The Camaraderie

October 15, 2009 at 1:52 pm (bible, christianity, climate, education, literature, nature, poetry)
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The Camaraderie
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
Sadhu Sundar Singh

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Dance the daddy longlegs

September 19, 2009 at 11:27 am (bible, children, christianity, literature, nature, poetry, religion)
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Dance the daddy longlegs
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.

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Logic pools your eyes

August 17, 2009 at 9:55 am (flora, folk music, literature, music, nature, poetry, romance)
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Peony House

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 

 

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Do the jiggaloo

June 27, 2009 at 7:34 pm (flora, folk music, music, nature, poetry, recreation)
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Do the jiggaloo

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. 

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My heart stays the same

June 22, 2009 at 8:18 pm (classical music, music, nature, poetry)
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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

 

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The charcoal garden

June 13, 2009 at 3:11 pm (flora, literature, nature, poetry, recreation)
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Charcoal garden
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.

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Catkin carpet

February 8, 2009 at 4:03 pm (flora, literature, music, nature, poetry, recreation, romance)
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Author of Don Camillo

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?)  

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Winter pith and spectres

January 10, 2009 at 7:10 pm (climate, flora, literature, nature, poetry)
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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.

 

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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.  

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The Totton Linnet

January 4, 2009 at 12:17 am (children, flora, literature, music, nature, poetry, politics, recreation, religion)

 Check out Yack and Rhyming Yack for music, poetry and yarns, you know how you hate to miss anything good.

 

Over the transom

http://gentledove2.wordpress.com

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