Another Summer based poem shared from Whispers and Echoes. Please follow the link.
Summer rain so warm and wet only to be expected, yet…. I see a bit of blue sky there Come my love, let’s not despair * It’s ages since we picnicked here and now the sun’s come out it’s clear we’ll sit down here beneath the trees and rest our plates upon our knees * […]
British Summer | Peter Matthews — Whispers and Echoes
Yesterday the sky was filled with dark grey clouds and it looked very unlikely that I should get to see the annular eclipse. If we were lucky, people across the UK would be treated to views of a crescent sun as the moon appeared to partially block out the sun. In other parts of the world the “ring of fire” would be visible from places such as Canada, Greenland and northern Russia.
I was kitted out with polarised lenses for my glasses, and with my trusty camera. The only problem was that although I can look directly towards the sun with my lenses attached I cannot then see the screen of my camera so it was a case of lenses on, look at the sun, lenses off, look at the camera – repeat ad infinitum. I do not have a tripod – a lack I will have to address!
Here are the results: (My camera time is one hour behind)
Oh the smell, and the whiff, and the pong
as the world goes terribly wrong
it’s all just erupted
with earth much corrupted
hold your nose and join in with a song!
Debbie Jones lives in llangullno, in Wales, and has this lovely blog under the fantastically clever title of Gloria Smud. You’ll see why, and how, it got to be named thus if you have a wander round her blog. You will not be disappointed.
Debbie has been writing for quite some time, but blogging for only a short time. She will, I’m sure, become very successful with lots of avid readers. Here is your chance to read her fantastic poetry and see, and hear about her little bit of paradise.
A Magical Palace Lay me down on a blanket of white, Where tears are frozen and eyes shut tight. Feeling the tingle from cool, crisp sheets, Drifting down, silently, piece by piece. A magical palace, where earth blends with sky, And freezing stars glisten, remotely, on high. A calming, clear bitterness, fashioned from ice, Where…
This is America. Not the rubbish we see in the papers and on TV, not the over rich politicians who have no idea what it is to be hungry, or have nowhere to rest, not the overpaid sports, media, and entertainment “stars”. These are the stars!
I returned home just days following Hurricane Harvey’s rampage through this part of Texas, getting a first hand view of the devastation to some 100+ families, not including the dozens of businesses that were impacted in our small town. The saddest part of this tragedy is most of those affected could not afford these life changing events.
They lost everything…except each other. They have no clothes, no shoes, no food, no furniture, no school supplies, no homes, no direction…and no money.
Rebuild? How? With What?
Move? Where?
Pull yourself up with your boot straps? Who has boots?
I sat with a restaurant owner yesterday as she handed out grocery store gift cards, clothing store gift cards, and cash to her staff members who have no place to live, and no means to ‘start over’. It was important that the restaurant open because these folks needed to get a paycheck, and that wouldn’t…
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There was a young lady from Gwent
who found that she came as she went.
She didn’t know why,
that as she passed by,
her back was incredibly bent.
She went to the doctors to ask.
“Lost cause” he said, “Go buy a cask.
Drink plenty of sherry
until you are merry,
sit back in the sun and just bask.”
She died and was buried at noon.
Some said it was awfully soon.
Some others thought “Why,
when I look at the sky,
can I see both the sun and the moon?”
Of course, it is perfectly plain
that we often see ducks in the rain,
and the lady from Gwent,
who came as she went,
was horribly bent and insane!
It’s time again for Kat Myrman’s wonderful challenge to tax our creative souls. Just take her photo prompt and write a story, inspired by it, in 140 characters or fewer.
Here is this week’s prompt and my contribution. Check out all the fabulous entries here.
(140 characters)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Handfasting_(Neopaganism)
Handfasting was very prevalent in the Hebrides, the Inner, and Outer, islands off the west coast of Scotland.
I had the unique privilege of living on St Kilda, a remote archipelago, some 45 miles West North West of North Uist, for several periods, mostly 6 weeks at a time. Stays sometimes proved to be longer, because access is always determined by the weather! In total, I spent some 8 months of my life there.
St Kilda has a strange hold on all who set foot there, rather akin to desert fever for anyone who has experienced true desert.
I follow a page, https://www.facebook.com/groups/St.KildaHebrides/ , on Facebook, dedicated to St Kilda, and, as part of advice being offered to a would be visitor, came across this poem written by Andrew Lane in 2009.
I do not know Andrew but, from what I’ve seen and read, feel that we would get on very well. He is a musician, so this may well have been written to perform. In any case, I hope that you find the poem at least a little interesting, especially those who may know nothing about the Scots, or their unique language.
Andrew has a lovely “lived in” face, and someone commented that it was obviously the result of someone’s advice:
“Smile a lot when you are young so that when you grow older, your wrinkles will all be in the right place”
THE HAND-FASTING
Oh, lassie, place your hand on mine, and Alastair will fetch the twine
And bind us at the wrist for aye, for this shall be our wedding day.
Bring the lassies from the wheel
To spin themselves a proper reel.
Bring the laddies from the loom
To weave a dance beside the groom.
Lassie, place your hand on mine, and Alastair will fetch the twine
And bind us at the wrist for aye, for this shall be our wedding day.
Bring the stoddart from the braes
And leave the hoggie to its ways.
Bring the fisher from the shore;
This man will be a boy no more.
Lassie, place your hand on mine, and Alastair will fetch the twine
And bind us at the wrist for aye, for this shall be our wedding day.
Set your creels upon the ling
And bow the fiddles till they sing.
Take the whistle from your poke
And pipe a tune for dancing folk.
Lassie, place your hand on mine, and Alastair will fetch the twine
And bind us at the wrist for aye, for this shall be our wedding day.
Set the bellyrive aboot,
And spread the meat upon the cloot.
Place the whisky pig beside
And you shall see the hand-fast tied.
Lassie, place your hand on mine, and Alastair will fetch the twine
And bind us at the wrist for aye, for this shall be our wedding day.
Stoddart – a herdsman. Hoggie – a young sheep. Bellyrive – a feast.
Cloot – cloth. Whisky pig – a whisky jar.
©Andrew Lane July 2009
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