Month: September 2007

Christopher Logue

Poem If the night flights keep you awake I will call London Airport and tell them to land their dangerous junk elsewhere. And if you fall asleep with the sleeve of my jacket under your head, sooner than wake you, I’ll cut it off. But if you say: ‘Fix me a plug on this mixer’, I grumble and take my time.…

John Dryden

Happy The Man Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call today his own: He who, secure within, can say, Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today. Be fair or foul or rain or shine The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not Heaven itself upon the past has power, But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.…

Robert Herrick

Delight in Disorder A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness : A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction : An erring lace which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher : A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly : A winning wave (deserving note) In the tempestuous petticoat : A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility : Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.…

R S Thomas

Play Jocosity through verbosity can lead to animosity as an attitude from exacitude can become a platitude Complementarity leads not with majority to popularity as scrupulosity has the capacity to encourage pomposity. Belief in the Trinity for most of humanity suggests a nonentity I fear theology is just an allergy of anthropology Heigh-ho that the universe through over-rehearsal should become farcical. Relativity in the face of gravity is incivility. In a Calvinist’s heaven, where no foot is cloven, who are the forgiven? Time does not prevaricate. Where the heart pontificates the questions proliferate. Is not astrology disguised as the economy the human pathology? One could go on and on like traffic in London – It is late. I have done.…

Fred Allen

A molehill man is a pseudo-busy executive who comes to work at 9 am and finds a molehill on his desk. He has until 5 pm to make this molehill into a mountain. An accomplished molehill man will often have his mountain finished before lunch.…

Carol Ann Duffy

The Light Gatherer When you were small, your cupped palms each held a candleworth under the skin, enough light to begin, and as you grew, light gathered in you, two clear raindrops in your eyes, warm pearls, shy, in the lobes of your ears, even always the light of a smile after your tears. Your kissed feet glowed in my one hand, or I’d enter a room to see the corner you played in lit like a stage set, the crown of your bowed head spotlit. When language came, it glittered like a river, silver, clever with fish, and you slept with the whole moon held in your arms for a night light where I knelt watching. Light gatherer. You fell from a star into my lap, the soft lamp at the bedside mirrored in you, and now you shine like a snowgirl, a buttercup under a chin, the wide blue yonder you squeal at and fly in, like a jewelled cave, turquoise and diamond and gold, opening out at the end of a tunnnel of years.…

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