Apparently even Rossetti liked her pancakes Harry so you are in good company! ....night HHH!Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Pancake Song
by Christina Rossetti
Mix a pancake,
Stir a pancake,
Pop it in the pan.
Fry the pancake,
Toss the pancake,
Catch it if you can.
Some good stuff posted by MG and freckle tonight
Another poem from the "Staying Alive" collection.
This is a very evocative poem for me as it brings back
my army memories of Belfast streets.
Break
Soldier boy, dark and tall, sat for a rest
on Crumlish's wall. Come on over.
Look at my Miraculous Medal.
Let me punch your bulletproof vest. Go on, try.
The gun on your knees is blackened metal.
Here's the place where the bullets sleep.
Here's the catch and here's the trigger.
Let me look through the eye.
Soldier, you sent me for cigs but a woman
came back and threw the money in your face.
I watched you backtrack, alter, cover
your range of vision, shoulder to shoulder.
Colette Bryce
And another one by the very talented Colette Bryce
Pillar Talk
That magician
who stationed himself on a pillar
over Manhattan
for thirty-five hours
knows nothing whatever
of loneliness,
or how it is
for people like us
who have no soft acre
of cardboard boxes
not even the eggshell
flashbulbs of the press
or the well-meant antics
of neighbours with a mattress
to temper the thought
of the hard, hard earth
to break the fall
nothing at all.
Colette Bryce
A poignant choice Alf. I like it.
And another one by the very talented Colette Bryce
Pillar Talk
That magician
who stationed himself on a pillar
over Manhattan
for thirty-five hours
knows nothing whatever
of loneliness,
or how it is
for people like us
who have no soft acre
of cardboard boxes
not even the eggshell
flashbulbs of the press
or the well-meant antics
of neighbours with a mattress
to temper the thought
of the hard, hard earth
to break the fall
nothing at all.
Colette Bryce
Its good to know that I'll be catching up with MG & Freckle at some races this year. Hope to see HHH and a few others too. I wanted to post something as its been so long for me and I opened my book of modern Indian Poetry at this:
White Paper
A great man once said to me:
write whatever you want,
but on the condition -
it should be an improvement
on the blank white page.
Blank white paper
is more important
than what I write now.
My poetry
is in the white spaces
between the words.
Like news about the men
who disappeared before dawn,
like seeds buried in the soil,
like the truth that hides
between the heavy headlines,
like a fragrant green flower,
the more I write
the more poetry there is
in the white space between the words.
Nara
(my art teacher taught me that it was the space between objects that I should concentrate on and not the objects themselves...one of the most important things I learnt at school)
That's a better poem than the ones I looked at. I couldn't find a decent pancake day poem. Luckily I've got a month to find one.
I like that poem. Very true too I'm sure. I'm sure our racing schedules will coincide some time this year too.
The Wadsworth Trog is approaching this weekend which gives me a very tenuous link to this poem
The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
lovely!The Wadsworth Trog is approaching this weekend which gives me a very tenuous link to this poem
The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls
Me and Stef will be doing the Wadsworth Trog Alf, assuming I can find my matching his and hers water wings. Are you having a run out?
Poacher turned game-keeper
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