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Posts
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It’s such a little thing to weep –
So short a thing to sigh –
And yet – by Trades – the size of these
We men and women die !Emily Dickinson
(this one keeps a promise to Cath56 xx)
By sloth on sorrow fathered
These dusty-featured Lollocks
Have their nativity in all disordered
Backs of cupboard drawers.They play hide and seek
Among collars and novels
And empty medicine bottles,
And letters from abroad
That never will be answered.Every sultry night
They plague little children,
Gurgling from the cistern,
Humming from the air,
Skewing up the bed-clothes,
Twitching the blind.When the imbecile aged
Are over-long in dying
And the nurse drowses,
Lollocks come skipping
Up the tattered stairs
And are nasty together
In the bed’s shadow.The signs of their presence
Are boils on the neck,
Dreams of vexation suddenly recalled
In the middle of the morning,
Languor after food.Men cannot see them,
Men cannot hear them,
Do not believe in them –
But suffer the more,
Both in neck and belly.Women can see them –
O those naughty wives
Who sit by the fireside
Munching bread and honey,
Watching them in mischief
From corners of their eyes,
Slily allowing them to lick
Honey-sticky fingers.Sovereign against Lollocks
Are hard broom and soft broom,
To well comb the hair,
To well brush the shoe,
And to pay every debt
So soon as it’s due.Robert Graves
Sup up your beer
and collect your fags
theres a row goin on
down in sloughbla bla bla
eton rifles i like trifle :shock:
things to tend to take a lil turn :P im no the “razz” :shock:
great lyrics though
When A. and R. men hit the street
To sign up every second band they meet
Then marketing men will spill out spiel
About how us Glesca folk are really real
(Where once they used to fear and pity
These days they glamorise and patronise our city –
Accentwise once they could hear bugger all
That was not low, glottal or guttaral,
Now we’ve ‘kudos’ incident’ly
And the patter’s street-smart, strictly state-of-the-art,
And our oaths are user-friendly).It’s all go the sandblaster, it’s all go Tutti Frutti,
All we want is a wally close with Rennie Mackintosh putti.Malkie Machismo invented a gismo for making whisky oot o’girders
He tasted it, came back for mair, and soon he was on his thirders.
Rabbie Burns turned in his grave and dunted Hugh MacDiarmid,
Said: It’s oor National Thorn, John Barleycorn, but I doot we’ll ever learn it…It’s all go the Rotary Club, its ail go ‘The Toast Tae The Lassies’,
It’s all go Holy Willie’s Prayer and plunging your dirk in the haggis.Robbie Coltrane flew Caledonian MacBrayne
To Lewis…..on a Sunday !
Protesting Wee Frees fed him antifreeze
(Why God knows) till he was comatose
And didnae wake up till the Monday.Aye it’s Retro Time for Northern Soul and the whoop and the skirl o’ the saxes.
All they’ll score’s more groundglass heroin and venison filofaxes.
The rent-boys preen on Buchanan Street, their boas are made of vulture,
It’s all go the January sales in the Metropolis of Culture.It’s all go the PR campaign and a radical change of image –
Write Saatchi and Saatchi a blank cheque to pay them for the damage.Tam o’Shanter fell asleep
To the sound of fairy laughter
Woke up on the cold-heather hillside
To find it was ten years after
And it’s all go (again) the Devolution Debate and pro…pro…proportional representation.
Over pasta and pesto in a Byres Road bistro, Scotland declares hersel’ a nation.Margo McDonald spruced up her spouse for thon Govan By-Election
The voters they selectic him in a sideways left defection,
The Labour man was awfy hurt, he’d dependit on the X-fillers
And the so-and-sos had betrayed him for thirty pieces of Sillars !Once it was no go the SNP, they were sneered at as ‘Tory’ and tartan
And thought to be very little to do with the price of Spam in Dumbarton.
Now it’s all go the Nationalists, the toast of the folk and the famous
– Of Billy Connolly, Muriel Gray and the Auchtermuchty Proclaimers.It’s all go L.A. lager, it’s all go the campaign for an Assembly,
It’s all go Suas Alba and winning ten-nil at Wembley.
Are there separatist dreams in the glens and the schemes ?
Well…..it doesny take Taggart to detect it !
Or to jalouse we hate the Government
And we patently didnae elect it.
So – watch out Margaret Thatcher, and tak’ tent Neil Kinnock
Or we’ll tak’ the United Kingdom and brekk it like a bannock.Liz Lochhead
No, the serpent did not
Seduce Eve to the apple.
All that’s simply
Corruption of the facts.Adam ate the apple.
Eve ate Adam.
The serpent ate Eve.
This is the dark intestine.The serpent, meanwhile,
Sleeps his meal off in Paradise –
Smiling to hear
God’s querulous calling.Ted Hughes
There is a Smile of Love.
And there is a Smile of Deceit.
And there is a Smile of Smiles
In which these two Smiles meet.And there is a Frown of Hate,
And there is a Frown of Disdain,
And there is a Frown of Frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain,For it sticks in the Heart’s deep Core
And it sticks in the deep Back bone;
And no smile that was ever smil’d,
But only one Smile alone,That betwixt the Cradle and the Grave
It only once Smil’d can be;
But, when it once is Smil’d,
There’s an end to all Misery.William Blake
Something has ceased to come along with me.
Something like a person: something very like one.
And there was no nobility in it
Or anything like that.Something was there like a one-year-
Old house, dumb as stone. While the near buildings
Sang like birds and laughed
Understanding the pactThey were to have with silence. But he
Neither sang nor laughed. He did not bless silence
Like bread, with words.
He did not forsake silence.But rather, like a house in mourning
Kept the eye turned in to watch the silence while
The other houses like birds
Sang around him.And the breathing silence neither
Moved nor was still.I have seen stones: I have seen brick
But this house was made up of neither bricks nor stone
But a house of flesh and blood
With flesh of stoneAnd bricks for blood. A house
Of stones and blood in breathing silence with the other
Birds singing crazy on its chimneys.
But this was silence,This was something else, this was
Hearing and speaking though he was a house drawn
Into silence, this was
Something religious in his silence,Something shining in his quiet,
This was different this was altogether something else:
Though he never spoke, this
Was something to do with death.And then slowly the eye stopped looking
Inward. The silence rose and became still.The look turned to the outer place and stopped,
With the birds still shrilling around him.
And as if he could speakHe turned over on his side with this one year
Red as a wound
He turned over as if he could be sorry for this
And out of his eyes two great tears rolled, like stones, and he died.Jon Silkin
@toybulldog wrote:
(this one keeps a promise to Cath56 xx)
By sloth on sorrow fathered
These dusty-featured Lollocks
Have their nativity in all disordered
Backs of cupboard drawers.They play hide and seek
Among collars and novels
And empty medicine bottles,
And letters from abroad
That never will be answered.Every sultry night
They plague little children,
Gurgling from the cistern,
Humming from the air,
Skewing up the bed-clothes,
Twitching the blind.When the imbecile aged
Are over-long in dying
And the nurse drowses,
Lollocks come skipping
Up the tattered stairs
And are nasty together
In the bed’s shadow.The signs of their presence
Are boils on the neck,
Dreams of vexation suddenly recalled
In the middle of the morning,
Languor after food.Men cannot see them,
Men cannot hear them,
Do not believe in them –
But suffer the more,
Both in neck and belly.Women can see them –
O those naughty wives
Who sit by the fireside
Munching bread and honey,
Watching them in mischief
From corners of their eyes,
Slily allowing them to lick
Honey-sticky fingers.Sovereign against Lollocks
Are hard broom and soft broom,
To well comb the hair,
To well brush the shoe,
And to pay every debt
So soon as it’s due.Robert Graves
thank you doggy ;) xx
Hmm… well had this wrote on my birthday card this year by a friend… don’t know if she wrote it her self but like the words mean a lot! …
Its hard to tell what
makes a friend…
its isn’t looks or style,
just something that you
can’t explain…
that makes them seem worthwhile,
its isn’t anything they say,
or do,
but what it is that makes
a friend, I found it all in
you
Happy Birthday Michelle …Lovely poems keep them coming… :D
Some lovely stuff here :) Thanks to everyone for sharing.
Three passions by Bertrand Russell
Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and the unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions,like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a deep ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.
I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy-ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. I have sought it, next ,because it relieves loneliness—that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it, finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what—at last—I have found.
With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men.I have wished to know why stars shine. And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagoren power by which number holds sway above the flux. A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.
Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my heart. Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a hated burden to their sons, and the whole world of what human life should be. I long to alleviate the evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer.
This has been my life. I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.
or to put it another way:
Three passions have governed my life:
The longing for love, the search for knowledge,
And unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind.Love brings ecstasy and relieves loneliness.
In the union of love I have seen
In a mystic miniature the prefiguring vision
Of the heavens that saints and poets have imagined.With equal passion I have sought knowledge.
I have wished to understand the hearts of men.
I have wished to know why the stars shine.Love and knowledge led upwards to the heavens,
But always pity brought me back to earth;
Cries of pain reverberated in my heart
Of children in famine, of victims tortured
And of old people left helpless.
I long to alleviate the evil, but I cannot,
And I too suffer.This has been my life; I found it worth living.
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