Wow....that is gorgeous Freckle. I have a lump in my throat.Originally Posted by freckle
Wow....that is gorgeous Freckle. I have a lump in my throat.
Thanks and welcome back Hes! you hardworking gal! I am just popping on quickly mid tea party but hope to be back laters...good luck with the rest of your work I look forward to seeing the results hopefully!
Hi Freckle, yep, been feeling totally frazzled for a while but there is light at the end of the tunnel and this time next week I can look forward to a period of making new work. Hope the tea party is going ok!
Indoor Games near Newbury
poem by John Betjeman
In among the silver birches,
Winding ways of tarmac wander
And the signs to Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood and Windy Break.
Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
Catch the lights of our Lagonda
As we drive to Wendy’s party,
Lemon curd and Christmas cake
Rich the makes of motor whirring
Past the pine plantation purring
Come up Hupmobile Delage.
Short the way our chauffeurs travel
Crunching over private gravel,
Each from out his warm garage.
O but Wendy, when the carpet
Yielded to my indoor pumps.
There you stood, your gold hair streaming,
Handsome in the hall light gleaming
There you looked and there you led me
Off into the game of Clumps.
Then the new Victrola playing;
And your funny uncle saying
"Choose your partners for a foxtrot.
Dance until it's tea o'clock
Come on young 'uns, foot it feetly."
Was it chance that paired us neatly?
I who loved you so completely.
You who pressed me closely to you,
Hard against your party frock.
"Meet me when you've finished eating."
So we met and no one found us.
O that dark and furry cupboard,
While the rest played hide-and-seek.
Holding hands our two hearts beating.
In the bedroom silence round us
Holding hands and hardly hearing
Sudden footstep, thud and shriek
Love that lay too deep for kissing.
"Where is Wendy? Wendy's missing."
Love so pure it had to end.
Love so strong that I was frightened
When you gripped my fingers tight.
And hugging, whispered "I'm your friend."
Goodbye Wendy. Send the fairies,
Pinewood elf and larch tree gnome.
Spingle-spangled stars are peeping
At the lush Lagonda creeping
Down the winding ways of tarmac
To the leaded lights of home.
There among the silver birches,
All the bells of all the churches
Sounded in the bath-waste running
Out into the frosty air.
Wendy speeded my undressing.
Wendy is the sheet's caressing
Wendy bending gives a blessing.
Holds me as I drift to dreamland
Safe inside my slumber wear
Was this the kind of tea party you were having?Cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off...
The Runner
Fickle woman
dreams of you
poetic soul
never thinking
you could be hers
that maybe you are
free as a bird
and now...
here you are
within grasp
and there she runs
fear gripping
a scarred heart.
You won't catch her.
Better alone
than step into
the unknown.
My lovely mum bought me The Poetry of Birds edited by Simon Armitage for my birthday and I am about to start work on my residency at the museum wher I'll be drawing stuffed birds and eggs...this poem sums up how I always feel when I find a dead bird or a bird skulls:
Perfect
On the Western Seaboard of South Uist
Los muertos abren los ojos a los que viven
I found a pigeon's skull on the machair,
All the bones pure white and dry, and chalky,
But perfect,
Without a crack or a flaw anywhere.
At the back, rising out of the beak,
Were domes like bubbles of thin bone,
Almost transparent, where the brain had been
That fixed the tilt of the wings.
Hugh MacDiarmid
(I think the spanish translates as the dead open the eyes of those that live)
I'm absent for a few days and now you can't shut me up!
This is morbid but how true:
On a Bird Dead in the Road
What formerly flounced and flew its fantastic feathers
Now lies like a flattened old leather glove in the road,
And the gigantic wheels of the articulated juggernaut lorries
Pound down on it all day long like the mad will of God.
George Barker.
FFS Hes, who ever it is don't be such a prat
Better still ignore me either way as I'm Mr Rubbish as far as making life choices of any kind is concerned, let alone romantic ones
Cheers Stolly! Nay worries as they say, it is partly reality and partly imagined. Just a situation that made me realise what a strange and complex character I am...and yes, probably a prat!FFS Hes, who ever it is don't be such a prat
Better still ignore me either way as I'm Mr Rubbish as far as making life choices of any kind is concerned, let alone romantic onesNo decisions to be made as yet. Just doing some introspection. I am making myself chuckle wth my contrariness but ultimately, I'm not daft, if a really good thing does turn up...I'll make the leap....I think...
Bedlam.
Chained to the wall,
What do you see ?,
Paying your penny,
You poke me with sticks,
Spit,drink and vomit on me,
I see right through you,
Whilst you look down at us all,
We might be animals to you,
But we are free,
We can speak our mind,
Without loss of liberty,
The king cannot put us in our place,
We are already separated from the human race,
So i ask you who is free ? ,
The sane or the mad,
Is yours just a prison with more light,
The soldiers can't take me in the middle of the night,
I will try with all that i am,
To prove that i am more free than you,
In Bedlam.
By Herakles.
Aw Hes this is so lovely i love JB...our tea party was for the little uns so not quite so sedate, more running round like headless chickens and trashing my house ! I highlightedin red the lines i especially liked...beautiful stuff...I really liked your bird poem too, its funny becuase when I went for a walk with the dog this morning through our local graveyard which is also a bit of a nature reserve (no kids) there was a dead pheasant lieing on one of the paths near the graves, i found it a bit eery...that books sounds nice tho will have to look it up.Hi Freckle, yep, been feeling totally frazzled for a while but there is light at the end of the tunnel and this time next week I can look forward to a period of making new work. Hope the tea party is going ok!
Indoor Games near Newbury
poem by John Betjeman
In among the silver birches,
Winding ways of tarmac wander
And the signs to Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood and Windy Break.
Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
Catch the lights of our Lagonda
As we drive to Wendy’s party,
Lemon curd and Christmas cake
Rich the makes of motor whirring
Past the pine plantation purring
Come up Hupmobile Delage.
Short the way our chauffeurs travel
Crunching over private gravel,
Each from out his warm garage.
O but Wendy, when the carpet
Yielded to my indoor pumps.
There you stood, your gold hair streaming,
Handsome in the hall light gleaming
There you looked and there you led me
Off into the game of Clumps.
Then the new Victrola playing;
And your funny uncle saying
"Choose your partners for a foxtrot.
Dance until it's tea o'clock
Come on young 'uns, foot it feetly."
Was it chance that paired us neatly?
I who loved you so completely.
You who pressed me closely to you,
Hard against your party frock.
"Meet me when you've finished eating."
So we met and no one found us.
O that dark and furry cupboard,
While the rest played hide-and-seek.
Holding hands our two hearts beating.
In the bedroom silence round us
Holding hands and hardly hearing
Sudden footstep, thud and shriek
Love that lay too deep for kissing.
"Where is Wendy? Wendy's missing."
Love so pure it had to end.
Love so strong that I was frightened
When you gripped my fingers tight.
And hugging, whispered "I'm your friend."
Goodbye Wendy. Send the fairies,
Pinewood elf and larch tree gnome.
Spingle-spangled stars are peeping
At the lush Lagonda creeping
Down the winding ways of tarmac
To the leaded lights of home.
There among the silver birches,
All the bells of all the churches
Sounded in the bath-waste running
Out into the frosty air.
Wendy speeded my undressing.
Wendy is the sheet's caressing
Wendy bending gives a blessing.
Holds me as I drift to dreamland
Safe inside my slumber wear
Was this the kind of tea party you were having?
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