The World Is Too Much With Us
William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. -Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

Behold, me who can't abide red Ferraris...                       fell in love with this at MPH...



Then I watched Apocalypse!

Why Be At Pains? (Wooer's Song)
 Thomas Hardy

Why be at pains that I should know
You sought not me?
Do breezes, then, make features glow
So rosily?
Come, the lit port is at our back,
And the tumbling sea;
Elsewhere the lampless uphill track
To uncertainty!

O should not we two waifs join hands?
I am alone,
You would enrich me more than lands
By being my own.
Yet, though this facile moment flies,
Close is your tone,
And ere to-morrow's dewfall dries
I plough the unknown.

NOT EVEN IN DREAM
Francis Thompson

HIS love is crueller than the other love:
We had the Dreams for Tryst, we other
pair;
But here there is no we; — not anywhere
Returning breaths of sighs about me move.
No wings, even of the stuff which fancy wove,
Perturb Sleep's air with a responsive flight
When mine sweep into dreams. My soul in fright
Circles as round its widowed nest a dove.

One shadow but usurps another's place:
And, though this shadow more enthralling is,
Alas, it hath no lips at all to miss!
I have not even that former poignant bliss,
That haunting sweetness, that forlorn sad trace,
The phantom memory of a vanished kiss.

may my heart always be open to little...
e.e.cummings

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
  
may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young
  
and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

Another Summer of War
(1942) John Pudney

O war is whispering in the barley,
And green ears sweeten in the sun.
O with charlock and red poppy
Weed-proud summer is begun.

Summer too innocent in beauty
Strips the eye which wakes ashamed:
Drenching daylight with high lark-song
Where the very sky is aimed.

In a chastity of air, war ventures,
Where the rose forms innocently whole.
In the ardent pallor of the barley,
War sighs, fumbling for the soul.

We shall remember them

Back from MPH and Top Gear Live - brilliant as usual!

(It was very moving to see the heaving halls of the NEC suddenly fall quiet to observe the two minutes silence in honour of the fallen.)

Wild Nights—Wild Nights!
Emily Dickinson

Wild Nights—Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile—the Winds—
To a Heart in port—
Done with the Compass—
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden—
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor—Tonight—
In Thee!

Ferrari in pole position,  -  a bit tasteless considering the amount of blood.

Not Just for Christmas.
---------------------------------
So you've got rid of your Boxer, sorry, Boxter,
They're just for Christmas presents, after all?
Treated yourself to a new pup, sorry Porsche,
All it took was please sign here and a quick call.

Perhaps poor Boxter's out there in the cold now,
Chained up to some firm's forecourt in the frost,
Little headlights might contain salt water,
Looking all abandoned, sad and lost. Ah!

Oh, how could you, Mr May,
treat that little cur/car this way!

You only had to say, dear Maid, please take him,
And treat him kindly now he's past his prime.
I would have shown him love, not AC/DC,
And his innards full of detris was a crime!

I'd have taken him long runs in clement weather,
And kept his coat all glossy with a sheen,
And kept him tucked up warm inside my garage,
I'd never, ever, ever treat him mean.

And when I knew that it was rust to dust time,
When he had to meet the 'breaker in the sky',
I'd stay with doggy Boxter 'til the crush came,
Then I'd probably walk home and have a cry.

Yes, every cur/car will have his day,
A tomorrow? - not with Mr May!

As Sweet
Wendy Cope

It's all because we're so alike
Twin souls, we two.
We smile at the expression, yes,
And know it's true.

I told the shrink. He gave our love
A different name.
But he can call it what he likes-
It's still the same.

I long to see you, hear your voice,
My narcissistic object-choice.

Combat Report
John Pudney

"Just then I saw the bloody Hun" You saw the Hun? You, light and easy,
Carving the soundless daylight. "I was breezy
When I saw that Hun." Oh wonder,
Pattern of stress, of nerve poise, flyer,
Overtaking time. "He came out under
Nine-tenths cloud, but I was higher." Did Michelangelo aspire,
Painting the laughing cumulus, to ride
The majesty of air. " He was a trier
I'll give him that, the Hun." So you convert
Ultimate sky to air speed, drift, and cover;
Sure with the tricky tools of God and lover.
"I let him have a sharp four-second squirt,
Closing to fifty yards. He went on fire." Your deadly petals painted, you exert
A simple stature. Man-high, without pride,
You pick your way through heaven and the dirt.
"He burnt out in the air; that's how the poor sod died."

O You Whom I Often And Silently Come

Walt Whitman

O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you;
As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.

what a proud dreamhorse
by ee cummings

what a proud dreamhorse pulling(smoothloomingly)through
(stepp)this(ing)crazily seething of this
Raving city screamingly street wonderful
flowers And o the Light thrown by Them opens

sharp holes in dark places paints eyes touches hand with new-
ness and these startled whats are a(piercing clothes thoughts kiss
-ing wishes bodies)squirm-of-frightened shy are whichs small
its hungry for Is for Love Spring thirsty for happens
only and beautiful

there is a ragged beside the who limps
man crying silence upward
-to have tasted Beautiful to have known
Only to have smelled Happens-skip dance kids hop point at
red blue yellow voilet white orange green-
ness

o what a proud dreamhorse moving(whose feet
almost walk air). now who stops. Smiles. he
stamps

Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable

Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable,
Elaine the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
........................  so she lived in fantasy.

Sonnet
William Shakespeare

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it;
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspect
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

Oblation
Algernon Charles Swinburn

Ask nothing more of me, sweet;
All I can give you I give.
Heart of my heart, were it more,
More would be laid at your feet:
Love that should help you to live,
Song that should spur you to soar.

All things were nothing to give
Once to have sense of you more,
Touch you and taste of you sweet,
Think you and breathe you and live,
Swept of your wings as they soar,
Trodden by chance of your feet.

I that have love and no more
Give you but love of you, sweet:
He that hath more, let him give;
He that hath wings, let him soar;
Mine is the heart at your feet
Here, that must love you to live.

 "Creative minds are rarely tidy"
     The exception to the rule.
     -------------------------------
Having ordered your tools now
 - neat and tidier,
That will lead to you being unable to
 - abide m'dear,
Deviation in their proper places
 - spacially,
To be visually 'out' by even a
 - minute degree.
Poor Jamie, now you'll never get to sleep
 - at night,
Colin has a lot to answer for,
 - having caused your plight,
If only that 10mm spanner hadn't
 - disappeared,
Rehab had the OCD symptoms
 - almost cleared!
How many times will you have to check
 - if they're all there?
Will you be able to remove one
 - to do a repair?
Have you drawn outlines to see where their
 - dead bodies rest?
Matey, chuck 'em back in the toolbox...
 - it's for the best!

Back from my travels, have you missed me?
Don't answer that!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8I6hN4Y3qg

"James May's Man Lab" Trailer

Mr May showing us how to make a snail shadow on the wall!

I've had a stainless steel exhaust put on the old Celica today,
Cor Blimey! It sounds like a proper boy-racer's car now!

Soul's Beauty
Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Under the arch of Life, where love and death,
Terror and mystery, guard her shrine, I saw
Beauty enthroned; and though her gaze struck awe,
I drew it in as simply as my breath.
Hers are the eyes which, over and beneath,
The sky and sea bend on thee, - which can draw,
By sea or sky or woman, to one law,
The allotted bondman of her palm and wreath.

This is that Lady Beauty, in whose praise
Thy voice and hand shake still, - long known to thee
By flying hair and fluttering hem, - the beat
Following her daily of thy heart and feet,
How passionately and irretrievably,
In what fond flight, how many ways and days!

To----
Percy Bysshe Shelley

One word is too often profaned
For me to profane it;
One feeling too falsely disdained
For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother;
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love;
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the heavens reject not, -
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow?

I met Col down at the pub on Friday dinnertime. Hadn't seen him for ages. Sad to say, he has really gone downhill recently. The fact is that he just can't hold his liquor! (He has always suffered with a perforated base.) I tried to take his mind off his troubles by suggesting he take up beer-mat collecting. I started him off with these... 

Speak!
William Wordsworth

WHY art thou silent! Is thy love a plant
   Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
   Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant--
   Bound to thy service with unceasing care,
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
   For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak--though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
   A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold
   Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow
   'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine--
   Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!

Superman, Supercar?
-------------------------
At Number One, is the true petrolhead,
Too classy to buy a Ferrari in red.
Perhaps Number Two, midlife crises thing,
With the need to experience a certain fizzing,
At Three is the, selfmade millowner 'up north',
Who needs a sleek Aston to go back and forth.
At Four there's the popstars and those who kick balls,
Who need to off-load as the share index falls.
At Five are the rest, all loaded, some ginger,
Even buying the classics their fortunes dont injure.

You'll be glad to know, I think you're number one,
And/or possibly two, (that's my brownie points gone!).
Still, a man of discernment, and yet you like toys,
Are supercars for men then, or Peter Pan boys?
James the answers you want, you have had all along,
You're just enjoying reading, the views of the throng!
So, please, end the debate by telling us why
If the supercar is pointless then, why did you buy?

As a joke someone hid Aleksandr's clothes while he went skinny-dipping.

Here he is, trying hard to look nonchalant, whilst preserving his modesty!

I may be absolutely barmy, but am taking the inclusion of my name in the Telegraph, as balm to soothe the former hurt.
All is well with the world once more. x

"100 per cent chance of life' on Earth-like planet
called Gliese 581g found 20 light years away."
Ooh er! Can you believe it?

Suspiria
Anon

O would I were where I would be!
There would I be where I am not:
For where I am would I not be
And where I would be I can not.

Come Share
(Mine)

I need to recall memories of when I was young,
As I listen to how much my ageing mother has forgotten,
Remembering growing up in a countryside idyll,
Picking cowslips in a dress of gingham cotton.

Aged five, I saw a dragonfly, a monster of the air,
With a wooden rake I made the iridescent sheaves of hay,
One day the front field flooded, so I paddled in the sea,
There were hours and hours and hours to every day.

Playing the kazoo in the Sunday School procession,
Following the village band, sun glinting off the brass,
Proud I was to sing, with my father in the choir,
Weaving round the maypole, egg sandwich picnics on cropped grass.

Singing 'Mary's Boy Child' for a close friend of my gran',
Getting sixpence for it, a fortune to me, thank you,
Wind howling down the hillside, snow drifts heralding, 'no school',
Making ice caves, going sledging, going home soaked through.

Given a ride on a huge charger, a dappled, white horse,
So momentous, his 'Shining Tanner' name I still recall,
Meadow Avenue, still fronted by a wavy field of green,
Playing house, swinging on joists as new buildings rose, tall.

Hanging upside down from the bars on the local 'rec',
Biking miles and miles through limestone dales, alone,
'Telecommunication', the word picked for charades at school!
Good Heavens! That's what I thought!
Thank goodness I am grown.

So Mother, please dont worry, share my memories with me,

As yours fade, I have enough for both of us, you know,

You were always there, contained, and waiting patiently for me,

That's why the bond will never break, and I will always love you so.

I envy anyone who is 'in love' today.
Also, anyone who doesn't have to go to work in the morning!

The Bargain
Sir Philip Sidney

MY true love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for another given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven:
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his because in me it bides:
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

A Divine Rapture
Francis Quarles

E'EN like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where in a greater current they conjoin:
So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine.

E'en so we met; and after long pursuit,
E'en so we joined; we both became entire;
No need for either to renew a suit,
For I was flax, and He was flames of fire:
Our firm-united souls did more than twine;
So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine.

If all those glittering Monarchs, that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all:
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:
The world 's but theirs; but my Beloved's mine.

To Ladies of a Certain Age (part only)
John Trumbull

Contented tread the vale of years,
Devoid of malice, guilt and fears;
Let soft good humour, mildly gay,
Gild the calm evening of your day,
And virtue, cheerful and serene,
In every word and act be seen.
Virtue alone with lasting grace,
Embalms the beauties of the face,
Instructs the speaking eye to glow,
Illumes the cheek and smooths the brow,
Bids every look the heart engage,
Nor fears the wane of wasting age.

A White Rose
John Boyle O'Reilly

THE red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips

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!