That made me chuckle. One of these days I'll start re-fuelling before I get nauseous. The race is organised by a fellow called 'Scoffer' after all.Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
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That made me chuckle. One of these days I'll start re-fuelling before I get nauseous. The race is organised by a fellow called 'Scoffer' after all.Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Nice one Alf and well done at Borrowdale. As my old sergeant in the maroon machine used to say 'What would you rather be or a wasp';)Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Brilliantly trumped by OW and Alf there :-). Like the Borrowdale poetry theme idea. Perhaps race reviews should always take that form? Sorry to hear about the wasps Alf :-(
All quiet on the Poetry thread front tonight
http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...Tumbleweed.gif
A bit of 1st WW poetry :
Returning, We Hear the Larks
Sombre the night is.
And though we have our lives, we know
What sinister threat lurks there.
Dragging these anguished limbs, we only know
This poison-blasted track opens on our camp-
On a little safe sleep.
But hark! joy-joy-strange joy.
Lo! heights of night ringing with unseen larks
Music showering on our upturned list'ning faces.
Death could drop from the dark
As easily as song-
But song only dropped,
Like a blind man's dreams on the sand
By dangerous tides,
Like a girl's dark hair for she dreams no ruin lies there,
Or her kisses where a serpent hides.
Isaac Rosenberg
Or is it?.......................well granted it is now morning!Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Alf this is simply gorgeous I particularly like the notion of a blind's mans dreams dropping on the sand......beautiful :-)
i know this is dark but sometimes it is good to contemplate darkness if only to appreciate the light...i think a combination of alf's last post and seeing the world at war last weekend on tv (purely by accident) and some consequent discussions reminded me of primo levi...oh and the fact that i am reading the road by cormac mccarthy...
Reveille
In the brutal nights we used to dream
Dense violent dreams,
Dreamed with soul and body:
To return; to eat; to tell the story.
Until the dawn command
Sounded brief, low
'Wstawac'
And the heart cracked in the breast.
Now we have found our homes again,
Our bellies are full,
We're through telling the story.
It's time. Soon we'll hear again
The strange command:
'Wstawac'
Primo Levi
evening all...glass of wine in hand and a fine dinner awaits, life (sometimes) is sweet :closed:
Christina Rossetti
Up-Hill
Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when 'ust in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labor you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.
Some more statistics on 15 August 2010Fell Poets Society has 9,221 posts: started 18 Oct 2009; 301 days old, has 30 posts per dayQuote:
Originally Posted by XRunner
Todays Training has 9,336 posts : started 2 Jan 2007, 1,321 days old, hs 7 posts per day
Fell Ponies has 9,214 posts: started 4 Oct 2007; 1,046 days old, has 9 posts per day
Quiet Round Here has 26,814 posts: started 3 Jan 2007;1,320 days old, has 20 posts per day
Well I made myself a curry but no wine just a cup of http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...bit/drink1.gif .Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
I do like Christina Rossetti's poems and I know she was quite a religious lady which I suspect is what this poem is about?
I was looking for a "happy" Thomas Hardy poem but I couldn't find one so I will have to stick with the old doom and gloom I'm afraid :) I do like the way he builds up each stanza full of optimism and then delivers the "sucker punch" in the final line. :cool:
During Wind and Rain
THEY sing their dearest songs--
He, she, all of them--yea,
Treble and tenor and bass.
And one to play;
With the candles mooning each face....
Ah, no; the years O!
How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!
They clear the creeping moss--
Elders and juniors--aye,
Making the pathways neat
And the garden gay;
And they build a shady seat....
Ah, no; the years, the years;
See, the white storm-birds wing across!
They are blithely breakfasting all--
Men and maidens--yea,
Under the summer tree,
With a glimpse of the bay,
While pet fowl come to the knee....
Ah, no; the years O!
And the rotten rose is ripped from the wall.
They change to a high new house,
He, she, all of them--aye,
Clocks and carpets and chairs
On the lawn all day,
And brightest things that are theirs....
Ah, no; the years, the years;
Down their carved names the raindrop plows.
Thomas Hardy
August's Confusion.
Dear grey August
Why so dull
Have you lost your way
Take your mind back to memories
Of many a sun filled day
Dear grey August
Full of cloud
How come you're filled with storm
Take us back to the good old you
When blue skies were full of warm.
By Me! x