold in light esteem
And Love I laugh to scorn
And lust of Fame was but a dream
That vanished with the morn-
And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is- "Leave the heart that now I bear
And give me liberty."
Yes, as my swift days near their goal
'Tis all that I implore
Through life and death, a chainless soul
With courage to endure!
by Emily Jane Bronte
Riches I hold in light esteem
And Love I laugh to scorn
And lust of Fame was but a dream
That vanished with the morn-
And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is- "Leave the heart that now I bear
And give me liberty."
Yes, as my swift days near their goal
'Tis all that I implore
Through life and death, a chainless soul
With courage to endure!
Wednesday, 19 August 2009
Phenomenal Woman
Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Monday, 17 August 2009
"I Said to Love"
I said to Love,
"It is not now as in old days
When men adored thee and thy ways
All else above;
Named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One
Who spread a heaven beneath the sun,"
I said to Love.
I said to him,
"We now know more of thee than then;
We were but weak in judgment when,
With hearts abrim,
We clamoured thee that thou would'st please
Inflict on us thine agonies,"
I said to him.
I said to Love,
"Thou art not young, thou art not fair,
No faery darts, no cherub air,
Nor swan, nor dove
Are thine; but features pitiless,
And iron daggers of distress,"
I said to Love.
"Depart then, Love! . . .
- Man's race shall end, dost threaten thou?
The age to come the man of now
Know nothing of? -
We fear not such a threat from thee;
We are too old in apathy!
Mankind shall cease.--So let it be,"
I said to Love.
Thomas Hardy
I said to Love,
"It is not now as in old days
When men adored thee and thy ways
All else above;
Named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One
Who spread a heaven beneath the sun,"
I said to Love.
I said to him,
"We now know more of thee than then;
We were but weak in judgment when,
With hearts abrim,
We clamoured thee that thou would'st please
Inflict on us thine agonies,"
I said to him.
I said to Love,
"Thou art not young, thou art not fair,
No faery darts, no cherub air,
Nor swan, nor dove
Are thine; but features pitiless,
And iron daggers of distress,"
I said to Love.
"Depart then, Love! . . .
- Man's race shall end, dost threaten thou?
The age to come the man of now
Know nothing of? -
We fear not such a threat from thee;
We are too old in apathy!
Mankind shall cease.--So let it be,"
I said to Love.
Thomas Hardy
Friday, 14 August 2009
Fantasy in a Forest
..."And it is well known that the Unicorn by touching
the water with his Horn, doth render it free from Poison;
and the Creatures of the wild putteth their trust in him,
and do Drink thereof."
Beastiary of Amelius of Gault.
Between two unknown trees I stood
Within an Abyssinian wood.
Unseen beside a cold pool's brink,
I saw the beasts come down to drink,-
The elephant, the shy gazelle,
The leopard in his painted fell,
The camel coloured like the sand,
The serpent like a burning brand,
The horse, the giraffe, the red baboon
Down from the Mountains of the Moon,
The zebra striped with light and shade
Beside the lion, unafraid.
Around the pool they took their stand;
I could have touched them with my hand!
No creature moved, no creature leapt,
But all a curious silence kept,
And nothing in the forest stirred;
They waited as if for a word.
Then stepping lonely from the wild
He came, the white, the undefiled,
With ivory hoof and pearly horn,-
The one, immaculate Unicorn!
Moving serenely to the pond,
Bending no blade nor ferny frond
Beneath the quiet of his tread;
He dipped his proud and lovely head,
And that dark fountain's veil was torn
By the sharp splendour of his horn.
Around the circle went a sigh
As if a breeze were passing by;
And then beside the curving brink
I saw the creatures crouch to drink
Those waters cleansed and strangely blest
By that unhuman exorcist.
They drank together, shy gazelle,
The leopard in his painted fell....
I saw these things the day I stood
Lost in that Abyssinian wood.
Leah Bodine Drake
..."And it is well known that the Unicorn by touching
the water with his Horn, doth render it free from Poison;
and the Creatures of the wild putteth their trust in him,
and do Drink thereof."
Beastiary of Amelius of Gault.
Between two unknown trees I stood
Within an Abyssinian wood.
Unseen beside a cold pool's brink,
I saw the beasts come down to drink,-
The elephant, the shy gazelle,
The leopard in his painted fell,
The camel coloured like the sand,
The serpent like a burning brand,
The horse, the giraffe, the red baboon
Down from the Mountains of the Moon,
The zebra striped with light and shade
Beside the lion, unafraid.
Around the pool they took their stand;
I could have touched them with my hand!
No creature moved, no creature leapt,
But all a curious silence kept,
And nothing in the forest stirred;
They waited as if for a word.
Then stepping lonely from the wild
He came, the white, the undefiled,
With ivory hoof and pearly horn,-
The one, immaculate Unicorn!
Moving serenely to the pond,
Bending no blade nor ferny frond
Beneath the quiet of his tread;
He dipped his proud and lovely head,
And that dark fountain's veil was torn
By the sharp splendour of his horn.
Around the circle went a sigh
As if a breeze were passing by;
And then beside the curving brink
I saw the creatures crouch to drink
Those waters cleansed and strangely blest
By that unhuman exorcist.
They drank together, shy gazelle,
The leopard in his painted fell....
I saw these things the day I stood
Lost in that Abyssinian wood.
Leah Bodine Drake
Dog-tired
If she would come to me here
Now the sunken swaths
Are glittering paths
To the sun, and the swallows cut clear
Into the setting sun! if she came to me here!
If she would come to me now,
Before the last-mown harebells are dead;
While that vetch-clump still burns red!
Before all the bats have dropped from the bough
To cool in the night; if she came to me now!
The horses are untackled, the chattering machine
Is still at last. If she would come
We could gather up the dry hay from
The hill-brow, and lie quite still, till the green
Sky ceased to quiver, and lost its active sheen.
I should like to drop
On the hay, with my head on her knee,
And lie dead still, while she
Breathed quiet above me; and the crop
Of stars grew silently.
I should like to lie still
As if I was dead; but feeling
Her hand go stealing
Over my face and my head, until
This ache was shed.
D H Lawrence
If she would come to me here
Now the sunken swaths
Are glittering paths
To the sun, and the swallows cut clear
Into the setting sun! if she came to me here!
If she would come to me now,
Before the last-mown harebells are dead;
While that vetch-clump still burns red!
Before all the bats have dropped from the bough
To cool in the night; if she came to me now!
The horses are untackled, the chattering machine
Is still at last. If she would come
We could gather up the dry hay from
The hill-brow, and lie quite still, till the green
Sky ceased to quiver, and lost its active sheen.
I should like to drop
On the hay, with my head on her knee,
And lie dead still, while she
Breathed quiet above me; and the crop
Of stars grew silently.
I should like to lie still
As if I was dead; but feeling
Her hand go stealing
Over my face and my head, until
This ache was shed.
D H Lawrence
The Mountain Lion
D.H. Lawrence (1885 -1930)
Climbing through the January snow, into the Lobo canyon
Dark grow the spruce-trees, blue is the balsam, water sounds
still unfrozen, and the trail is still evident.
Men!
Two men!
Men! The only animal in the world to fear!
They hesitate.
We hesitate.
They have a gun.
We have no gun.
Then we all advance, to meet.
Two Mexicans, strangers, emerging out of tile dark and snow
and inwardness of the Lobo valley.
What are you doing here on this vanishing trail'?
What is he carrying?
Something yellow.
A deer?
Que tiene, amigo?
Leon -
He smiles, foolishly, as if he were caught doing wrong.
And we smile, foolishly, as if we didn't know.
He is quite gentle and dark-faced.
It is a mountain lion,
A long, long slim cat, yellow like a lioness.
Dead.
He trapped her this morning, he says, smiling foolishly.
Lift up her face,
Her round, bright face, bright as frost.
Her round, fine-fashioned head, with two dead ears;
And stripes in the brilliant frost of her face, sharp, fine dark rays,
Dark, keen, fine eyes in the brilliant frost of her face.
Beautiful dead eyes.
Hermoso es!
They go out towards the open;
We go on into the gloom of Lobo.
And above the trees I found her lair,
A hole in the blood-orange brilliant rocks that stick up, a little cave,
And bones, and twigs, and a perilous ascent.
So, she will never leap up that way again, with the yellow
flash of a mountain lion's long shoot!
And her bright striped frost-face will never watch any more,
out of the shadow of the cave in the blood-orange rock,
Above the trees of the Lobo dark valley-mouth!
Instead, I look out.
And out to the dim of the desert, like a dream, never real;
To the snow of the Sangre de Cristo mountains, the ice of
the mountains of Picoris,
And near across at the opposite steep of snow, green trees
motionless standing in snow, like a Christmas toy.
And I think in this empty world there was room for me and
a mountain lion.
And I think in the world beyond, how easily we might spare
a million or two of humans
And never miss them.
Yet what a gap in the world, the missing white frost-face of
that slim yellow mountain lion!
D.H. Lawrence (1885 -1930)
Climbing through the January snow, into the Lobo canyon
Dark grow the spruce-trees, blue is the balsam, water sounds
still unfrozen, and the trail is still evident.
Men!
Two men!
Men! The only animal in the world to fear!
They hesitate.
We hesitate.
They have a gun.
We have no gun.
Then we all advance, to meet.
Two Mexicans, strangers, emerging out of tile dark and snow
and inwardness of the Lobo valley.
What are you doing here on this vanishing trail'?
What is he carrying?
Something yellow.
A deer?
Que tiene, amigo?
Leon -
He smiles, foolishly, as if he were caught doing wrong.
And we smile, foolishly, as if we didn't know.
He is quite gentle and dark-faced.
It is a mountain lion,
A long, long slim cat, yellow like a lioness.
Dead.
He trapped her this morning, he says, smiling foolishly.
Lift up her face,
Her round, bright face, bright as frost.
Her round, fine-fashioned head, with two dead ears;
And stripes in the brilliant frost of her face, sharp, fine dark rays,
Dark, keen, fine eyes in the brilliant frost of her face.
Beautiful dead eyes.
Hermoso es!
They go out towards the open;
We go on into the gloom of Lobo.
And above the trees I found her lair,
A hole in the blood-orange brilliant rocks that stick up, a little cave,
And bones, and twigs, and a perilous ascent.
So, she will never leap up that way again, with the yellow
flash of a mountain lion's long shoot!
And her bright striped frost-face will never watch any more,
out of the shadow of the cave in the blood-orange rock,
Above the trees of the Lobo dark valley-mouth!
Instead, I look out.
And out to the dim of the desert, like a dream, never real;
To the snow of the Sangre de Cristo mountains, the ice of
the mountains of Picoris,
And near across at the opposite steep of snow, green trees
motionless standing in snow, like a Christmas toy.
And I think in this empty world there was room for me and
a mountain lion.
And I think in the world beyond, how easily we might spare
a million or two of humans
And never miss them.
Yet what a gap in the world, the missing white frost-face of
that slim yellow mountain lion!
Found this in an e-mail today.
Heaven is Where:
The Police are British,
The Chefs are Italian,
The Mechanics are German,
The Lovers are French and
It's all organized by the Swiss.
Hell is Where:
The Police are German,
The Chefs are British,
The Mechanics are French,
The Lovers are Swiss and
It's all organized by the Italians.
Heaven is Where:
The Police are British,
The Chefs are Italian,
The Mechanics are German,
The Lovers are French and
It's all organized by the Swiss.
Hell is Where:
The Police are German,
The Chefs are British,
The Mechanics are French,
The Lovers are Swiss and
It's all organized by the Italians.
Thursday, 13 August 2009
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost
Elaine and Lancelot
Besides these two sons, Sir Bernard had a daughter whom everyone called The Fair Maid of Astolat, though her real name was Elaine le Blanc. And when she looked on Sir Lancelot, her love went forth to him and she could never take it back, and in the end it killed her. As soon as her father told her that Sir Lancelot was going to the tourney she besought him to wear her token in the jousts, but he was not willing. 'Fair damsel,' he said, 'if I did that, I should have done more for your love than ever I did for lady or damsel.' But then he remembered that he was to go disguised to the tourney, and because he had before never worn any manner of token of any damsel, he bethought him that, if he should take one of hers, none would know him. So he said to her, 'Fair damsel, I will wear your token on my helmet, if you will show me what it is.'
'Sir,' she answered, 'it is a red sleeve, embroidered in great pearls,' and she brought it to him. 'Never have I done so much for any damsel,' said he, and gave his own shield into her keeping, till he came again.
Besides these two sons, Sir Bernard had a daughter whom everyone called The Fair Maid of Astolat, though her real name was Elaine le Blanc. And when she looked on Sir Lancelot, her love went forth to him and she could never take it back, and in the end it killed her. As soon as her father told her that Sir Lancelot was going to the tourney she besought him to wear her token in the jousts, but he was not willing. 'Fair damsel,' he said, 'if I did that, I should have done more for your love than ever I did for lady or damsel.' But then he remembered that he was to go disguised to the tourney, and because he had before never worn any manner of token of any damsel, he bethought him that, if he should take one of hers, none would know him. So he said to her, 'Fair damsel, I will wear your token on my helmet, if you will show me what it is.'
'Sir,' she answered, 'it is a red sleeve, embroidered in great pearls,' and she brought it to him. 'Never have I done so much for any damsel,' said he, and gave his own shield into her keeping, till he came again.
- Ah Love, Love, … Love, Love, Love, Love, Love.
What is it with Love
That makes me
then breaks me?
When in love
Do I truly love?
Is it really love
Or do I think that I love?
Maybe I just love being in love
Or love the idea of being in love?
I spent my whole life chasing love.
In the end the one thing I truly love
Could just be the meir pursuit of love.
Ronberge
What is it with Love
That makes me
then breaks me?
When in love
Do I truly love?
Is it really love
Or do I think that I love?
Maybe I just love being in love
Or love the idea of being in love?
I spent my whole life chasing love.
In the end the one thing I truly love
Could just be the meir pursuit of love.
Ronberge
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Perseid Meteor Shower Peaks August 12th, 2009
(The 'Glorious Twelfth' - my birthday!)
Every year in August, the Earth passes through rock and dust fragments left behind by the comet Swift-Tuttle, last time it came near the Sun. As these small particles collide with the Earth’s atmosphere, they burn-up, often creating a startling streak of light across the sky.
(The 'Glorious Twelfth' - my birthday!)
Every year in August, the Earth passes through rock and dust fragments left behind by the comet Swift-Tuttle, last time it came near the Sun. As these small particles collide with the Earth’s atmosphere, they burn-up, often creating a startling streak of light across the sky.
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Fern Hill (verses1-3)
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and
cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was
air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the
nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
Dylan Thomas
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and
cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was
air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the
nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
Dylan Thomas
Intimates
by D.H. Lawrence
Don't you care for my love? she said bitterly.
I handed her the mirror, and said:
Please address these questions to the proper person!
Please make all requests to headquarters!
In all matters of emotional importance
please approach the supreme authority direct!-
So I handed her the mirror.
And she would have broken it over my head,
but she caught a sight of her own reflection
and that held her spellbound for two seconds
while I fled.
by D.H. Lawrence
Don't you care for my love? she said bitterly.
I handed her the mirror, and said:
Please address these questions to the proper person!
Please make all requests to headquarters!
In all matters of emotional importance
please approach the supreme authority direct!-
So I handed her the mirror.
And she would have broken it over my head,
but she caught a sight of her own reflection
and that held her spellbound for two seconds
while I fled.
Matthew Arnold - The Buried Life, 45-54)
But often, in the world's most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us--to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
But often, in the world's most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us--to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
In reply to Mr May's DT column concerning his up and coming holiday in France.
Hello James,
“There are some that only employ words for the purpose of disguising their thoughts."
Voltaire
Will you rue/roux the day you go to France?
--------------------------------------------------------
So you're off to pay homage
to the famous French fromage:
How middle-class are you?
And dont try to blame that lady of yours,
when your cooking is pure cordon/Gordon (Ramsey) bleu/blue!
On Top Gear you try hard to act yobbish,
and it never quite seems to ring true.
You cannot go mixing, tweaking twin carbs
with beating a fabulous roux!
I reckon the French might plan kidnap,
As your avant garde pies have such flair,
Chained in a chateau, with du pain et de l'eau
and an enlightening book by Voltaire.
Oh no!
They might force you to be a sous chef!
Do you think you can swear a bit more?
And start to get on with the Dom Perignon,
with the French folk build up a rapport?
Pardon! Mr May, I got carried away,
I'm sure this wont happen on your holiday,
But,
just to be safe and not sorry,
I'm sure you will still have some fun,
Even wearing a wig and dark glasses
And,
remembering to call yourself....
Monsieur Clarkson!
Elaine x
Hello James,
“There are some that only employ words for the purpose of disguising their thoughts."
Voltaire
Will you rue/roux the day you go to France?
--------------------------------------------------------
So you're off to pay homage
to the famous French fromage:
How middle-class are you?
And dont try to blame that lady of yours,
when your cooking is pure cordon/Gordon (Ramsey) bleu/blue!
On Top Gear you try hard to act yobbish,
and it never quite seems to ring true.
You cannot go mixing, tweaking twin carbs
with beating a fabulous roux!
I reckon the French might plan kidnap,
As your avant garde pies have such flair,
Chained in a chateau, with du pain et de l'eau
and an enlightening book by Voltaire.
Oh no!
They might force you to be a sous chef!
Do you think you can swear a bit more?
And start to get on with the Dom Perignon,
with the French folk build up a rapport?
Pardon! Mr May, I got carried away,
I'm sure this wont happen on your holiday,
But,
just to be safe and not sorry,
I'm sure you will still have some fun,
Even wearing a wig and dark glasses
And,
remembering to call yourself....
Monsieur Clarkson!
Elaine x
Sunday, 9 August 2009
DOVER BEACH By Matthew Arnold
(first and last verses)
The sea is calm tonight,
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
(first and last verses)
The sea is calm tonight,
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Saturday, 8 August 2009
“I resolve not to drink liquids before donning the Bat-suit.”
George Clooney.
Tilting at Idylls
--------------------
My dearest Mr May, I hate to put you right,
But hanging upside down wont make you Batman overnight!
I think you've finally lost it, it must be overwork,
Ooh, how I'd like to see it, bet you dont half look a berk!
Perhaps it's for a poorly back,
If that's the case, I'm sorry,
Those twits who always ram your cars?
Back end them with a lorry!
You're 'writing' rhyming couplets as you're going round the bend?
Now that IS multi-tasking as along the road you wend!
And here was me just thinking that the reason for the tilting
was to get your hair from out your eyes,
Not stop your brain from wilting!
So,
Perhaps I have a rival, when it comes to poetry?
You have your own personal poet, you know?
Oh, by the way, that's me.
Well, you once replied and nicely asked if I could write some more,
So, you only have yourself to blame on that particular score,
Well,
This is the way
that I choose
to exercise MY brain,
It's a labour of love and such good fun,
To Batman from Robin/Elaine x
Maid of Astolat
George Clooney.
Tilting at Idylls
--------------------
My dearest Mr May, I hate to put you right,
But hanging upside down wont make you Batman overnight!
I think you've finally lost it, it must be overwork,
Ooh, how I'd like to see it, bet you dont half look a berk!
Perhaps it's for a poorly back,
If that's the case, I'm sorry,
Those twits who always ram your cars?
Back end them with a lorry!
You're 'writing' rhyming couplets as you're going round the bend?
Now that IS multi-tasking as along the road you wend!
And here was me just thinking that the reason for the tilting
was to get your hair from out your eyes,
Not stop your brain from wilting!
So,
Perhaps I have a rival, when it comes to poetry?
You have your own personal poet, you know?
Oh, by the way, that's me.
Well, you once replied and nicely asked if I could write some more,
So, you only have yourself to blame on that particular score,
Well,
This is the way
that I choose
to exercise MY brain,
It's a labour of love and such good fun,
To Batman from Robin/Elaine x
Maid of Astolat
"When I see an adult on a bicycle, I do not despair for the future of the human race." ~H.G. Wells
Yes, the bike has it's place,
Mine is in the shed,
An asset to the human race?
I prefer my Mondeo instead.
As for two wheels I often see,
Pedalling away, the 'fit' family,
They ride all day around the park,
Pack a belching 4x4 when it's getting dark,
They haven't quite grasped this eco-friendly lark!
Now I must admit to having naughty thoughts,
When I pass a nice bum in Lycra shorts,
But some sights you see , wobbly bits and the like,
Should be hidden well away on an exercise bike!
Maid of Astolat
Yes, the bike has it's place,
Mine is in the shed,
An asset to the human race?
I prefer my Mondeo instead.
As for two wheels I often see,
Pedalling away, the 'fit' family,
They ride all day around the park,
Pack a belching 4x4 when it's getting dark,
They haven't quite grasped this eco-friendly lark!
Now I must admit to having naughty thoughts,
When I pass a nice bum in Lycra shorts,
But some sights you see , wobbly bits and the like,
Should be hidden well away on an exercise bike!
Maid of Astolat
Friday, 7 August 2009
"Farewell and do not wholly forget me when I am dead." Beethoven.
Statistically speaking,
With a little bit of tweaking,
Almost any set of figures could seem true,
And if you wanted to surmise,
On your possible demise,
(Do you really think that's wise?),
That's up to you!
But life is seldom fair,
Even if we take good care,
On the edge of life we do forever teeter,
The vast majority of us,
Could get flattened by a bus!
When your time is up it's off to meet St. Peter.
At the Pearly Gates he'd say,
" You're that fan of Mr. May,
Was it bike or was it train,
Perhaps a car or diving plane?........
Oh, please don't make a fuss,
It wasn't me driving that bus!"
Maid of Astolat
Statistically speaking,
With a little bit of tweaking,
Almost any set of figures could seem true,
And if you wanted to surmise,
On your possible demise,
(Do you really think that's wise?),
That's up to you!
But life is seldom fair,
Even if we take good care,
On the edge of life we do forever teeter,
The vast majority of us,
Could get flattened by a bus!
When your time is up it's off to meet St. Peter.
At the Pearly Gates he'd say,
" You're that fan of Mr. May,
Was it bike or was it train,
Perhaps a car or diving plane?........
Oh, please don't make a fuss,
It wasn't me driving that bus!"
Maid of Astolat
Tool/Cheese/Man Timeline
(poetic licence no.34476)
The caveman had a club,
Which now is used for golf.
He used to paint in caves,
We've ended up with Rolf.
The house he built with branches,
Is eco-friendly now.
The woolly-mammoth that he ate,
Has turned into a cow.
From things of beauty like Stonehenge,
Tate Modern is his sweet revenge.
Skins and furs were fine I guess,
Till Twiggy joined with M&S.
He made his axe and used his sword,
To settle any slight discord.
He found he died quite easily,
So invented immortality.
Another really useful tool,
The plough, kept him supplied with gruel.
So tool by tool he kept advancing,
Gave up world wars for ballroom dancing.
Developed redundant rockets soon,
That took him to explore the moon.
So with all of these tools at his fingertips,
What on earth can man possibly do?
Well, it seems in the case of our Mr May,
He can tweak his twin carbs and beat up a roux.
Maid of Astolat
(poetic licence no.34476)
The caveman had a club,
Which now is used for golf.
He used to paint in caves,
We've ended up with Rolf.
The house he built with branches,
Is eco-friendly now.
The woolly-mammoth that he ate,
Has turned into a cow.
From things of beauty like Stonehenge,
Tate Modern is his sweet revenge.
Skins and furs were fine I guess,
Till Twiggy joined with M&S.
He made his axe and used his sword,
To settle any slight discord.
He found he died quite easily,
So invented immortality.
Another really useful tool,
The plough, kept him supplied with gruel.
So tool by tool he kept advancing,
Gave up world wars for ballroom dancing.
Developed redundant rockets soon,
That took him to explore the moon.
So with all of these tools at his fingertips,
What on earth can man possibly do?
Well, it seems in the case of our Mr May,
He can tweak his twin carbs and beat up a roux.
Maid of Astolat
Wednesday, 5 August 2009
007 MAY
Quantum of Bondage
Mine
Wear your tux and lean against a supercar,
And Mr May you really aren't that very far
From giving the impression,
That you might join the succession
To become mayhap an 007 star.
OK, I'm only joking,
It's a bit of fun I'm poking,
The role that really would suit you,
Is quirky, gadget-loving 'Q'.
Quantum of Bondage
Mine
Wear your tux and lean against a supercar,
And Mr May you really aren't that very far
From giving the impression,
That you might join the succession
To become mayhap an 007 star.
OK, I'm only joking,
It's a bit of fun I'm poking,
The role that really would suit you,
Is quirky, gadget-loving 'Q'.
Aware
Slowly the moon is rising out of the ruddy haze,
Divesting herself of her golden shift, and so
Emerging white and exquisite; and I in amaze
See in the sky before me, a woman I did not know
I loved, but there she goes, and her beauty hurts my heart;
I follow her down the night, begging her not to depart.
D H Lawrence
Monday, 3 August 2009
Eccentricity
Yeah! I'm considered eccentric.
One of my daughter's friends called me that.
Now, why would he think that?
Well!
I'm going grey but...
I drive an old Toyota Celica quite fast,
When I get bored I dig ponds,
I like gardening,
I have a .22 rifle and love target shooting in said garden,
I have fish that keep reproducing and filling up said ponds,
I play the piano very loudly,
I like Weston-super-Mare,
I love Aleksandr Orlov and James May,
Umm! I can see where he's coming from ;)
One of my daughter's friends called me that.
Now, why would he think that?
Well!
I'm going grey but...
I drive an old Toyota Celica quite fast,
When I get bored I dig ponds,
I like gardening,
I have a .22 rifle and love target shooting in said garden,
I have fish that keep reproducing and filling up said ponds,
I play the piano very loudly,
I like Weston-super-Mare,
I love Aleksandr Orlov and James May,
Umm! I can see where he's coming from ;)
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