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Poem for the Day

Posted: 16 January 2013

“Why I tie about thy wrist,
Julia, this silken twist,
For what other reason is't
But to show thee how, in part
Thou art my pretty captive art?
But thy bond slave is my heart.
'Tis but silk that bindeth thee,
Knap the thread and thou art free,
But 'tis otherwise with me:
I am bound and fast bound so
That from thee I cannot go;
If I could I would not so.”

The Bracelet
Robert Herrick

Cause for Concern!

Posted: 15 January 2013

On the day when hundreds of Scottish jobs are under threat with the announcement that HMV have gone into administration; on the day when MPs and Lords debate the so-called Section 30 Referendum Order, which will give the Scottish Parliament the necessary powers to hold a legally binding referendum; on the day when, at the Court of Session in Edinburgh, The Scotch Whisky Association and several European wine and spirits bodies are seeking a judicial review of the legislation regarding the introduction of minimum pricing on alcohol in Scotland, what is it that makes headline news?  Former Celtic and Middlesbrough boss Gordon Strachan has been confirmed as the new manager of Scotland! 

Now I will admit that I have less than no interest in football.  I am also prepared to admit that this news will be of interest to those who have a great interest in the beautiful game but surely the appointment of a football manager should take its place behind nationwide job losses, Scottish independence and a major debate, the substance of which will, according to the Scottish Government, save lives.

Is this the kind of thing we can look forward to in an independant Scotland?  Heaven preserve us!

Poem for the Day

Posted: 15 January 2013

Here is one remembered from schooldays that I hope you enjoy.

Some one came knocking
At my wee, small door;
Someone came knocking;
I'm sure-sure-sure;
I listened, I opened,
I looked to left and right,
But nought there was a stirring
In the still dark night;
Only the busy beetle
Tap-tapping in the wall,
Only from the forest
The screech-owl's call,
Only the cricket whistling
While the dewdrops fall,
So I know not who came knocking,
At all, at all, at all.

Some One
Walter de la Mare

Poem for the Day

Posted: 14 January 2013

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?

"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

from The Walrus and The Carpenter
Lewis Carroll

Poem for the Day

Posted: 13 January 2013

Let me not see old age: Let me not hear
The proffered help, the mumbled sympathy,
The well-meant tactful sophistries that mock
Pathetic husks who once were strong and free,
And in youth's fickle triumph laughed and sang,
Loved, and were foolish; and at the close have seen
The fruits of folly garnered, and that love,
Tamed and encaged, stale into grey routine.
Let me not see old age; I am content
With my few crowded years; laughter and strength
And song have lit the beacon of my life.
Let me not see it fade, but when the long
September shadows steal across the square,
Grant me this wish; they may not find me there.

Let Me Not See Old Age
D. R. Geriant Jones

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