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..."

Dear Captain Slow is now Captain Speedy,
No longer pedantic, or anal or tweedy.
Reckon he's always been having us on,
He drives a Ferrari and maxes a Veyron,
Now showing true colours, the old Mr May gone.
He's quite the boy-racer, perhaps it's his age,
The envy of all on a minimum wage.
Step forward, our hero, and take centre-stage.
Elaine x ;-)

God! I wish that someone would pimp my ride! I put the Mondeo back on the road this week, smooth, comfortable with plenty of ooomph. Back to the old Celica today. I do love her, but it's like riding a frisky horse! She pulls every which way, she squeals, she roars, she's a bitch... but I love her. x x x x
p.s. I suppose I could have taken her to the Outer Hebrides - It would have been just like a Top Gear challenge - to get there in a rubbish car!


Here she is, hiding and sulking in next door's yard.

Deliverance

The poet within, dwells on two things only,
The comedic mask, or the soul that's lonely.
Does one hide the sad, with jocular verse,
Or bare one's soul, as despair gets worse?
Does it help to keep, the black dog to heel,
Help banish demons, make one feel
That there is hope, that there is bliss?
Patient words awaiting, a lover's kiss.

Mine

At Ease
Walter de la Mare

Most wounds can Time repair;
But some are mortal -- these:
For a broken heart there is no balm,
No cure for a heart at ease --

At ease, but cold as stone,
Though the intellect spin on,


And the feat and practiced face may show
Nought of the life that is gone;

But smiles, as by habit taught;
And sighs, as by custom led;
And the soul within is safe from damnation,
Since it is dead.

Still to be neat
Ben Johnson

Still to be neat,
still to be dressed,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes losely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all the adulteries of art;
They strike mine eyes but not my heart.

Interlude
Felix Dennis

I don't know you- you don't know me,
This happenstance is all we know,
Yet rivers still embrace a sea,
Whose creatures sing strange songs below.

You don't know me- what could you know?
And have your dragons all been slain?
Say nothing! - while our hearts pound so
To drown within each others' pain.

A few images from the Air Tattoo yesterday. Good to see the Vulcan in flight and the US F-22 Raptor was awesome! Come on people, we want Concorde back up there. James was there as you can see.

My Muse and I, today.

An Evening
William Allingham

A sunset's mounded cloud;
A diamond evening-star;
Sad blue hills afar;
Love in his shroud.

Scarcely a tear to shed;
Hardly a word to say;
The end of a summer day;
Sweet Love dead.

Love the suit, very classy. Was it acquired for a special occasion perhaps?

Congratulations James!

The Convergence Of The Twain
Thomas Hardy (incomplete)

In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

Steel chambers, late the pyres
Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

Over the mirrors meant
To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls--grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

Jewels in joy designed
To ravish the sensuous mind
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

Dim moon-eyed fishes near
Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: "What does this vaingloriousness down here?". . .

Horrified Robert Jones ended up with a careless driving charge after his satnav left his BMW perched on the edge of a cliff.


Satellite Navigation = Unpredictable Destination.
----------------------------------------------------------
A road less travelled, not tarmaced but gravelled,
Well the satnav says we're here!
Are you sure that there should be,
a steep cliff edge and then the sea?
Perhaps you'd better try reversing now my dear.

Back up a little more or we'll end up on the shore,
The lady's telling you to turn right,
Are we supposed to be on this runway?
Does she think we want a holiday flight?
Ooh! I saw the undercarriage of that plane almost,
Well, one thing is for certain we're no longer at the coast!

So, we've travelled 6.2 miles that she said to,
My word, but how these bends are getting tight!
Do you really think we should be up this mountain?
You're in danger of a nosebleed at this height.
There certainly is a a most spectacular view from here,
If you slow to under 60, you can look and I will steer.

Ah, thank goodness, here we are, back nearly home now,
Darling, I know you are a little bit obsessed,
But in reality although you think she's gorgeous,
Please picture her as eighty two and plainly dressed,
Perhaps I will drive tomorrow, with the satnav off, instead,
When we again set off to Tesco's, for a loaf of wholemeal bread.

Elaine x

In Broken Images
Robert Graves

He is quick, thinking in clear images;
I am slow, thinking in broken images.

He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;
I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images,

Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;
Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.

Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact,
Questioning their relevance, I question the fact.

When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;
When the fact fails me, I approve my senses.

He continues quick and dull in his clear images;
I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.

He in a new confusion of his understanding;
I in a new understanding of my confusion.

Shakespeare

His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.

I LEAVE THIS AT YOUR EAR
W.S. Graham

I leave this at your ear for when you wake,
A creature in its abstract cage asleep.
Your dreams blindfold you by the light they make.

The owl called from the naked-woman tree
As I came down by the Kyle farm to hear
Your house silent by the speaking sea.

I have come late but I have come before
Later with slaked steps from stone to stone
To hope to find you listening for the door.

I stand in the ticking room. My dear, I take
A moth kiss from your breath. The shore gulls cry.
I leave this at your ear for when you wake.

Blokes.
---------
Yes James, you were robbed, you should have got a Bafta over a (oh God they're so boring) cookery programme. Long may the flowery shirts reign especially the BFS and jeans are always ok.
Anyway, you always scrub up well and look smart and handsome in your tux.

Pro Patria Mori
Thomas Moore

WHEN he who adores thee has left but the name
Of his fault and his sorrows behind,
O! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resign’d!
Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn,
Thy tears shall efface their decree;
For, Heaven can witness, though guilty to them,
I have been but too faithful to thee.

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love;
Every thought of my reason was thine:
In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above
Thy name shall be mingled with mine!
O! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live
The days of thy glory to see;
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give
Is the pride of thus dying for thee.

Three Minus One

Men's love I now no longer trust,
And find I give no thought to lust,
I'm older, wiser, undeluded,
And live a single life secluded.

When I was young and I could feel,
Then men would vie and men would kneel
And beg me then to be their lover,
And tell me they could love no other.

And three times did I give my heart,
And three times did it fall apart.
Each man thought that he was the one,
I waited till the love was gone.

Love bloomed and then was overblown,
And now I'd rather be alone.
For given most love fades away,
The rose has thorns that always stay.

Now I am strong, my heart secure
from those who'd leave me sad, for sure.
I've lived and loved and now I'm free,
Three minus one, that just leaves me.

Mine

What do you do,
re horse poo?
Do you run through,
or swerve,
unerve
the car or two
behind you?
-----------------------

What can you do
re pollution?
No solution,
or evolve,
solve,
find resolution.
Seek,
Earth's absolution?

It doesn't matter.
We procreate,
desecrate
The Earth,
We overrate
ourselves
Her bane,
we'll cease,
She will remain.
-----------------------
"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."
J G Magee, Jr

And what of the man
Who's the Earth seen,
Has been,
High,
Higher than sky,
Eternity serene,
What did it mean?
Feeling emotion,
A tear of ocean,
Beautiful sphere,
Lucky man,
Hold it dear.

Elaine x
-----------------------