Archive

Archive for April, 2013

Onward and Upward

Lungwort In April

Lungwort In April

Lament (Part XVI)

Well here we are in this game of two halves – the first half wasn’t too bad
We thought National Poetry Writing Month would just be a passing fad
and hoped we could last a day or so, without breaking into prose
and here we are, over half way, without having to stretch up on our toes
to reach the Olympian heights of rhyme. The photo today is Lungwort,
a low and spotty plant but good in case of scrape or hurt,
it will heal wounds or cure a cough – there’s much more it can do.
It’s often called ‘Soldiers and Sailors’ because its flowers are pink and blue

Half Way There

Hyacinth In The Rain

Hyacinth In The Rain

Lament (Part XV)

Let me tell you all about Hyacinthus, a noble looking lad.
Apollo was taken with our pretty boy – taken really bad.
He gave him daily lessons in shooting arrows with a bow
and showed him how to hold the discus, then let him have a go.
One day as they were having a discus throwing match,
Apollo threw, and Hyacinth – to show off, thought he’d catch.
He fumbled, and the discus hit him, thrown with all Apollo’s power
it killed him and Apollo wept. And changed him into a flower.

A Gilded Bird in a Cage

Daffodil Caged In The Hedge

Daffodil Caged In The Hedge

Lament (Part XIIII)

Roll hup. Roll hup, me gentlefolk. Roll hup. Roll hup, me dears.
‘ere we ‘ave a hanimal ferocious, wild and fierce.
‘e’s wild and fierce an hugly has you can plainly see.
Some days ‘e ‘as a hargument an ‘e eats ‘is Nan for tea.
Hi keeps ‘im caged hup safely, don’t want to cause a scare,
an hif by chance ‘e gets hupset, I’ll subdue ‘im wiv me chair.
Jus’ look at hall them ‘ampsteads! If yer promise not to larff
Hi’ll venture hin there wiv ‘im, an stick me loaf hin ‘is norf an saaf.

Ye Olde Rhyme

Daisies

Daisies

Lament (Part XIII)

Geoffrey Chaucer, before he started writing his  Canterbury Tales,
wrote The Legend of Good Women, in which he singularly fails
to make a good impression on the God of Love but luckily for him,
the Queen of Love throws down a challenge. Will he sink or swim?
She says he hasn’t dealt too well with love and lovers in his verse,
so start right now to make amends, as an aside, you better not do worse.
The Queen of Love is called Alcestis and though you might think him crazy.
She has, he says, the style and grace with the pure beauty of a daisy.

Worth his Words

Daffs In April

Daffs In April

Lament (Part XII)

The daffodils in the wood, in the sun, are a lovely sight
So I’m sorry about this Will but, I’m afraid Dorothy was right
I know she was only your sister and sibling rivalry is the rule.
Was that what, when you came to write the poem, made you decide you’ll
not even mention that you were together on that blustery day?
Would she have written it differently if she’d had her say?
But then, when you were writing it, of course, you couldn’t have guessed,
that ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’ would turn out to be one of your best.

Keeping a Weather Eye Out

Two Rooks, Keeping a Lookout

Two Rooks, Keeping a Lookout

Lament (Part XI)

If you had a sailing ship, in the olden days of the tea clipper
and you were out on the ocean and needed a hand, or even a flipper,
to make sure you hadn’t lost your way in all that water,
wind and weather. It’s hard to know which way you ought to
point the boat, or ship or shall we just say, the vessel in,
that’s something you really just don’t want to be wrestling
with, when you’re all at sea. All you need is a comfortable crows nest
Climb up there, relax, and just do what crows do best.

A Catchy Tune

Chaffinch Singing

Chaffinch Singing

Lament (Part X)

We go for a walk each morning and travel roughly the same route.
We know all the bushes and trees quite well and look keenly at any new shoot.
The cattle and sheep have been shut in their winter quarters for a while.
The sheep are now back in force, each ewe with at least one accompanying child.
The flowers have been taking their time, but have started showing up at last.
The birds have been singing for ages all working hard to get winter past.
The guy on the hedge is a Chaffinch and he’s supposed to just say “Fink!”
As you can hear from the sound-bite below, he says ‘Fink’ I don’t think!

Chaffinch Singing

%d bloggers like this: