Check out Yack and Rhyming Yack for music, poetry and yarns, you know how you hate to miss anything good.
Above the transom
The Totton Linnet
January 4, 2009 at 12:17 am (children, flora, literature, music, nature, poetry, politics, recreation, religion)
The Camaraderie
October 15, 2009 at 1:52 pm (bible, christianity, climate, education, literature, nature, poetry)
Tags: birds, literature, mysticism, poetry, political correctness, sadhu sundar singh
- The Camaraderie
Canary fly over the chimney pot
dowdy sparrows give chase
so pretty a hen with jersey bright
will never suit their case.
Blaze fire blaze, a fire made not with logs,
but ointment thoughts and wisdom
gathered into books
compelling words will burn, though winsome.
Had they not first their utterance,
catched in willing ears to listen?
with hearts that hope to love?
why else would they have been written?
Bow down young man in your courtyard
lower your face in the moonlight,
far in the distance, ever nearing
a weight of iron is coming with might.
*
“Oh! show me your face,
show me your face
then strengthen my legs
that I might stand in this awesome place
Oh! show me your face,
show me your face
let your love shine upon me
before I must leave this place.”
*
Black charcoal black
you will ever be black
though water run upon you
still any brightness lack
black charcoal black
I do not desire you so
luminous red my companion be,
my candle will make you glow.
Tell me where the wind goes
you hear him singing in the trees
show me where his journey ends
refreshing he comes as he please.
You cannot say what you feel
nor colour the fragrances
the breeze has gathered in his arms
to throw against you, sweet rememberances.
*
“Oh! show me your face
show me your face,
then strengthen my legs
that I might stand in this awsome place
Ah! show me your face
show me your face
let your love shine upon me
before I must leave this place.”
The beautiful Sadhu Sundar Singh the famous Indian mystic who is the inspiration for this work.
http://www.eaglevision.com.my/ssvisions.htm
- Sadhu Sundar Singh
Dance the daddy longlegs
September 19, 2009 at 11:27 am (bible, children, christianity, literature, nature, poetry, religion)
Tags: insects, nature, philosophy, poetry
- Dance the daddy longlegs
Dance the daddy longlegs
pussyfoot around
let’s beat all around the bushes
in case the truth is found,
ah! house, built upon fables
having legend for a foundation
your walls constructed of folk-lore
nowt more concrete than imagination,
a more durable truth might have lasted.
My ears work best in the valley
in copses where trees gentle the wind
the earth I tread is soft but firm
there my life is determined.
Morning prayer and the song of a robin
chuckling praise like river mirth
answers come down like autumn leaves
yeah, and teach me what I am worth
I am your meadow maid,
meadow maid, meadow maid
you have forgotten all about me,
the songs we sang, the games we played
in the morning sunshine.
How our laughter rang out
we used to skip together and dance
never afraid to shout.
You have seen the field crocuses
gathered round the sycamore tree
I am one of them,
that pretty red one among them, that is me.
Logic pools your eyes
August 17, 2009 at 9:55 am (flora, folk music, literature, music, nature, poetry, romance)
Tags: flora, love, peony, poetry, romance, writing
Peony House
Logic pools your eyes
I catched you with my video
I can make you be my film star
and you won’t even know
*
Come along sweet apple breath
smack me with your wine kisses
I never will be satisfied
until my heart beat misses
*
Walking in the meadow
with your hand holding mine
I’ve got a room at the village inn
thatched roof and blue skyline
*
Clover ring for your hair
a chain of daisies for mine
we’ll picnic on a pilchard sarnie
washed down with a bottle of wine
*
Logic pools your eyes
by the doubtful bryony
the news you told me yesterday
got tinged with irony
*
Come visit me at Peony
walk the path to my door
peony will punish if you move her
by flowering never more.
*
logic pools your eyes
logic pools your eyes
Lily child
July 10, 2009 at 9:18 pm (bible, christianity, flora, literature, poetry)
Tags: comfort, friendship, lilies, poetry, solace, sorrow
- Lily child
If I could show you a squirrel
in the eyes of a child
or damp your hand with a frog
brush your cheek with a dog rose, wild.
I would so like to walk with you
on a petalled carpet, barefoot
the sun and wind in our faces
where the grass is freshly cut.
Iron in the soul will not soon be got out
a hardened heart not easily soften
healing for hurt comes slowly
to one who has been bruiséd often.
Let me hold your hand
sit and talk a while
I will put my arms around you.
Lay your head on my shoulder, smile
and if tears should come my darling,
then cry your heart out love, just cry
Do the jiggaloo
June 27, 2009 at 7:34 pm (flora, folk music, music, nature, poetry, recreation)
Tags: busking, london, michael jackson, perennial flowers, street theatre
Do the jiggaloo
Larkspur July is coming around,
gladiola will sharpen her sword,
Mrs Simkins will need to be layered
to spread her fragrance abroad.
I was riding the escalator
on the tube at Notting Hill Gate
hoping the train to Marble Arch
would be on time, not late.
I was stopped by the sad sweet sax player
why did he play that way?
he told me with tears running down his cheeks
“Mr. Jackson died today.”
You ask about my style
well I don’t know about that
I want to speak my mind out
let people know just where I’m at
still you are not quite satisfied
with our little rhyme
“let’s find a desert to traverse [say you]
there must be a mountain to climb.”
We can do that,
who knows but we may have to
but just for now relax my friend,
more gentle play pursue.
Wipe the spit out of your clarinet
I’ll fetch my old guitar
let’s go down to the market place
don’t forget to bring the jar.
We’ll jolly up some shoppers
lighten someone’s load
and if we make a couple of quid
we’ll have a quick one for the road.
Sing a song of summer
one sad ballad will do
you can render your soulful nuance
I can do the jiggaloo.
Knowledge comes with experience
he only asked compensation,
other people expect a bribe
but hey life is free, no obligation.
My heart stays the same
June 22, 2009 at 8:18 pm (classical music, music, nature, poetry)
Tags: paganini, piano, poetry, rachmaninov, rubenstein, song
Arthur Rubinstein plays Rachmaninov Rhapsody on a theme of paganini. variation 18 to which I have written song lyrics “My heart stays the same.”
*
Just watching the waves
crashing ashore
as they tumble o’er
each ebbing flow.
*
The receding waves gathering into
a swell to hurl themselves forward once more
casting up a spray
fulness dissipating
lest they push too far.
*
And so life with me
is just the same,
now, I’m forging ahead,
now, falling back.
*
With each ebbing flow, comes time to collect,
to be ready for whatever comes next,
will it change my life?
or is it only feelings?
my heart stays the same.
*
Just watching the waves
crashing ashore
as they tumble o’er
each ebbing flow
*
My life is
more than
feelings.
*
lyrics by The Totton Linnet
The charcoal garden
June 13, 2009 at 3:11 pm (flora, literature, nature, poetry, recreation)
Tags: flora, gardening, george august holmer, hobbies, literature, poetry
- Charcoal garden
I stood in the middle
of my charcoal garden
then I spoke aloud,
“you have not been mine
someone else planted you here,
to catch the morning sun
upon your western incline.
But now that I have decked you
made you what I want you to be,
I am pleased to call you my own,
come, let’s throw open the gates
for all passing by to see.
You are the sister I never cared for,
plain, you were
no-one would court you.
I set out to make you pretty
alluring and attractive
to the more uncasual view
I clothed you with wild flowers,
poppies, jillies and foxglove
adorned you with trestles,
sweet pea, clematis, thrown upon
honeysuckle all hung from above.”
Oh! charcoal garden, my belovéd sister
though the late afternoon sun
has cast upon her a shadow,
in a little while the enfragranced dew
will have come and will have kissed her.
Calico Contralto
June 4, 2009 at 8:08 pm (bible, children, christianity, literature, music, poetry, religion)
Tags: angels, fashion, languages, poetry, tongues
Calico Contralto
Calico Contralto
we sat on her veranda
she sang the language of angels
more blissful than Nirvana
The song flowed from her belly
tripped her tongue with ecstacy
an inner shekinah enwrapt her
and time turned to eternity
*
Her voice lay o’er the valley
Calico Contralto.
Camped by a spring of water
the song she sang I did not know,
though I played on her piano,
protected by her archers
stood around our dargle
looking out for searchers
*
Oh! that vale is green in shades
oh! the view is fair
oh! the trees delightful
delicious the fruit they bear.
*
Her song was mellowed velvet
Calico Contralto
we sat on her veranda.
The song she sang, I did not know
though I played on her piano
[the tongue being one I had not learned]
she sang with such beauty of love
our melted hearts just turned.
Bocelli and Westenra sing
February 15, 2009 at 4:26 pm (classical music, music, poetry, romance)
Tags: andrea bocelli.hayley westenra, classical music, music, poetry
Vivo per Lei
Skateboard scally
February 13, 2009 at 11:56 pm (children, literature, poetry, recreation, sports)
Tags: chat, friends, fun, girls, hobbies, skateboarding
Skateboard scally
WOAH! it’s me, smiling
passing through your life,
cutting across your path,
slicing your space like a knife.
And you, just ambling along
I weaved you with my skateboard
did I make you jump? oh sorry.
just had a song to share, a cheery word,
don’t look like that, I’m no slag
no need to scowl at me
I’m just a scallywag.
*
You were startled by my breeze,
a sudden movement of the air,
your space invaded by a tease
my laughter caught you unaware
We can be friends if you want
okay I buzzed you up, I’ve said I’m sorry
oh drop the skangy front
hah! saw that twinkle in your eye
the faintest glimmer of a smile.
Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit
we can chat for a little while.
Catkin carpet
February 8, 2009 at 4:03 pm (flora, literature, music, nature, poetry, recreation, romance)
Tags: don camillo, flowers, fruit, italy, nuts, trees, weddings
Author of Don Camillo
The Italian lived where he was born
Parma, near the River Po.
He played mandolin and studied law
because his parents would not have it so.
But he did admire his father’s panache
and in this was pleased to emulate
by growing [under his own nose] a heavy black moustache .
There was the night he was arrested
for howling in the street,
an Italian denied his point of view
will protest with his feet.
Nino’s wife, beloved,
proudly bore two beautiful children.
He also owned a motor-cycle
which proudly bore four cylinderen.
In his homeland he came to fame
As editor in chief of “Candido”
but to the world he will always be loved
as the creator of Don Camillo.
*
Catkin carpet.
*
Come, let’s make ourselves a hiding place,
the willow tree next door
has been kind enough to throw his branch
over our fence, we’ll have a catkin carpet floor
Bring hazelnuts and a bottle of red wine
we’ll lie down together the world passing by
Take care our laughter doesn’t give us away
in our little den, you and I.
These apricot days,
bring me no boring daffodils
splash me rather with red carnations,
ravish my ears with wedding bells.
I will swoon with love in May sunshine
exceeding to the applause of the sycamore tree
and the surprised delight of sparrows.
Happy? you bet I am! (why wouldn’t I be?)
The Whacked Weasel
February 2, 2009 at 1:04 am (folk music, literature, poetry, recreation)
Tags: food, hobbies, iris, literature, london, music, poetry, wildlife
The Whacked Weasel Putney
Remember July, our bicycle ride
through Chiswick down to Putney
the Whacked Weasel for lunch, supping their punch
we had bangers with mango chutney (coo hoo)
*
On the occe, you got cocky
I beat you by doubling out
*
And on the way back we made our tongues black
chewing chicory liquorice sticks
weaving red buses in spite of their cusses
we showed them our country tricks.
*
http://gentledove2.wordpress.com/the-merry-endeavour
An extract from The Merry Endeavour.
Face on the wall
January 20, 2009 at 3:35 pm (literature, poetry)
Tags: literature, mysteries, poetry, witness
In the town of villages,
over at Island Place
behind the man with a message
upon the wall, a face,
as though had opened up a portal,
shining through a veil
of everyone who saw it
each one had his tale.
Coming out of a cloud,
moved and moving, softened with tears,
the cloud became shekinah
enshrouding one of middle years.
In the town of villages,
over at Island Place
while the messenger yet was speaking
upon the wall, a face.
*
http://gentledove2.wordpress.com/the-turgid-stem
Face on the wall is an extract from A turgid stem.
Winter pith and spectres
January 10, 2009 at 7:10 pm (climate, flora, literature, nature, poetry)
Tags: literature, nature, poetry, seasons, spring, winter
Is there a thing
that will cause the bells to ring?
and in the bush on branches
the feathery birds to sing?
*
What will make the river merry again?
or the trees to swoon
in their glorious greens?
Wild iris unfurl, put out her tongue,
catkin peep out of his pod.
*
What shall be this thing
transforming all to joying
and decking out of meadows?
Yes of course, the early Spring.
*
Ah! but now the mists and frosts
of winter cover our Island home,
white, as pith of orange
shrubbery stands rigid, spectres
nor any thawing see.
Thankless
January 9, 2009 at 11:03 pm (bible, christianity, education, nature, poetry, politics, religion, science)
There are seventy millions of souls
in the United Kingdom today,
when Glorianna reigned less than five.
And when William crossed from France, they say,
were just a million for him to conquer.
People migrating outward
from India [perhaps.]
In view of this it becomes hard
when put alongside the evidence
of man’s history beneath our feet,
[which really doesn't go down far]
not to conclude it was pure deceit
to swap facts for a theory
as the evolutionists have done.
Benediction
January 3, 2009 at 11:41 pm (bible, christianity, flora, literature, poetry, religion)
Pink a puff of powder
your legs will soon be dry,
twirl around a towel swami
shampoo can make you cry.
Dreams from a pipe, a puff, and a turban
to help sustain the myth.
The truth is in the grease and dirt,
however you distain with,
they will come again to check your pride
and make you think again.
A velvet red rose in the hand of a fool
is fragrant and lovely still.
In loving hands, yet her petals will fall (how softly they fall)
gather them onto the window sill.
Late, looking out of my window I see
the creeping shadows of night
falling everywhere across our land,
my hands open, palms up to give flight
to my prayer of thanksgiving.
Longing with longing I stretch out
my right hand, palm towards my homeland
a benediction only God can bring about.
Yack alleys
November 8, 2008 at 3:20 pm (children, haiku, literature, poetry, recreation, sports)
Tags: gentledove, haiku, poetry, recreations, rhyming yack, sports, yack
Ideas shouts of laughter
word pictures playing rounders
mind the windows
Guitar strum
November 6, 2008 at 2:47 am (haiku, literature, music, poetry)
Tags: guitar music, music, soul
Drowning in music
luxurious soul stroking
cleaning out heartache
President Obama
November 6, 2008 at 2:36 am (haiku, literature, poetry, politics)
Tags: chess, democrats, hobbies, obama, politics, president elect, presidential elections
Chessboard turns
game plan is the same
different viewpoint
