Oh no, I think that qualifies you as a cheerful dickhead HesOriginally Posted by Hes
The days are getting longer, say cheerful dickheads
Oh no, I think that qualifies you as a cheerful dickhead Hes
The days are getting longer, say cheerful dickheads
Ha ha ha...yep. I'm a 'sunny-side-up halfwit'.
"If one more glass-half-full simpleton tells me 'we're over the worst' I will bury them alive with a looped recording of Birdsongs of the Norfolk Broads."....quite like the sound of that actually, bring it on!:thumbup:
Cheers Stolly.
Oh no, I think that qualifies you as a cheerful dickhead Hes
The days are getting longer, say cheerful dickheads
Winter
When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marion’s nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
William Shakespeare
Love's Labours Lost
(I thought he was a bit tough on Joan though)
Lovely Alf I enjoyed reading that...i agree about joan, poor thing!Winter
When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marion’s nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
William Shakespeare
Love's Labours Lost
(I thought he was a bit tough on Joan though
still no snow here and I have snow envy, but ...by eck its a sharp night!
Winter Heavens
George Meredith
Sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive
Leap off the rim of earth across the dome.
It is a night to make the heavens our home
More than the nest whereto apace we strive.
Lengths down our road each fir-tree seems a hive,
In swarms outrushing from the golden comb.
They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam:
The living throb in me, the dead revive.
Yon mantle clothes us: there, past mortal breath,
Life glistens on the river of the death.
It folds us, flesh and dust; and have we knelt,
Or never knelt, or eyed as kine the springs
Of radiance, the radiance enrings:
And this is the soul's haven to have felt.
Apparently there is some snow on the way for you freckle
Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly...
William Shakespeare
As you like it
well i thought the wind quite unkind tonight on my run alf , especially with the attached hail!...but at least , fingers crossed you might be right...snow on its way, gotta be some bonus to being nithered!...bring it on...
one of my fave poems, posted before and here again....
Snow
Louis MacNeice
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,Incorrigibly plural.
I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes
-On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands
-There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
Last edited by freckle; 04-02-2012 at 06:44 PM.
All sorts going on in that poem freckle both inside and outside the "room"
We have had over 4" of snow here so I am looking forward to a run out in it tomorrow
Snow
Then all the dead opened their cold palms
and released the snow; slow, slant, silent,
a huge unsaying, it fell, torn language; settled,
the world to be locked, local; unseen,
fervent earthbound bees around a queen.
The river grimaced and was ice.
Go nowhere-
thought the dead, using the snow-
but where you are, offering the flower of your breath
to the white garden, or seeds to birds
from your living hand. You cannot leave.
Tighter and tighter, the beautiful snow
holds the land in its fierce embrace.
It is like death, but it is not death; lovelier.
Cold, inconvenienced, late, what will you do now
with the gift of your left life?
Carol Ann Duffy
I've been catching up on some of your wintry choices...its been nice to get lost in some poetry again. Here's one I found today.
Winter Conversation
by Joyce Wakefield
I listen to you explain the difference
between a right brain thought and a left.
I am distracted by the smell
of cold on your face.
I lick it away like a child
with an ice cream cone
sticky fingers and sweet tongue.
Aware that I have been here before
I pause in your words.
I have slept in this flesh,
dreamed these winter bones.
Waking in the darkness between us
I hear frost sweeping the porch,
edging toward the morning.
I reach for your hand.
What, you whisper, voice hoarse with dream.
My lips, swollen with you, cold,
are silent
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