know the feeling...wish i hadn't had thoe two glasses of wine late last night now....double urgh!........Originally Posted by Old Whippet
freckle needs to show her mettle
on 5 miles across the sand
lets hope by the end her fettle
is really rather grand.
onwards and upwards....off to hydrate!
Last edited by freckle; 06-12-2009 at 09:26 AM.
Oh bloomin eck as they say in these parts...I'm having a bit of a wobbly moment now! Freckle, you are a sweetheart. What a gorgeous poem. Am not supposed to be here as I just gave up my fell race to finish the work I haven't finished but I just popped in to see what you'd all been up to in my absence. I'll call in later when the flowers are finished, prints framed and orders parceled up. Might even manage a bit of packing! xx
ps Glad you had a good night out.
Or was last night more like this?
To a lass, when out on the beer,
Whip's request made her feel queer.
"I may be quite drunk,
And whiff like a skunk.
But I've standards. Thank Germain Greer."
Enjoy your run OW.
Last edited by Harry H Howgill; 06-12-2009 at 12:01 PM.
HHH- was that you in the corner, taking it all in???
11 damp miles
Hamstring and stomach protest
Ah! Licorice tea
No. That was me in the red dress you scoundrel. I've never heard such a proposition before. Is it legal, or even anatomically possible?
It all makes sense now. The stubble should have warned me.No. That was me in the red dress you scoundrel. I've never heard such a proposition before. Is it legal, or even anatomically possible?
Heavy legs scale groins
Beach puddles galore
Freckle returns 2nd lady
(but only out of 4!!!!!)
bit of a slow one from me at blyth sands but what a lovely little race and a lovely crowd of people...very uplifting!....
OW and HHH .....ahem........
Hes...good luck with the final preparations....not long now....
Tides - Jenny Joseph
There are some coasts
Where the sea comes in spectacularly
Throwing itself up gullies, challenging cliffs,
Filling the harbours with great swirls and flourish,
A theatrical event that people gather for
Curtain up twice daily. You need to know
The hour of its starting, you have to be on guard.
There are other places
Places where you do not really notice
The gradual stretch of the fertile silk of water
No gurgling or dashings here, no froth no pounding
Only at some point the echo may sound different
And looking by chance one sees ‘Oh the tide is in.’
this is lovely HHH thank you for posting...the sea and sands are indeed beautiful and make for wonderful metaphors.......
The Buried Life
Matthew Arnold
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there's a something in this breast,
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay smiles no anodyne.
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul.
Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal'd
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick'd in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves—and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!
But we, my love!—doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts, our voices?—must we too be dumb?
Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd;
For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!
Fate, which foresaw
How frivolous a baby man would be—
By what distractions he would be possess'd,
How he would pour himself in every strife,
And well-nigh change his own identity—
That it might keep from his capricious play
His genuine self, and force him to obey
Even in his own despite his being's law,
Bade through the deep recesses of our breast
The unregarded river of our life
Pursue with indiscernible flow its way;
And that we should not see
The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying at large in blind uncertainty,
Though driving on with it eternally.
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.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough, alas! none ever mines.
And we have been on many thousand lines,
And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;
But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves—
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our breast,
But they course on for ever unexpress'd.
And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well—but 't#is not true!
And then we will no more be rack'd
With inward striving, and demand
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour
Their stupefying power;
Ah yes, and they benumb us at our call!
Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the soul's subterranean depth upborne
As from an infinitely distant land,
Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey
A melancholy into all our day.
Only—but this is rare—
When a belov{'e}d hand is laid in ours,
When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,
Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen'd ear
Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd—
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life's flow,
And hears its winding murmur; and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.
And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth for ever chase
That flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes.
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