Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Talking of solitary retreat huts I remember a guard hut I spent quite a few hours in when I was in the army and someone had written inside that old favourite
"For ***ks sake Scotty beam me up!"
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Talking of solitary retreat huts I remember a guard hut I spent quite a few hours in when I was in the army and someone had written inside that old favourite
"For ***ks sake Scotty beam me up!"
Lovely poem that freckle :cool: She has written quite a few books about her life by the look of it.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
It is the Hour
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour -- when lover's vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word;
And gentle winds and waters near,
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met,
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue,
And in the Heaven that clear obscure
So softly dark, and darkly pure,
That follows the decline of day
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.
Lord Byron
I saw lots of lambs round Buttermere at the weekend, they were the lucky ones who had waited for the snow to clear before they put in an appearance.
The Lambs of Grasmere - 1860
The upland flocks grew starved and thinned;
Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs
Whose milkless mothers butted them,
Or who were orphaned of their dams.
The lambs athirst for mother’s milk
Filled all the place with piteous sounds:
Their mothers’ bones made white for miles
The pastureless wet pasture grounds.
Day after day, night after night,
From lamb to lamb the shepherds went,
With teapots for the bleating mouths
Instead of nature’s nourishment.
The little shivering gaping things
Soon knew the step that brought them aid,
And fondled the protecting hand,
And rubbed it with a woolly head.
Then, as the days waxed on to weeks,
It was a pretty sight to see
These lambs with frisky heads and tails
Skipping and leaping on the lea,
Bleating in tender, trustful tones,
Resting on rocky crag or mound.
And following the beloved feet
That once had sought for them and found.
These very shepherds of their flocks,
These loving lambs so meek to please,
Are worthy of recording words
And honour in their due degrees:
So I might live a hundred years,
And roam from strand to foreign strand,
Yet not forget this flooded spring
And scarce-saved lambs of Westmoreland
Christina Rossetti.
Rent
If you want my apartment, sleep in it
but let's have a clear understanding:
the books are still free agents.
If the rocking chair's arms surround you
they can also let you go,
they can shape the air like a body.
I don't want your rent, I want
a radiance of attention
like the candle's flame when we eat,
I mean a kind of awe
attending the spaces between us---
Not a roof but a field of stars.
Jane Cooper
this has such a dulcet and reassuring tone..niceQuote:
Originally Posted by Alf
The Mariner’s Compass
by Simon Armitage
Living alone, I’m sailing the world
single-handed in a rented house.
Last week I rounded the Cape of Good Hope,
came through in one piece;
this morning, flying fish
lying dead in the porch with the post.
I peg out duvet covers and sheets
to save fuel when the wind blows,
tune the engine so it purrs all night
like a fridge, run upstairs
with the old-fashioned thought
of plotting a course by the stars.
Friends wave from the cliffs,
talk nervously about the coast-guard station.
Under the rules, close contact
with another soul means disqualification.
Not a poem - but a rather interesting piece from the American National Poetry Review - about the day job...
http://www.npr.org/2013/04/29/177986...ts-second-jobs
We used to have a Sunbeam Talbot!! Hard top version of the Alpine! Reg HDC 910! Can't recall the model or exact date of manufacture! Great car, built like a tank and quick too!
THE A30
A man on his own in a car
Is revenging himself on his wife;
He open the throttle and bubbles with dottle
and puffs at his pitiful life.
She's losing her looks very fast,
she loses her temper all day;
that lorry won't let me get past,
this Mini is blocking my way.
"Why can't you step on it and shift her!
I can't go on crawling like this!
At breakfast she said that she wished I was dead-
Thank heavens we don't have to kiss.
"I'd like a nice blonde on my knee
And one who won't argue or nag.
Who dares to come hooting at me?
I only give way to a Jag.
"You're barmy or plastered, I'll pass you, you bastard-
I will overtake you. I will!"
As he clenches his pipe, his moment is ripe
And the corner's accepting its kill.
John Betjeman
I like this - I drive for a living so helps me to calm my road rage.