topsy
Madrigal Member
A garden is never so good as it will be next year
Posts: 2,327
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Post by topsy on Oct 11, 2007 23:15:00 GMT
One of the many days
I never saw more frogs than once at the back of Ben Dorain. Joseph-coated, they ambled and jumped in the sweet marsh grass like coloured ideas.
The river ran glass in the sun. I waded in the jocular water of Loch Lyon. A parcel of hinds gave the V-sign with their ears, then ran off and off until they were cantering crumbs. I watched a whole long day release its miracles.
But clearest of all I remember the Joseph-coated frogs amiably ambling or jumping into the air – like coloured ideas tinily considering the huge concept of Ben Dorain.
Norman MacCaig
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Daz Madrigal
lounge lizard
a Child of the Matrix
Posts: 11,120
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Post by Daz Madrigal on Oct 12, 2007 15:28:11 GMT
A hind gave the v-sign. Disgraceful. Dearie me...you're worse than, Gus, Topsy.
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topsy
Madrigal Member
A garden is never so good as it will be next year
Posts: 2,327
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Post by topsy on Oct 13, 2007 9:21:55 GMT
I refuse to believe that that was all you got out of that charming pome, Mr. Madrigal
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Daz Madrigal
lounge lizard
a Child of the Matrix
Posts: 11,120
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Post by Daz Madrigal on Oct 13, 2007 9:30:56 GMT
Cantering crumbs
Thats quite good...a bit like Dirk riding a shetland pony.
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topsy
Madrigal Member
A garden is never so good as it will be next year
Posts: 2,327
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Post by topsy on Oct 13, 2007 9:45:02 GMT
OMG
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topsy
Madrigal Member
A garden is never so good as it will be next year
Posts: 2,327
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Post by topsy on Oct 19, 2007 12:05:31 GMT
TO AUTUMN Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cell.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers; And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-- While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. John Keats
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Post by Nathan deGargoyle on Oct 21, 2007 0:04:58 GMT
On Fields O'er Which the Reaper's Hand has Passed
On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun, My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind And of such fineness as October airs, There after harvest could I glean my life A richer harvest reaping without toil, And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will In subtler webs than finest summer haze.
Henry David Thoreau
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Daz Madrigal
lounge lizard
a Child of the Matrix
Posts: 11,120
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Post by Daz Madrigal on Oct 21, 2007 10:40:03 GMT
POEM IN OCTOBER
It was my thirtieth year to heaven Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood And the mussel pooled and the heron Priested shore The morning beckon With water praying and call of seagull and rook And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall Myself to set foot That second In the still sleeping town and set forth.
My birthday began with the water- Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name Above the farms and the white horses And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days. High tide and the heron dived when I took the road Over the border And the gates Of the town closed as the town awoke.
A springful of larks in a rolling Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling Blackbirds and the sun of October Summery On the hill's shoulder, Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly Come in the morning where I wandered and listened To the rain wringing Wind blow cold In the wood faraway under me.
Pale rain over the dwindling harbour And over the sea wet church the size of a snail With its horns through mist and the castle Brown as owls But all the gardens Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud. There could I marvel My birthday Away but the weather turned around.
It turned away from the blithe country And down the other air and the blue altered sky Streamed again a wonder of summer With apples Pears and red currants And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother Through the parables Of sun light And the legends of the green chapels
And the twice told fields of infancy That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine. These were the woods the river and sea Where a boy In the listening Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide. And the mystery Sang alive Still in the water and singingbirds.
And there could I marvel my birthday Away but the weather turned around. And the true Joy of the long dead child sang burning In the sun. It was my thirtieth Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon Though the town below lay leaved with October blood. O may my heart's truth Still be sung On this high hill in a year's turning.
(Dylan Thomas)
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topsy
Madrigal Member
A garden is never so good as it will be next year
Posts: 2,327
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Post by topsy on Oct 26, 2007 10:08:42 GMT
OCTOBER Adrift in the lassitude of Late summer; time worn Leaves and grasses, Woods, fields all whisper dry, Grimy city streets
Suddenly one morning We're anchored by Frost in the ground, Our nostrils pinched by the fresh Coldness of the air
Eyes opened to change that Starting gradually, Almost unobserved But always, we acknowledge, Instinctively expected, Is here, is now.
In slanting, lowered sunlight, The sky intensely blue, The dying leaves that blaze Scarlet and copper and gold, Falling, are gathered into pyres
Their ghosts a rising fragrance In the October smoke J.S.Ellis
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topsy
Madrigal Member
A garden is never so good as it will be next year
Posts: 2,327
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Post by topsy on Oct 31, 2007 11:10:30 GMT
HALLOWE'ENAnd the Celebrity Chef strikes again. Here are Nigella's suggestions for jolly meals du jour: "Nigella Lawson's got loads of gruesome-sounding treats that she's tested out on her own children, 10-year-old Mimi, and seven-year-old Bruno and their friends, all of which she reveals in her book, Feast. "Halloween's a carnival of spooksville and an excuse for fancy dress. Although I despair at trying to remove all that face-paint at the end of the evening, quite as much as I dread the sugar-shock induced by that trick-or-treating, I am perfectly happy to go along with it. It's only one night a year, after all," she says. Nigella enjoys the ritual of her Halloween menu which includes green Slime Soup made from peas and cheese, Blood And Guts Potatoes using ketchup, black spaghetti Witches' Hair and Blood Clots and Pus made from fruit jellies. There's no need to slave over a hot cauldron - Nigella admits these dishes require minimal effort."I don't think this is an occasion that warrants great gastronomic feasts," she says. "My children love the food but relish most (as do I) the grossness of the recipe names." Keep those ghoulies and ghosties at bay by treating them to an easy-to-make Ghoul-graveyard cake, decorated with Halloween-themed lollies." PASS
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sandywinder
Madrigal Member
Holistic Philosopher
The private sector makes boxes, the public sector ticks them
Posts: 16,929
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Post by sandywinder on Oct 31, 2007 13:21:49 GMT
Five o'clock this morning my wife is listening to the news on the tree radio and says 'Why do they want to stop kids dressing up in fancy costumes for Halloween'. It's not as if they are going to turn into witches.'
To which I replied, 'well, you did'.
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Daz Madrigal
lounge lizard
a Child of the Matrix
Posts: 11,120
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Post by Daz Madrigal on Oct 31, 2007 14:51:57 GMT
It bears retelling I suppose.
It was funnier the first time though.
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Daz Madrigal
lounge lizard
a Child of the Matrix
Posts: 11,120
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Post by Daz Madrigal on Oct 31, 2007 14:58:11 GMT
HALLOWE'ENAnd the Celebrity Chef strikes again. Here are Nigella's suggestions for jolly meals du jour: "Nigella Lawson's got loads of gruesome-sounding treats that she's tested out on her own children, 10-year-old Mimi, and seven-year-old Bruno and their friends, all of which she reveals in her book, Feast. "Halloween's a carnival of spooksville and an excuse for fancy dress. Although I despair at trying to remove all that face-paint at the end of the evening, quite as much as I dread the sugar-shock induced by that trick-or-treating, I am perfectly happy to go along with it. It's only one night a year, after all," she says. Nigella enjoys the ritual of her Halloween menu which includes green Slime Soup made from peas and cheese, Blood And Guts Potatoes using ketchup, black spaghetti Witches' Hair and Blood Clots and Pus made from fruit jellies. There's no need to slave over a hot cauldron - Nigella admits these dishes require minimal effort."I don't think this is an occasion that warrants great gastronomic feasts," she says. "My children love the food but relish most (as do I) the grossness of the recipe names." Keep those ghoulies and ghosties at bay by treating them to an easy-to-make Ghoul-graveyard cake, decorated with Halloween-themed lollies." PASS I'm surprised theres no Ghoulash on the Menu or Spookghetti? Its true wat they say about the Witches coming out... I've already seen Heather McCartney and Kate McCann today...all it needs now is for Hazel Blears to fly through Salford on her broomstick.
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topsy
Madrigal Member
A garden is never so good as it will be next year
Posts: 2,327
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Post by topsy on Nov 1, 2007 10:20:47 GMT
Bleak poem for the start of November PRELUDES THE WINTER evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o’clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps The grimy scraps Of withered leaves about your feet And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps. The morning comes to consciousness Of faint stale smells of beer From the sawdust-trampled street With all its muddy feet that press To early coffee-stands. With the other masquerades That time resumes, One thinks of all the hands That are raising dingy shades In a thousand furnished rooms. You tossed a blanket from the bed, You lay upon your back, and waited; You dozed, and watched the night revealing The thousand sordid images Of which your soul was constituted; They flickered against the ceiling. And when all the world came back And the light crept up between the shutters And you heard the sparrows in the gutters, You had such a vision of the street As the street hardly understands; Sitting along the bed’s edge, where You curled the papers from your hair, Or clasped the yellow soles of feet In the palms of both soiled hands. His soul stretched tight across the skies That fade behind a city block, Or trampled by insistent feet At four and five and six o’clock; And short square fingers stuffing pipes, And evening newspapers, and eyes Assured of certain certainties, The conscience of a blackened street Impatient to assume the world. I am moved by fancies that are curled Around these images, and cling: The notion of some infinitely gentle Infinitely suffering thing. Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh; The worlds revolve like ancient women Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
T.S.Eliot...1917
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Daz Madrigal
lounge lizard
a Child of the Matrix
Posts: 11,120
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Post by Daz Madrigal on Nov 1, 2007 17:57:51 GMT
<< THE WINTER evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. >>
I'm sorry, Topsy but I'm going to have to lock this thread. Red meat as everyone now knows is a major cause of Bowel Cancer and really should not be encouraged.
<< lights up another bensons >>
Try to keep these references to the barest minimum in future!
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