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15 March, 2008 at 7:36 pm #311722
Lorica of Saint Patrick
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation.I arise today
Through the strength of Christ’s birth and His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion and His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection and His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In preachings of the apostles,
In faiths of confessors,
In innocence of virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.I arise today
Through the strength of heaven;
Light of the sun,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of the wind,
Depth of the sea,
Stability of the earth,
Firmness of the rock.I arise today
Through God’s strength to pilot me;
God’s might to uphold me,
God’s wisdom to guide me,
God’s eye to look before me,
God’s ear to hear me,
God’s word to speak for me,
God’s hand to guard me,
God’s way to lie before me,
God’s shield to protect me,
God’s hosts to save me
From snares of the devil,
From temptations of vices,
From every one who desires me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone or in a mulitude.I summon today all these powers between me and evil,
Against every cruel merciless power that opposes my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of women and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man’s body and soul.
Christ shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that reward may come to me in abundance.Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through a confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creationSt. Patrick (ca. 377)
18 March, 2008 at 10:14 pm #311723Mouse’s Nest
I found a ball of grass among the hay
And progged it as I passed and went away;
And when I looked I fancied something stirred,
And turned agen and hoped to catch the bird-
When out an old mouse bolted to the wheats
With all her young ones hanging at her teats;
She looked so odd and so grotesque to me,
I ran and wondered what the thing could be,
And pushed the knapweed bunches where I stood;
Then the mouse hurried from the craking brood.
The young ones squeaked, and as I went away
She found her nest again among the hay.
The water o’er the pebbles scarce could run
And broad old cesspools glittered in the sun.John Clare
20 March, 2008 at 12:08 am #311724Albert and the Lion
There’s a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That’s noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.A grand little lad was young Albert,
All dressed in his best; quite a swell
With a stick with an ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle,
The finest that Woolworth’s could sell.They didn’t think much of the Ocean:
The waves, they were fiddlin’ and small,
There was no wrecks and nobody drownded,
Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.So, seeking for further amusement,
They paid and went into the Zoo,
Where they’d Lions and Tigers and Camels,
And old ale and sandwiches too.There were one great big Lion called Wallace;
His nose were all covered with scars –
He lay in a somnolent posture,
With the side of his face on the bars.Now Albert had heard about Lions,
How they was ferocious and wild –
To see Wallace lying so peaceful,
Well, it didn’t seem right to the child.So straightway the brave little feller,
Not showing a morsel of fear,
Took his stick with its ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle
And pushed it in Wallace’s ear.You could see that the Lion didn’t like it,
For giving a kind of a roll,
He pulled Albert inside the cage with ‘im,
And swallowed the little lad ‘ole.Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence,
And didn’t know what to do next,
Said ‘Mother! Yon Lion’s ‘et Albert’,
And Mother said ‘Well, I am vexed!’Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom –
Quite rightly, when all’s said and done –
Complained to the Animal Keeper,
That the Lion had eaten their son.The keeper was quite nice about it;
He said ‘What a nasty mishap.
Are you sure that it’s your boy he’s eaten?’
Pa said “Am I sure? There’s his cap!’The manager had to be sent for.
He came and he said ‘What’s to do?’
Pa said ‘Yon Lion’s ‘et Albert,
‘And ‘im in his Sunday clothes, too.’Then Mother said, ‘Right’s right, young feller;
I think it’s a shame and a sin,
For a lion to go and eat Albert,
And after we’ve paid to come in.’The manager wanted no trouble,
He took out his purse right away,
Saying ‘How much to settle the matter?’
And Pa said “What do you usually pay?’But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone.
She said ‘No! someone’s got to be summonsed’ –
So that was decided upon.Then off they went to the P’lice Station,
In front of the Magistrate chap;
They told ‘im what happened to Albert,
And proved it by showing his cap.The Magistrate gave his opinion
That no one was really to blame
And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name.At that Mother got proper blazing,
‘And thank you, sir, kindly,’ said she.
‘What waste all our lives raising children
To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!’Marriott Edgar
20 March, 2008 at 12:25 am #311725heres the rest of albert n the lion lol
You’ve ‘eard ‘ow young Albert Ramsbottom,
In the Zoo up at Blackpool one year
With a stick with an ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle
Gave a lion a poke in the ear?The name of the lion was Wallace,
The poke in the ear made ‘im wild;
And before you could say ‘Bob’s your Uncle, ‘
‘E’d up and ‘e’d swallowed the child.‘E were sorry the moment ‘e’d done it;
With children ‘e’d always been chums,
And besides, ‘e’d no teeth in his noddle,
And ‘e couldn’t chew Albert on t’gums.‘E could feel the lad movin’ inside ‘im,
As ‘e lay on ‘is bed of dried ferns,
And it might ‘ave been little lad’s birthday-
‘E wished ‘im such ‘appy returns.But Albert kept kicking and fighting,
Till Wallace arose, feeling bad.
And felt it were time that ‘e started
To stage a comeback for the lad.So with ‘is ‘ead down in a corner,
On ‘is front paws ‘e started to walk,
And ‘e coughed and ‘e sneezed and ‘e gargled,
‘Till Albert shot out like a cork.Old Wallace felt better direc’ly,
And ‘is figure once more became lean,
But the only difference with Albert
Was ‘is face and ‘is ‘ands were quite clean.Meanwhile Mister and Missus Ramsbottom
‘Ad gone home to tea, feelin’ blue;
Ma says ‘I feel down in the mouth like.’
Pa says, ‘Aye, I bet Albert does, too.’Said Ma ‘It just goes for to show yer
That the future is never revealed;
If I’d thought we was goin’ to lose ‘im
I’d ‘ave not ‘ad ‘is boots soled and ‘eeled‘Let’s look on the bright side, ‘ said Father;
‘What can’t be ‘elped must be endured;
Every cloud ‘as a silvery lining,
And we did ‘ave young Albert insured.’A knock on the door came that moment,
As Father these kind words did speak.
‘Twas the man from t’Prudential – ‘e’d called for
Their tuppence per person per week.When Father saw ‘oo ‘ad been knockin’,
‘E laughed, and ‘e kept laughin’ so
That the young man said ”What’s there to laugh at? ‘
Pa said ‘You’ll laugh an’ all when you know.’‘Excuse ‘im for laughing, ‘ said Mother,
‘But really, things ‘appen so strange –
Our Albert’s been ate by a lion;
You’ve got to pay us for a change.’Said the young feller from the Prudential,
‘Now, come, come, let’s understand this-
You don’t mean to say that you’ve lost ‘im? ‘
Ma says ‘Oh, no! we know where ‘e is.’When the young man ‘ad ‘eard all the details,
A purse from ‘is pocket he drew,
And ‘e paid them, with int’rest and bonus,
The sum of nine pounds, four and two.Pa ‘ad scarce got ‘is ‘and on the money
When a face at the window they see,
And Mother says ‘Eeh! look, it’s Albert.’
And Father says ‘Aye, it would be.’Young Albert came in all excited,
And started ‘is story to give,
And Pa says ‘I’ll never trust lions
Again, not as long as I live.’The young man from the Prudential
To pick up the money began,
And Father says ‘Eeh! just a moment,
Don’t be in a ‘urry, young man.’Then giving young Albert a shilling,
He said ‘Pop off back to the Zoo.
”Ere’s yer stick with the ‘orse’s ‘ead ‘andle-
Go and see wot the Tigers can do! ‘20 March, 2008 at 4:27 pm #311726Stones for Gardens
1. THE WATER’S BREAST
……….and ripples2……. ONE (ORANGE) ARM
OF THE WORLD’S OLDEST WINDMILL
……………..autumn3. THE CLOUD’S ANCHOR
…………..swallow4.. THE BOAT’S
inseparable ripplesIan Hamilton Finlay
28 March, 2008 at 12:12 am #311727Bagpipe Music
It’s no go the merrygoround, it’s no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python.
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with heads of bison.John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,
Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker,
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey,
Kept its bones for dumb-bells to use when he was fifty.It’s no go the Yogi-Man, it’s no go Blavatsky,
All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather,
Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna.
It’s no go your maidenheads, it’s no go your culture,
All we want is a Dunlop tyre and the devil mend the puncture.The Laird o’ Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober,
Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot over.
Mrs Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with repulsion,
Said to the midwife ‘Take it away; I’m through with over-production’It’s no go the gossip column, it’s no go the Ceilidh,
All we want is a mother’s help and a sugar-stick for the baby.Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn’t count the damage,
Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage.
His brother caught three hundred cran when the seas were lavish,
Threw the bleeders back in the sea and went upon the parish.It’s no go the Herring Board, it’s no go the Bible,
All we want is a packet of fags when our hands are idle.It’s no go the picture palace, it’s no go the stadium,
It’s no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums.
It’s no go the Government grants, it’s no go the elections,
Sit on your ar/se for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension.It’s no go my honey love, it’s no go my poppet:
Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit.
The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall for ever,
But if you break the bloody glass you won’t hold up the weather.Louis Macneice
28 March, 2008 at 12:21 am #311728@toybulldog wrote:
Bagpipe Music
It’s no go the merrygoround, it’s no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python.
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with heads of bison.John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa,
Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker,
Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey,
Kept its bones for dumb-bells to use when he was fifty.It’s no go the Yogi-Man, it’s no go Blavatsky,
All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather,
Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna.
It’s no go your maidenheads, it’s no go your culture,
All we want is a Dunlop tyre and the devil mend the puncture.The Laird o’ Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober,
Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot over.
Mrs Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with repulsion,
Said to the midwife ‘Take it away; I’m through with over-production’It’s no go the gossip column, it’s no go the Ceilidh,
All we want is a mother’s help and a sugar-stick for the baby.Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn’t count the damage,
Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage.
His brother caught three hundred cran when the seas were lavish,
Threw the bleeders back in the sea and went upon the parish.It’s no go the Herring Board, it’s no go the Bible,
All we want is a packet of fags when our hands are idle.It’s no go the picture palace, it’s no go the stadium,
It’s no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums.
It’s no go the Government grants, it’s no go the elections,
Sit on your ar/se for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension.It’s no go my honey love, it’s no go my poppet:
Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit.
The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall for ever,
But if you break the bloody glass you won’t hold up the weather.Louis Macneice
I do like that 8) :D :wink:
work your hands from day to day,. the winds will blow the fucking profit
if only I could get paid to make up poems. or update them here and there.
28 March, 2008 at 12:42 am #311729go for it Sharon and chuck ’em on to the other thread….minim’s DIY one.
I’m sure you’ll be paid with compliments and some very caring facial expressions.
x28 March, 2008 at 12:52 am #311730@toybulldog wrote:
go for it Sharon and chuck ’em on to the other thread….minim’s DIY one.
I’m sure you’ll be paid with compliments and some very caring facial expressions.
xyou fill up my senses like a knight in the forest
love you toy xx
28 March, 2008 at 12:54 am #311731Most near, most dear, most loved and most far,
Under the window where I often found her
Sitting as huge as Asia, seismic with laughter,
Gin and chicken helpless in her Irish hand,
Irresistible as Rabelais, but most tender for
The lame dogs and hurt birds that surround her,-
She is a procession no one can follow after
But be like a little dog following a brass band.She will not glance up at the bomber, or condescend
To drop her gin and scuttle to the cellar,
But lean on the mahogany table like a mountain
Whom only faith can move, and so I send
O all my faith and all my love to tell her
That she will move from mourning into morning.George Barker
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