General Chat

If you are cold
Tea will warm you.
If you are too heated,
It will cool you.
If you are depressed,
It will cheer you.
If you are excited,
It will calm you.


'GLADSTONE'

A screw is a rotating ramp

Cats are little people in fur coats

My dogs live here,they're here to stay.
You don't like pets, then be on your way.
They share my home, my food, my space
This is their home,this is their space.

You will find dog hairs on the floor.
They will alert you at your door
They may request a little pat
I simple "No" will settle that.

They put their cheeks against mine
And make expressive sounds,
And when I awake, or at least awake enough
They turn upside down, their four paws in the air
And their eyes dark and fervent
Tell me that you love me they say
And tell me again.

Could there be a a sweeter arrangement?
Over and over they get to ask and I get to tell
"There's always a love that lingers"

A variant on a poem I found a few years ago.
:-D

My brief sweet life is over,my eyes no longer see,
No summer walks - no xmas trees, no pretty girls for me,
I've got the chop, I've had it,,
My nightly ops are done,
Yet in another hundred years , I'll still be 21.

If youth did know
what age would crave,
Many a penny
the youth would save.

Some say the best has yet to come. Wrong! I'm here already.

Growing old is compulsory, growing up is optional.

What a lovely thread. Noticed WelshBird has picked one of my favourites - David of the White Rock. When I was about 23, I had to sing that in Welsh (terrible baritone) at a Jewish party in Hendon. Blushing thinking of it :-)

Two of my favourites are sonnets by John Milton. One when he was 23, and one when he was first blind:- "When I consider how my light is spent, ere half my days"

At age of 23 he wrote

"HOW soon hath time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom sheweth.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arrived so near"

John (aged 23 and a bit - a large bit) :-(

Hello John and welcome to this Thread.

I enjoyed your entry and look forward to having some more from you.

I am always surprised that this thread has achieved so much and with such a diversity.
I think we have more postings in the winter and the spring but I try to look on here each day.

Perhaps we should try to find or remember winter poems or sayings?

Bridget

Window boxes have no windows.

Fat free is not the same as free fat.

One of my favourite poems for the Christmas/Winter season is T S Eliot's "Journey of the Magi". I first came across this at school a long, long time ago and loved it straightaway, though I don't think I understood it then. Not sure I totally understand it now! It's a bit gloomy I'm afraid - I'll have to find something a big jollier for my next posting.

"A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter."
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires gong out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty, and charging high prices.:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we lead all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I have seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

Vera What a fantastic poem. These wise men (magi) travelled such a long way to Bethlehem. Believed they travelled to Bethlehem on the old silk route.

Anyway, I thought it would be nice to put my other favourite Milton sonnet on here. Milton (1608-1674) went blind in 1651 and wrote this shortly afterwards. Again, very religious - but no apologies for that. (nb A talent is a God-given gift)

"When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or His own gifts. Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."

'She had a look so cold that it would freeze a waterfall'.

A thousand words often paint the wrong picture.

Delighted that so many have added onto this thread. I have had problems with our telephone provider recently which meant no comp either but back now.

I will be back during this week

Bridget

American elections - two bald men fighting over the ownership of a comb.

He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past.

Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.

And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.

But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.

He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.

He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.

Papers tell of their life stories
From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?

Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?

The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.

While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.

It's so easy to forget them,
For it is so many times
That our Bobs and Jims and Johnnys,
Went to battle, but we know,

It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?

Or would you want a Soldier--
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end.

He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.

For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days.

Perhaps just a simple headline
In the paper that might say:

"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."
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(Published in this week's Midweek Herald, Devon.)

'What I kept, I lost.
What I spent, I had.
What I gave, I have'.

(Persian Proverb).

No matter how far the fishes swim , they never seem to sweat !! If all the boys lived over the sea what a good swimmer Barbra would be x